“hat’s not sex positivity. It’s sex negativity!” my date shouted from the front seat of the UberPool Prius. Squished next to two strangers on their way to the ER, I was describing to him the sex positivity workshop I’d recently attended in Cow Hollow. I was taken aback by his insistence that he knew what sex positivity was and that I didn’t. I decided not to mention the attendance of Vicki, the velvet vulva puppet, at the workshop, lest she be fetishized as I was for my own attendance. (I was also thinking that ER trips and first dates are both good times to spring for regular Uber rather than UberPool.)
“What is sex positivity?” was the question bouncing around the car. “The opposite of slut shaming?” I guessed aloud. It’s feminist to be sex positive, I thought to myself. According to the Women and Gender Advocacy Center, “sex positivity is simply the idea that all sex, as long as it is healthy and explicitly consensual, is a positive thing.” So, it entails discarding our hang-ups and having a lot of good sex, good kinky sex with equally sex-positive partners — or so I thought.
One person said that her long-term relationship was not progressing to marriage because her sex life was unsatisfying. Another was navigating post-baby sex. We were bright bold women struggling, progressing, wondering, and wanting.
The sex positivity workshop I’d attended at Cow Hollow’s Pink Bunny was MC’d by sex educator and Passion by Kait founder Kait Scalisi and hosted by Good Ol’ Girls. When I got there, I drank a cup — OK, cups — of boxed white wine, checked out the vibrators and penis Peeps (phallic versions of the marshmallow candy), and wished that the edgy bustier came in size Big Boobs.
The evening began with an introduction from each attendee. Who was she? Why did she come? One person said that her long-term relationship was not progressing to marriage because her sex life was unsatisfying. Another was navigating post-baby sex. We were bright bold women struggling, progressing, wondering, and wanting. We didn’t have it figured out or know exactly who we were as “sexual beings.” We were not society’s (my date’s) sex-positive fantasy of sophisticated, sex-possessed, down-to-fuck girls. We were vulnerable.
I was at the workshop because I wanted to find out whether it was possible to be single and feel fulfilled sexually. I sometimes write about my sex life on the Internet. I write about wanting to have sex (a lot) and enjoy myself (a lot), but instead I find myself settling for repeated lackluster encounters. I like to think of myself as sex positive, but I’m constantly discovering the ways I’m repressed. I share my experiences because I think a lot of women can relate to feeling society-limited, self-shackled, and faux-free in a time and place that’s supposed to be a feminist bounty of booty land. I wrote “Your Pussy Is Delicious” because it took a homosexual experience for me to feel as confident as I do now about just one aspect of receiving oral sex. I still worry that it’s taking me too long and that his jaw will soon seize.
“I always squirt, and it’s messy. When is the right time to tell a new partner without being fetishized?”
After the intros, more boxed wine was consumed. Did we have any (anonymous) questions? My friend Kitty’s handwriting was so terrible that when the instructor tried to read her question about group sex positions, she was outed.
Q. My boyfriend wants me to squirt. Is squirting real?
Q. I always squirt, and it’s messy. When is the right time to tell a new partner without being fetishized?
Q. He says that his ex could [insert sex act here], but that’s not my bag. Is there something wrong with me?
At this point, I began to understand that this workshop wasn’t for edutainment. I sensed some anxiety, and not all of it was coming from me. It wasn’t a toy-demonstration fun fest; we wanted better sex and we wanted answers. We wanted reassurance that it was OK to tell a partner to go fuck himself (or his ex) if he didn’t like what we could and would do. We wanted to hear that when it comes to sex, there is no “normal.”
When I meet someone who is eager to talk about sex, I worry that maybe he’s not at all interested in commitment.
I know I’m not the only one who has felt repressed by “normal.” I have had bad sex as a single person. And I always blame myself — because when it’s terrible for me, I don’t speak up. I don’t say, “Hey, Mister, your penis is so big it scares me.” I just bleed all over and never hear from him again. I don’t say, “Bud, your penis is so small I don’t know how to keep it in. Any tips?” I’m told that I’m frigid and never hear from him again.
I don’t show or tell him how to give me an orgasm, or maybe I’ll move his hand but just once. He knows where my clitoris resides (yay!) but roughs me up with laser precision and focuses on that one spot, tippy top (sad trombone). I don’t ask for anything from him, like that we use lubricant or breath mints. I shut down and become a prop. I wait for him to finish. I fake it. I never hear from him again.
On the flip side, when I meet someone who is eager to talk about sex, I worry that maybe he’s not at all interested in commitment. Yet I try to talk about what I like and where I might need work before having sex. I usually get a very confident response from potential partners. They’re different, better, bigger. They know they’ll succeed. Everyone else was the problem, then I’m the problem, and then it’s done. End of conversation. There’s always someone better, prettier, more sex positive, and DTF one or two swipes away.
At the workshop, I did learn something new about my body (thanks to Vicki for the demo): one side of a woman’s clitoris is more sensitive than the other. I also learned that telling someone what you like and need before having sex is good foreplay. As my friend Kitty put it, “I learned that there is no normal — it’s all relative to my comfort level. To be more communicative about my needs and desires, I should talk about them when I’m not actually having sex, and I can ask questions in a nonthreatening way and listen to what the other person is actually saying.”If there’s one way that texting is actually good for communication IMO, it’s in creating a nonthreatening environment for expressing sexual needs and desires. It’s easier for me to write that I’ve had only one vaginal orgasm than to say it to someone I’m just getting to know.
We also learned or were reminded of the “yes/no/maybe” list, a tool for communicating and comparing notes. These lists came out of BDSM communities (like that part of the Fifty Shades of Grey contract where she says no to cutting and animals) but there are less intense lists available. There’s the app PlsPlsMe, a sexy, gamified conversation starter. PlsPlsMe was developed by a Mormon virgin bride who was looking to get in touch with her sexuality and make sex with her husband more satisfying. It’s a yes/no/maybe list that comes in the form of a deck of cards. You and your partner respond yes, no, or maybe to each item in a list of sexy activities, and when you both say yes, the app sends a notification. The cards are also customizable so that you don’t have to stick to a script.
The invitation for the sex positivity event promised that “you will come away with a deepened understanding of sex-positivity, as well as tips, tools, and other resources to allow you to feel more educated and empowered about your sex life!” The workshop empowered me to have more and better conversations about sex. It reminded me that it’s worth trying and then trying some more to negotiate often-tricky sex frontiers. I’m not the only person with the skills, commitment, and attention to detail necessary to make me cum. I’m DTF and my sex life doesn’t have to suck. Go me and my Vicki. Go you and yours.
