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Posts tagged "advice"

"My partner and I have been dating for over a year now and have just begun to hit some rough patches. We used to have a lot of (what I thought was) really great sex. Then one day he told me that all that sex had been only mediocre for him. I was mortified and also ashamed because it felt like maybe he had never really want to have sex with me, he was just doing it because he knew I wanted to. Recently, he says that he might be asexual, but he isn’t sure. He’s trans and in the middle of transitioning, so he says his body is changing. He says masturbation ”works wonders” for him, and he feels no sexual desire for me whatsoever. I’ve researched a/sexual relationships - the options are 1) me learning to like masturbation - I do, but it’s not enough for me 2) him compromising to have sex, which reeks of non-consent and grosses me out 3) an open relationship, which isn’t an option for either of us. I’m sexual. I want to feel sexy and desired and to have sex and everything that goes along with it. But if he isn’t, what am I supposed to do? Right now the solution feels like I should just repress my libido so I won’t need to have sex any more, but I don’t even know if that’s possible. I’m at an age where I’m being told left and right to assert myself as a woman, as a sexual person, as a queer person - but it seems like all of that’s stopping now. If I’m not a sexual woman any more, I don’t even know if I can consider myself a woman. That’s right, this is potentially gender identity rocking for me. Please give me any and all advice. I’d appreciate it. - Sad, Confused, Terrified.”

Heather Corinna replies:

Before I say anything else, I want to address about those feelings of shame and inadequacy you had — from the sounds of it, are still having — when your partner told you his feelings about your sex life.

Someone feeling like their sexual life or interactions with someone else aren’t satisfying, or not feeling desire for them, doesn’t mean that other person is not performing or servicing the other person properly (and hopefully the ooky-way all of that even sounds will tip you off to how much it just isn’t the way to go), that the other person isn’t sexual anymore, isn’t “enough” per their sexuality or gender, or that something is wrong with them, period. How this person feels with all this is primarily about this person: not you.

And in this situation, particularly, it sounds to me like your partner has some stuff going on that you can’t — and shouldn’t try to — “fix” or change with any kind of sex you may have with them. He sounds to me like he’s clear that some of this is about where he’s at with his transition, as well as a possibility of him simply not having an interest in sex with others, period. Too, you also are in no way responsible for this person only telling you now how they feel about sex they have been engaging in with you the whole time this far along. Sometimes people fake interest or satisfaction in the sex that they’re having. That obviously stinks for everyone, including the person they’re doing that with, but even if a con isn’t the intent, in some ways, it’s like one in that the person being conned isn’t the person responsible for being conned: that’s on the person, even if their causes or reasons are something we can understand or feel sympathy for, doing the conning.

Too, it’s not like it’s unusual for one person to have sex and find it great, and the other person to feel lackluster about it. I know the ideal is that when we have great experiences, the other person is, too, but because we’re all different people, that just isn’t always going to happen. In fact, I’d say people being sexual together even one time and both feeling the exact same way about it is more uncommon than common. It is okay that you had what were great experiences for you that were only okay for the other person. And again, it’s not on you, and may not even be about you — unless you have been doing anything to keep your partner from feeling safe being honest, which I doubt, as that just doesn’t sound like the kind of person you are — that they withheld the truth from you.

I truly, deeply, hope you can start to let those feelings of shame or inadequacy go and eventually just pitch them in the rubbish bin full-stop. They’re not going to help you, they’re only going to bog you down and make you feel more crummy, scared and confused. They also are not likely to lead you to choices and solutions that do work for you.

That said, I agree that the options you’ve presented here are some options you have. I also agree that with the exception of opening up the relationship — which you make clear one or both of you won’t consider, so it’s a non-option if that’s how one or both of you feels — those options are stinkers. By all means, him agreeing to have sex he doesn’t want, with someone he’s made clear he feels no sexual desire for, is, as you seem to agree, totally not an option at all. Doing that is, I agree, questionably consensual, but it also is nearly guaranteed to make you both feel shittier, not better. You don’t want to have sex with someone who doesn’t want to have sex with you (and you and I seem to feel the same way about that, per that taking even the idea of sex with them off the table if they feel that way is a given). Someone can also like masturbation all they want, but that’s not going to change their desire for sex with a partner, nor does having sex on your own really speak to the fact that you are in a sexual relationship with someone else, one that doesn’t allow you any others, but one that can’t really be a sexual relationship anymore since one person in it’s made clear they feel no desire to have that kind of relationship with you anymore, and even when they did, it wasn’t a good fit for them.

There is, however, another option you didn’t include: splitting up….

heavyboots asks:

I will be a junior in high school next year, and because I’ve been lucky to stumble on a lot of really great sex-positive resources, I’ve learned I have a pretty strong interest in sexuality—as in, studying it/doing something in it as a career. However, getting information about this field is much more difficult than, say, engineering or law. What are jobs within this field, what are areas in college/majors you’d advise, and what are some ways I can get involved now, as a minor? My areas of interest are not really in the medical field—I’m more interested in counseling, giving advice, activism, and education

Also, do you have any advice for telling people about my interest? Right now the only person who knows is my boyfriend, because it’s really difficult for me to trust most other people to not equivocate wanting to study sexuality with being obsessed with having sex. Esp my parents, who are politically liberal in every way except in their parenting. They ask me what I want to do with my life really often, and it’s kinda stressful to not be able to talk to them.

Sam W replies:

Hello Me-from-the-past, I’m glad to see you discovered a means of asking questions of your future self.

I kid, but believe me when I say that your questions strike a chord with anyone who’s found themselves drawn towards sex and sexuality based professions (for the purposes of this articles, I’ll use sex ed as shorthand for all of these jobs, but know that I’m including work such as counseling and activism under that heading). Because wanting to spend your days working with and thinking about sex and sexuality is not a desire that comes with a clear path stretching out before it.

This lack of a clear path is both awesome and terrible. On the one hand, it means that people can come into sex education and related fields from all walks of life, and it means that taking a slight detour doesn’t mean giving up on the path entirely. On the other hand, it can leave people who are just getting started in the field feeling completely lost. So, while I can’t guarantee what your path forward looks like, I can give you some advice on how to get a clearer sense of it.

Read the rest here

A really thoughtful guest post over at Captain Awkward about low moods and how to deal with them.

Pursuing a crush on a teacher, and having sex with someone who is way sure about what they want when you’re so not sure at all: both often recipes for disaster.

In the beginning of a new romantic relationship, our friendships often fall by the wayside. This is common among people of all ages, but it’s usually a pretty easy issue to remedy. If we don’t nip it in the bud, though, it can turn into a more frustrating pattern.

When you’re the friend being ditched, it’s obvious. Many of us unfortunately know the feeling: your best friend who was always there for you got into a romantic relationship and has since basically dropped off the face of the earth. You used to hang out nearly every day: now it’s difficult to even see them for one measly afternoon every couple weeks. Their absence feels purposeful, and it stings. All sorts of negative emotions are brewing.

However, when you’re the friend doing the ditching, you probably don’t even notice at first. The realization may come to you in fragments: for days on end, you’re spending all of your time with your new significant other because it feels like the clear-cut choice. I mean, your friends couldn’t expect you to do anything else, right? Right? You’ve been hoping to meet someone for so long. Now it’s finally happening. How could they be anything less than thrilled for you? Um. Well.

This might be the case in the beginning, but the whole arrangement gets mighty stale after a while. What was cute when you first started dating is now grating on everybody’s nerves. Most friends are understanding at the start, but everybody has a breaking point. When you consistently don’t respond to texts until at least a full twenty-four hours have passed, when you leave every social gathering early to go meet up with your new significant other, when you consistently “forget” to respond to casual invitations for coffee or a movie night…even the most patient among us start to get a little testy.

Odds are, most of us either have been or will be on either side of this dilemma at some point. That is to say, while we may be the ditchee at the moment, we will likely be the ditcher eventually. With this in mind, it’s important we look carefully at both sides without jumping to conclusions or vilifying anyone. It’s not as black-and-white as it might seem. 

Whether you’re currently feeling ditched or doing some largely unintentional ditching, there are things you should do and things you should be wary of as you proceed.

Read the rest at Scarleteen

Jessica68 asks:

I’m 15. Okay, so I do swimming squad, and sometimes it’s embarrassing wearing bathers, cause of pubic hair. I don’t know how to get rid of it. Like once I was at my friends house, and she is obsessed with sex, so she watches porn, and I saw some too, and the women have no pubic hair whatsoever! And I get really bothered about that. I mean, what if I’m going to have sex with a guy, and he’s like “Eww, you’re all hairy. That is disgusting?” I’m really scared about that. If you can help, it would be great! Thanks!

Sam W replies:

Oh, pubic hair. One of those subjects that, when brought up, generally kick-starts a furious debate about which option (shaved, trimmed, left alone) is the most attractive, the most empowered, the most hygienic, etc. And, depending on how much you follow this debate, you may end up feeling like no matter choice you make, it is somehow the “wrong” one.

So, lets get this clear now: whether or not you decide to shave/wax/otherwise groom your pubic hair is completely up to you. Both in terms of what makes you feel comfortable physically (e.g you find one less itchy than the other) and what makes you feel best mentally. Just like you get to make all those same, open choices about what you do with the hair on your head.

Pubic hair is just another part of your body and one that you get to manipulate or leave be as you wish, anytime.

A word about bathing suits and pubic hair. If you’re someone who finds that your hair isn’t completely covered by your bathing suit bottom, you may feel like your groin is surrounded by flashing neon lights reading:

"Now Appearing: Pubes!"

But, in all honesty, other people are probably only noticing them barely or not at all (especially since the same is probably true for them and their pubic hair). For real. Keeping that in mind may help you feel more comfortable.

If you’re still not super comfortable with how prominent your pubic hair is, but you don’t want to deal with shaving, you can always try out a swimsuit with “boy cut bottoms,” as they provide more coverage in that area.

Now, onto your bigger worry that having pubic hair will cause a future partner to be disgusted by you. There’s a few parts of that worry that I’d like to address.

Read the rest here

JanFirst2011 asks:

I am 15 years old and I have only made out once. I do not know the person I made out with, and I don’t exactly remember what it was like. I want to make out with more people, but I am afraid I will not be good at it, I also don’t want to embarrass myself with the person I do make out with. Another thing is, what if the person I do make out with tries to do more with me than I am ready? What should I do and how do you recommend getting over these fears of mine? Thank you!

Heather Corinna replies:

Intimacy is often awkward. And that isn’t a bad thing.

In some ways, I’d even say it’s always awkward, in the sense that it’s never really something that’s exactly easy, especially when we’re just starting to get intimate with someone, rather than when we have been for a long time. Getting and being close to each other physically and emotionally always has its challenges and ways where we make ourselves vulnerable: if it didn’t offer those things, few people would be very interested in sex or other kinds of intimacy in the first place. Getting and being close to each other is a constant process of learning — about the other person and about ourselves — and growth, and learning and growing, especially around things or places that are deep and personal? Awkward. When we learn to walk, we fall over a lot, we’re shaky in our legs, we’re uncertain in our balance. Same goes for learning to be intimate.

The places we usually truly and deeply connect with other people are also most often our more imperfect places, or in our awkward moments. This is why you might hear professional performers say they have this amazing, intimate relationship with their fans, but if you ask them who their most intimate relationships are with, they’re not going to say it’s with their fans. They’re going to tell you it’s with the people who also know them when every step is not rehearsed, the spotlights and makeup are not on, they don’t have staff managing their every move and word, and they’re not having to put so much thought into what they do, but can instead just get comfortable and be who they are, even if they say dumb things out loud sometimes or fall on their faces walking across a room.

One of the benefits of intimacy when it’s right for us is that it can afford us the very fantastic opportunity to be awkward — to be human — and have that be totally okay. Making out with someone isn’t the same thing as say, giving a public speech on television or interviewing for a job: the stakes are a LOT less high and the environment should be a lot more forgiving. I know sometimes it can feel like the stakes are just as high, especially when we’re new to it, when we imagine worst-case scenarios, or when we really, really, really want someone to like us who we like, but the stakes with this stuff really shouldn’t be or feel that high. And in real-deal life, when we’re being intimate with people who care about us, not the super-scary stuff we imagine where our whole world ends from one clumsy kiss, the stakes really aren’t that high. We can fumble and it really will not be a huge deal unless we make it one.

My pitch around worries about sex and intimacy being awkward is for people to try and make peace with awkwardness, rather than trying to avoid it. I suggest that for a couple different reasons. For one, it is largely unavoidable, and I like to avoid getting people invested in fruitless efforts. But experiencing, getting through, accepting and, even more, embracing awkwardness can offer us some potentially positive things. For instance, we can learn to be a little less fearless and afraid of life and living as a whole: we can be more open to taking positive risks that get us and others the good stuff. It can help us get closer with people we want to be close to and have the people who know us know the real us, which is much more valuable to us and them than having them know a persona or only know us when we are trying to be perfect.

When you’re in a time of life like adolescence where it can feel like awkward and unsure is pretty much your EVERY freaking moment, I get that all might seem a bit too rosy. This can be something a lot easier to recognize in hindsight then when you’re in it, and embrace when you feel a little more sure of yourself. At the same time, I still think it’s within reach for you now.

Think about some of the biggest laughs you ever had with friends or family. Or about how you felt with a best friend when they were willing to share something with you they felt embarrassed about they didn’t with anyone else in the world. Or, if it’s happened, when someone told you one of the things they found most beautiful about you was something you actually feel insecure about. Awkward, but awesome, right? That’s the good stuff. That’s the stuff that’s most unique about us and all the millions of moments that make up our lives. So, I don’t know about you, but I’m always cheering for Team Awkward. (And I say this to you as someone who HAS had very awkward and embarrassing moments even when doing things like large-scale public speaking, so if it makes you feel any better, know even that is something most of us can get through and eventually feel okay about.)

I also think that one of the ways we can know that someone we’re choosing to get intimate with — whether we’re talking about making out or way more than making out — is a good choice for us is when we feel pretty okay about potentially fumbling, or things being awkward or embarrassing. In other words, even if and when we still feel a little uncomfortable, we feel safe, we feel like we can trust the other person not to humiliate us or be a jerk, we feel like we’re vulnerable, but that’s something we’re open to and think the other person is likely to handle well. If we don’t feel like that, chances are good that a big part of why is that we know in our heads, hearts or guts, that that person isn’t or might not be someone to be intimate with. These feelings of discomfort or fear when they happen can be great helpers in choosing who to get close to and who to keep your distance from.

Do I expect you to be excited at the prospect of things feeling awkward or you maybe feeling embarrassed or uncertain sometimes? Nope. But my hope is you can get to a point where you feel pretty okay about it happening now and then, because it’s going to.

(The second half of the answer lives here.)

emmelyne asks:

How do I know if my relationship is purely based on lust? I am unsure about the difference between “love” and “lust”. I really really adore my boyfriend, but I wouldn’t call it love yet. We’ve been together almost a couple of months now and I already trust him a lot, he is such a gentleman to me and I even feel ready to have sex with him. But I wouldn’t say I was in love yet. How do I know? Thanks :)

Sam W replies:

The good news is, you’re definitely not the first person to ask this question. People have been trying to parse out what, exactly, constitutes love for most of human history. And who can blame them? Loving someone, and feeling loved in return is, in it’s best form, a really wonderful emotion. And most of us don’t want to miss out on experiencing it. So we look for a formula, an equation, some ultimate, objective definition that will tell us that what we are feeling is capital L Love. But love is more complicated than we’d like it to be, and that’s what makes your question tricky to answer.

Can you guess where I’m going with this? Greece. Greece is where I’m going with this. Because the Greeks, instead of focusing on the idea of one, true version of love, acknowledged that there were many different kinds of love. Now, I am willing to bet that you kind of knew this already. For most of us, the love we feel for a parent, or a close friend, feels somehow distinct from the love we associate with romantic relationships. The Greeks recognized this diversity of loves. For instance, they had a type of love called eros (or eratos in modern Greek). This love can refer to erotic desire and passion or it can simply mean a deep or intimate connection. One thing to notice about this definition is that doesn’t put sexual desire in a separate category from love. And that ties really importantly to your question about whether or not what you’re feeling is “purely” lust.

Lust is often thought of as a less complex emotion than love, because we see it as being “only” about sex. That it’s purely a physical desire, based on how attracted we are to someones body. But, even sexual attraction is variable and personal, and the equation for lust isn’t always as simple as “I think person x is super sexy, ergo I wish to climb them like a tree.” I would argue that, for many people, sexual desire is not purely physical, and that it also has an emotional component.

For instance, I have known many guys whose physical traits made them lust-worthy (by my standards), but who I never actively felt lust for because I found them to be jerks. I couldn’t uncouple the personality from the body. Some people can, others have an even harder time doing so than I do. There can be instances where you care about someone a lot and are comfortable and happy having sex with them but it doesn’t feel like love to you. And you can have a reverse scenario where someone has all the traits you look for and love in a person (brains, a sense of humor, charming smile, etc) but you’re just not feeling any spark of desire. Attraction is weird like that.

Read the rest of the answer here.

-Exes are exes for a reason.

-Someone who is constantly thinking about their ex and comparing you to their ex during sex is a bad sex partner and a bad fit for you.

-To take that a step further, “My ex was into ______ sex act you don’t like, if you really loved me you’d do it, too” is a nasty sexual pressuring tactic and should be given short shrift however you fill in that blank, because that’s how bad, coercive partners behave.

-There is no ultimate & progressive Menu of Sex Acts, where sex with a new person must encompass everything you have ever done in your life to date + everything they have ever done in their life to date in order to be enjoyable, legitimate, hot, etc.

-Some people have very complex sex lives that require extensive production design and stage management (A costume budget! Perhaps membership in a club! The cultivation of a discreet and efficient dry cleaner!) Due to sheer logistics, safety concerns, and (fortunately!) a culture of explicit prior negotiation and consent, dedicated kinksters are unlikely to make assumptions about your desires or spring theirs upon you unawares. In order to get their needs met, they HAVE to bring them up directly and negotiate them explicitly.

-Most people are very capable of mixing, er, genres. There are some people who like only Cerebral Foreign Movies With Female Leads or Darkly Suspenseful British Crime Dramas but most of us can interrupt our marathon of the original Prime Suspect reruns with the occasional Buddy Cop Comedy With Impressive Torsos and Unrealistic Acts of Kicking Things.

-Speaking of genres, knowing what kind of wank-material someone reads or watches tells you little or nothing about what they actually enjoy doing, so please put aside the worry that your sweethearts all *really* want to be kidnapped by gay hobbit pirates who are really brothers and also wizards and who all speak in the voice of Benedict Cumberbatch.
Captain Awkward (x)