And Then I Squirted

This past autumn, my on again off again (now ex) boyfriend and I were emotionally masturbating each other and hanging out again.

It was the usual pattern, we would go months without talking and then hang out together “platonically” — meaning that we went on dates while refraining from touching each other until the end of the night, when we’d inevitably have sex and re-confess our love for each other.

On this particular occasion we went to MoMa PS1, did shrooms, and fell back in love. Evidently, there was already some magic in the air, because when we were having sex, I squirted.

Obviously, we got back together.

But I was in shock. I didn’t realize that squiriting was such a distinct experience. I just assumed that I had squirted before and hadn’t realized it. I thought it was one of the many vaginal fluids that got mixed up in the heat of the moment — but this was different. It was definitely a squirt, and it was big.

I was on top of him when I felt an orgasm begin and not stop. He was covered in it and so were the sheets. In that moment the debate on whether a squirt was pee or not seemed ridiculous to me. If that was pee, it was the most romantic pee I’ve ever seen.

Despite the uptick in our sex life, from that point forward, I couldn’t help but notice that he was trying to make me squirt again. The only problem was that my squirting experience had been a cosmic event. Not only was I on shrooms at the time, but I also got my period the next day. I was in-between ovulation and menstruation; at peak sensitivity. It was as if the stars aligned for that very moment. I was fine at leaving it at that, but he seemed fixated upon it; trying to achieve that magical squirt again.

I haven’t squirted since. I’ve even tried to duplicate the circumstances of that special night, but nonetheless, no squirt.

My one magical squirt experience got me thinking– what is a squirt?

I did my best to investigate the fluid online, but the lack of research I found on the female orgasm was astonishing. The information that I did find was filled with misconceptions or something my partner invalidated. For example, in the early 20th century, Freud declared that mature women orgasm from vaginal penetration, whereas immature women (girls) orgasm from clitoral stimulation.

If you’re an adult woman who orgasms from clitoral stimulation, you could be considered sexually immature or even mentally ill. Freud and other doctors continued to preach this information for the next hundred years, following its original publishing in 1905. It wasn’t until 2005 when Llyod concluded that a majority of women do not routinely orgasm from intercourse. So we are fresh off 100 years of believing that mature women orgasm the correct way, from vaginal penetration. And also that we want to fuck our dads.

In recent years much more research has been done on the female orgasm as well as female ejaculate. However, many questions still remain unanswered. According to International Society for Sexual Medicine, between 10 and 50 percent of women ejaculate during sex. There are two types of female ejaculate: squirting fluid; a colorless and odorless fluid, and ejaculate fluid; a a thicker fluid which more closely resembles that of male ejaculate.

However, the International Society for Sexual Medicine asserts that scientists haven’t quite determined the source of sexual fluid. Scientists believe that squirt is actually fluid that’s built up during arousal and is then released through the urethra. Though it has been controversial for years as to whether or not female ejaculate is actually pee or diluted pee. Also, the fluid can build up in the prostate and be released in the pee, not during sex. So sometimes you’re squirting and you don’t even know it.

I squirted for the first time in my life when I was 22, after six years of being sexually active. There’s so much pressure to cum in contemporary society that it took me a long time to figure out even how to relax during sex and let nature take its course. I had been masturbating since I was 8 years old — that I had on lock. But integrating a partner into the mix was something that took time and experience.

For everyone out there who has yet to squirt I want to tell you that it is possible and don’t feel inadequate if you haven’t yet. While it is an amazing feeling, you can still have an incredible orgasm without it. The vagina is a mysterious muscle. Often, there’s no clear cut formula to cumming — everyone gets there differently.

The important thing is to relax and enjoy however you receive pleasure, and recognize that everyone’s experience is entirely unique. One day the stars will align for you like they did for me.

Photo (in order of appearance) by Nyle Rosenbaum, Alexa Fahlman, and Cheyenne Morschl-Villa.

What I Learned from Not Looking for Sex

I like to have sex. I enjoy it more some days than others, but I can say I like having sex — maybe even love it.

I love the way it makes me feel to know I secured the person at the bar everyone else was scoping out. I love the way sex feels underneath my skin and in my bones, and how it feels to be seen through the eyes of someone else. I love the power and control sex gives me, which is something I don’t always seize as a woman today. I would say I love almost everything about it. Almost.

What I didn’t love was the subtle creeping way it changed my relationship with myself. I no longer trusted my own opinion but deferred to asking what *insert name here* would think of me.

I stood in front of the mirror, morning after morning, asking myself, “Will my guy friends think I look hot in this?” I’d think back to a previous compliment and torment myself over how to be noticed in a similar way — one that worked as well the night before.

“Skirt because you can see my legs, or pants because they’re tighter on my butt?”

The more sex I had, the more I craved the validation it gave me. It was almost like something I couldn’t give myself, or at the very least, something I didn’t know how to give myself. But, when and why did this act I love so much begin to make me value the opinion of someone else rather than my own intuition?

Taking a break from sex wasn’t something I intentionally sought out, but over the past six months, I let the notion of seeking out sex vacate my mind. While six months may seem like a blip to some people, pausing my sex life for that long was difficult. It was especially difficult journey for the six inches between my head and my heart.

At first, I thought I was just tired of the effort sex required, the constant attempt to look perfect (whatever that means), to keep my phone within arm’s reach, and the refusal to make concrete plans in the event that a better offer arose. But, that wasn’t the real problem at all. I know I craved human connection, but at what cost? I couldn’t figure out why was I so willing to throw all my efforts into how I looked, forcing all other parts of me to take the backseat.

Sometime between going to bed alone every night and waking up alone every morning, I started to become interested in myself and who I had become.

Days of being by myself turned into weeks which turned into months, and with this passage of time my mindset shifted. I started treating myself with actual care, cherishing my own opinions dearly as they were often the only ones present. I had more time to do what made me happy and to explore things I thought might make me happy. As I continued on, my need to search for sex became less and less. And, I say “need” because it was first and foremost a need, not a want — something I resulted to when I needed to feel good about myself when the exploration of my own validation seemed too daunting to tackle.

I took long walks with no particular destination in mind but simply with the intention of feeling myself carried by my own two feet. I felt liberated as a woman in a new way, differently form when I had first felt sexual liberation. I felt free of the label I had put on myself which read, “I’d rather be with someone else than be alone,” which is what I thought a young woman should want. A partner, a “provider”, a person to make me whole… But that was no longer my truth — I’m not sure if it ever really was — maybe, I just thought that way before this experience.

My truth is that I much prefer to spend time alone than to have sex at this moment in my life. I’m not saying that I no longer crave intimacy because I often do, but are intimacy and sex really the same thing? Can I be fulfilled through sex if I’m only doing it to be recognized and essentially worshiped by my partner(s)? And, more importantly, to avoid being alone? These questions are among countless that remain unanswered.

I’ve learned a great deal about myself simply by eradicating the intention of actively seeking out sexual partners. At first, it was uncomfortable, mostly because of the lifestyle I had been leading.

A typical Saturday night used to look like this: attend a sporting event where seeking sex was the game and my friends and I were the players. But, the more I questioned why it was hard to give up sex as a replacement for self validation, the more I discovered the doubts I had about and within myself. My own lack of self worth revealed the trust issues I have — not with other people, but with myself.

Now, as I reflect back almost two years later, I’m still learning a whole lot about who I am… all twenty-four years of me.

I’ve learned about my real weaknesses and my real insecurities. I’ve gotten to know parts of myself I never wanted to know and learned to love them anyways. I’ve learned to embrace my loneliness and doubt. I know now what it feels like to be a woman in her 20s who doesn’t need sex, even though the desire may always be there. I’ve learned how to love and how to share that love through silence and kindness. I’ve learned how to leave my heart open even on days when I get nothing in return. I am learning to love those days no matter what..

So, here’s to honoring and loving oneself. And to all the people I haven’t had sex with in the past two years who I love, and who love me anyways.

Photos (in order of appearance) by Kaela Smith, Uma Schupfer, and Sweet Suezy.

Safer Sex 101

Most people don’t want to wear or use protection.

I know I’m not supposed to say that as a sex educator, but then again, maybe that’s precisely what I’m supposed to say — because it’s the truth.

I’m not going to babble on for several paragraphs trying to convince anyone that putting a thin plastic casing over their genitals is going to make sex feel better. Everyone is entitled to know the facts, and the fact is that sex feels better without condoms/dental dams. However, since we’re on the topic of fact-telling, I have a few more I would like to share…

1. If worn correctly every single time, condoms have a 98% chance of preventing pregnancy.

2. Condoms and dental dams are the only known way to prevent the transmission of STIs.

3. One in two sexually active persons will contract an STI by age 25.

4. The CDC estimates that nearly 20 million new STIs occur every year in this country; half of those are among young people aged 15–24.

5. The herpes infection is common. About 1 in 8 people aged 14-49 in the U.S. has genital herpes.

6. Symptoms of genital herpes often go unnoticed. Most people with genital herpes — close to 90% — don’t know they have the infection.

7. Rates of reported chlamydia are highest among adolescent and young adults and have increased in recent years. In 2017, almost two-thirds of all reported chlamydia cases were among persons aged 15–24 years.

8. In 2017, a total of 555,608 cases of gonorrhea were reported to CDC, making it the second most common notifiable condition in the United States.

9. Since reaching a historic low in 2001, the rate of Syphilis has increased almost every year, increasing 10.5% during 2016–2017.

10. According to CDC, 1.1 million people in the US are living with HIV, and 1 in 7 of them don’t know it.

11. CDC estimates that undiagnosed STIs cause 24,000 women to become infertile each year.

12. Condoms and dental dams are FREE at Planned Parenthoods and most health clinics.

* * *

Now, first things first… please don’t misinterpret my telling you these facts as a scare tactic or as a means to further stigmatize sexually transmitted infections.

Numerous people don’t even experience symptoms when they do contract an STI. Almost all STIs are easily treated, and those that aren’t (for example, herpes and HIV) have daily medications which can suppress the virus so that people never experience symptoms and never pass it on to their partner, even without using a condom during sex.

So, if you do get an STI, I promise you that it’s not the end of the world. You are among the vast majority of humans on this earth, and you will have sex again.

The reason I am including all of these facts about protection and STIs is because many people either don’t know this information, or they don’t know where to find this information. You need to understand the risk that is involved when you have unprotected sex, and more importantly, you need to know that almost all of these risks go away when you have protected sex. So, the take-aways…

There are multiple STIs in the world.
Even though STIs are not the end of the world, transmission rates are increasing.
Some STIs can have long-term health consequences.
Each of them can be prevented, as can pregnancy, by taking two extra minutes to put on a condom or a dental dam — which are free at countless locations.

Sure, sex might feel slightly less satisfying when you wear a condom, but it’s worth it.

To be clear: having sex without a condom does feel better, but not by too much. It’s like the cherry on top of an already delicious ice cream sundae.

Is the cherry a nice addition? Totally! But when it cums down to it, the sundae is the main event, and the cherry is just a bonus. And, if including the cherry comes with multiple risks, do you really need it? No.

Okay, so, you know the risks of not wearing a condom. Now, let’s review how to put them on correctly, which is almost as important as wearing one in the first place. Condoms are 98-99% effective.*

*ONLY WHEN WORN CORRECTLY EVERY SINGLE TIME.

How to put a condom on a penis…

Step 1:

Open the condom with your fingers — not with your teeth or scissors — to avoid tearing or ripping the condom.

Step 2:

When you place the condom on the head of the penis, make sure it is on the right way (it should look like a little hat, with the rim on the outside) so that you can easily unroll it.

Step 3:

Before rolling the condom down the shaft, pinch the tip of the condom so there is a little bit of space for the semen to collect at the top.

Step 4:

Unroll the condom down the shaft of the penis all the way to the base.

Step 5:

After you ejaculate, make sure you hold the base of the condom when you pull out of your partner’s body so that it doesn’t slip off and semen spills out. Throw it away in the trash, not down the toilet!

How to put on an internal condom…

Step 1:

Open the condom with your fingers, not with your teeth or scissors to avoid tearing or ripping the condom.

Step 2:

For anal sex, remove the inner ring. For vaginal sex, keep the inner ring in.

Step 3:

For anal sex, you can just push the condom in with a finger, but be sure to use plenty of lube! For vaginal sex, squeeze together the inner ring (on the closed end of the condom) and put it in like you would a tampon.

Step 4:

Make sure the condom isn’t twisted before pulling your finger out. Allow the outer ring to be about an inch around the opening to the vagina or anus.

Step 5:

When your partner is pulling out be sure the outer edges of the condom are held in place to avoid any spillage. Remove and throw into trash.

How to use a dental dam (barrier method used for oral sex)…

Step 1:

Open the dam with your fingers, not with your teeth or scissors to avoid tearing or ripping the condom.

Step 2:

Place the dental dam over the vulva or over the anus lightly; you don’t need to stretch it over or slap it on there. Most of them will adhere to the body part they are over due to natural moisture/lube.

Step 3:

Now go down and go to town! When you remove be sure to throw into trash and not down the toilet!

* * *

Alrighty! Now you know why you need to use barrier methods when you have sex, and how to put on a variety of these barrier methods. But, knowing and actually doing are two very different things.

Most people already know that they should use a condom or dental dam, but the real issue is that most people don’t want to, which can be attributed to two reasons:

1. People think sex with condoms/dams doesn’t feel as good.

2. People think condoms/dams kill the mood.

We’ve already covered why the first reasoning is flawed. However, in addition to the pleasure factor, many people believe that asking to use a condom or a dental dam will be a turn off or blatantly upsetting to their partner. First of all, if you are worried about your partner’s reaction, or you’re specifically worried that they are going to get angry — they’re not someone you want to be fucking anyway.

But if you’re still concerned, there are multiple ways to turn safe sex into hot sex! The two are not, nor have they ever been, mutually exclusive.

I have encountered plenty of situations in which I was too nervous to ask to use a condom, so trust that I know the struggle. Still, there’s no reason to that this aspect of the sexual experience can’t be fun, flirty, and part of foreplay. Check out just a few of the options below:

Use your words…

Worried about losing some of the heat when you ask to use a condom? Turn it back up by using dirty talk. Try out a few of these lines in the bedroom and see how fast they get the condom/dam out of their wallet.

“There’s no way a condom will be able to fit over your huge dick, but I need to find out for myself…”

“I bet that even through a dam I’ll be able to find your clit faster than any guy can.”

“Nothing gets me harder than watching you put that condom on me.”

“I like putting a condom in you, because I know I’m going to get to cum inside you.”

Use your hands…

Instead of having your partner put the condom on themselves, do it for them. Start by lubing them up good and wet before you combine your hand-jobbing skills with your condom application skills.

Use your mouth..

Although using your mouth to put a condom on your partner’s penis may take some practice, especially since you need to be careful about not accidentally ripping the condom with your teeth, but it will definitely be the opposite of a turn off. For dams, try using your tongue to apply the dam, like a grown up version of pin the tail on the donkey, only now its pin the protection on the pussy.

Make it a game…

Condoms on the Clock:

See who can put the condom on correctly the fastest. Keep score of who wins. Whoever gets the most points get a special treat from the losing partner….

Dam on the Cam:

What better way to enjoy oral sex with your partner than to film it so you can watch it again and again. Of course, not everyone will be comfortable with this, and as we hopefully all know: consent is a necessity! But, those who are interested, be sure to both take turns being the eater and the eated. Watch with each other to see the faces of pleasure. Warning: re-watching may lead to a redo!

Use special condoms, lubes, and/or dams..

There are so many different kinds of fun condoms, lubes, and dams to try out with your partner(s) that can make including them in your sex life much more pleasurable than if you hadn’t! There are varieties of ribbed condoms, there are multi-colored condoms, flavored lubes, lubes that change from warm to cool, flavored dams… the list goes on and on! Go shopping for them with your partner(s) for some added foreplay!

All sex should be and feel safe — in every sense of the word. Now go hump away!

Art by Ezra Covalt and photo by Nyle Rosenbaum.

What I Learned From Sleeping with Older Men

At the beginning of the year, I unconsciously embarked on an odd sexual journey: everyone I slept with was six to twelve years my senior.

I got out of my longest relationship back in November of 2017. For me, this meant that after a month of mourning, I chose to go through the stereotypical bucket list every recently-heartbroken RomCom protagonist makes for herself. This, of course, included casual sex.

But the question remained, why was I only devoting my attention towards men in this particular age range?

After stepping into my twenties, I began to look for deeper qualities in potential partners other than “attractive”, “nice”, and “doesn’t hate his parents.” I found myself blocking out every man with a little drive, ambition, or creative output. This, in turn, resulted in me blocking out everyone who was not successful in their field, or had minimal motivation to move up the ladder. Subsequently, I had zero luck finding people my age that I was not only attracted to but also not bored by. I only wanted to be intimate with people I could really click with. So with my own blessing, I began to have sex with “older” men.

“Refreshing” is the first word that comes to mind when thinking about these new interactions. It was nice being able to connect with guys who I found deeply interesting. Guys who knew how to hold a mature conversation, as well as guys who didn’t constantly quote The Office, or play Chance The Rapper’s Acid Rap after dubbing it a musical masterpiece. Not to mention, I was awed by their confidence and honesty. And the sex was far better!

Although sleeping with relatively older men benefited me in most ways, it still damaged me in others. I was having a lot of fun, but I also noticed a change in my overall behavior.

As someone who is easily overwhelmed, the aftermath of these encounters drove me insane.

I was genuinely happy for all the guys I was being intimate with, but I couldn’t help but envy them for their professional success, financial independence, and sense of direction. I wanted to feel like I could relate to them in those ways, but as an anxious junior in college, I was only halfway there. Unsurprisingly, this caused me to underestimate my worth for not being able to achieve things that I was perfectly capable of doing, but for which I was simply (and rightfully) not ready.

Though the resulting self-deprecation began long ago, it only started to sting more recently.

Last month, I started sleeping with someone who most wouldn’t hesitate to call “perfect.” Despite this and our capacity to get along well, we were simply at different parts of our lives.

While I opened up about my frustrations regarding final exams, he told me about his duties as a small business owner, how he had to play golf with some clients, or how his friends were either getting married or having kids. Again, this sent me spiraling into unhealthy thoughts, like, Why haven’t I done that yet? It was as if every time I met up with him, I was no longer a girl in her early twenties, but rather, an odd, ageless being, attempting to morph into someone and something she wasn’t.

Putting all of these men’s triumphs on pedestals caused me to undermine my own. I began to doubt my abilities, and despite being happy for the things I was accomplishing, I felt like they were never enough compared to my sexual partners’.

Eventually, I grew sick of placing my partners and myself on a scale. There was nothing fun about going over to their place with a smile on my face, only to return home hours later with tears in my eyes. I became obsessed with the idea of growing up, only because I wanted to feel as fortunate and successful as them. I knew it was unhealthy, but I didn’t know how to stop it. So, I asked for help.

A week’s worth of strenuous healing and a therapy session is all it took for me to get back on track. I was given the tools to realize that being in the 26-32 age range is a beautiful thing, but so is being in your early twenties. Sure, in my case, there’s not loads of financial independence or luxurious job opportunities, but I am still doing well.

Comparing yourself to other people is the worst kind of mental self-infliction, and I had hurt myself everywhere.

I don’t blame my sexual partners for what I went through. They have the right to talk about their lives, and censoring certain aspects of it to please me (or anyone) seems ridiculous and unrealistic. I was just handling the information I was given poorly. I just needed to remember that I have the tools and resources to go as far as they’ve gone. To expect me to be there now, however, is simply unfair.

I do not think on these relationships with bitterness, but rather, with gratitude. If it wasn’t for the raw exposure to their sexual and professional personas, I wouldn’t have come face to face with such difficult thoughts, and thus learned to appreciate my youth, among other things.

I have no idea if I could ever seriously date anyone who falls under the 26-32 category. I now know I am deeply attracted to someone’s passion, dedication, and ability to be a hard worker. As much as I hate to generalize, I haven’t found any of those qualities in men my age.

In a way, I’ve given up on them. I’m sure they’re out there, but frankly, I’m tired of overthinking whether or not it’s acceptable for me to keep my older streak going. I personally see no danger in it, and I’m proud to admit that despite once feeling ridiculously anxious over this situation, I’ve come out a winner.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with searching for those desired attributes, whether it manifests in a serious or strictly physical manner. If the only candidates happen to be older — as well as respectful and genuine — then there’s no harm.

So, should you try sleeping with older men? Only if you really want to (and it is, of course, legal and consensual).

Personally, I learned a lot about myself, but such a revolutionary experience is by no means guaranteed. If nothing else, these men set the bar high. Though it took me a while to find a balance of appreciating their success without comparing it to my own, dating older men did make me realize that I am worthy of a partner who is not only kind, but also diligent and innovative.

Of course, I could’ve done this without the help of a man — it just happened to unravel this way. If you choose to date older, my only advice is to stay grounded. Know that no matter how much you may have in common, some significant differences will always remain. Have fun, while keeping tabs on your mental health.

At the end of the day, there is nothing more important.

Giphy by Waywardteacup.

First photo by Sohpie Kubinyi, and the following by Cordelia Ostler.

Thank U, Next

I’m so fuckin’ grateful for my ex…

___

I was supposed to lose my virginity when I turned twenty-three. Not necessarily on my birthday, just within shooting range of my “Jordan year.”

There was neither a plan nor itinerary attached to the event except to find a consenting partner and to do the deed. According to my timeline, revised over years of restless nights and diet consultations with an eating disorder, twenty-three gave me enough time to become desirable — that is to say twenty-three years gave me enough time to lose weight. And not just the physical weight on my body, but the emotional weight of living on the margins of normality as a fat, black, queer teenager.

Twenty-three felt distant enough from seventeen that I could manifest my future, one that was completely in my control and within the realm of reality. I forgot that this was imagination.

I was nineteen when I actually lost my virginity. The dawning of the digital dating age expedited that process with access to the world (at least anyone within a 100 mile radius of my current location) and effectively deluded my perceptions of desire. Of the millions of fish in the sea, I am destined to catch at least one. There’s someone for everyone, right?

Logan happened to be someone.

We were both nineteen, attending university in North Carolina, looking for “fun and seeing wherever it goes” on Tinder. Tinder was less intimidating than other gay, hook up apps like Grindr — which required too much experience. Top? Bottom? Kink? Right now? All questions I couldn’t possibly answer without having the experience to know for sure. Tinder was safe and so was Logan: 5’9”, white, blonde with dark eyes. Handsome but not so much that he was unattainable. And most importantly, we matched.

Logan was into bears. He mentioned it during a flirty text exchange. It wasn’t a “thing” — it was just how his cookie crumbled.

Up until meeting Logan, my sexual partners had all been fat. But I was not attracted to fat people. I had no desire to be with people who reflected the physical traits I disdained. I avoided any pornography that featured fat bodies. And that cognitive dissonance made arousal with those partners impossible. My options were slim, and I found myself in a rush to the virginity finish line.

We met at his university, a forty minute drive from mine. Logan was shy in person, almost sheepish. His bold, well-calculated responses via text fell flat in person. It often felt like I eclipsed him. He gave me a long tour of campus, pointing out which fraternities had the highest population of queer folks, then showing me where he had sex for the first time. And finally we stopped in the arboretum where I would bloom for him.

I remember refusing to take my shirt off. Logan gracefully placed my hands on the bed and took it off for me. His eyes traveled from my forehead down to my neck and then to my chest. He stopped there.

It was the first time that someone admired that part of my body. Desired it. And there, in those five seconds, I understood desire — there were no doubts, no questions. Just an incredible security and safety in the gaze of my partner. I worked years to de-sexualize my body — to deny it pleasure and the sanctity of love. Though the shame lingered, I decided to surrender to desire in this moment. And that became the duality of my sexual experiences thereafter: a persistent feeling of inadequacy despite partners who expressed their sexual interest.

After that first encounter, I made up for lost time, treating myself to hours of bear porn, Tumblr hoes, snapping nude selfies, feeling and exploring all of the darkest and least “admirable” parts of my body. This was an expedition, a series of small explorations and trips around myself.

Porn helped. Seeing fat bodies represented as sexual, autonomous, and confident dedicated me to the process of knowing, feeling, and sharing myself. It forced me to confront what I already knew: I’m fucking hot. Affirmations from my partner helped, too, but nothing fulfilled me more than my own sex. I was drunk on myself, the hangover cured by the embrace of a man more sure of my beauty than I was.

After we ended our relationship I remember feeling an intense loneliness.

In my solitude I returned to moments in our partnership that went ignored for the sake of companionship. I remembered asking if my penis was big enough for him. And asking if he was sure his attraction wasn’t momentary. I remembered comparing myself to his other partners — was I too fat? Was I not fat enough? The years after our separation looked and sounded the same. Why was I not good enough for him? But I never asked why I was not good enough for myself.

To be desired is to not ask if you are desirable. It is a state of knowing, reinforced by depictions from television and magazines and peers and porn. So the under-representation of people like me — fat, queer, and black — on television, in magazines and in porn enforces more than a lack of societal desire: it erases me. How does one exist in the absence of himself? And so I am: absent.

Logan helped me to see myself.

Literally. I had never seen myself, at least in a way that I wanted to. Our relationship was the first time I gave into myself, but at the expense of attaching my value to his desire. When he didn’t want me, I didn’t want myself. And that’s the weight so many fat bodies bear — without any affirmations of our beauty from the world around us, we must rely on ourselves to define the standard, or else all of our desire is contingent upon the pursuit of our fetishized bodies.

One may argue that all attraction is fetish. But try explaining that to a fat, black queer person who is consistently reminded of their marginalized status in a world that only seeks their sex in the shadows.

Thank you, Logan, for walking me to the door that I would open and find myself. And find many selves. And selves yet to be touched or desired.

Thank you, next…

___

Art by Emily Millar.

Chasing That High

*The following may be is triggering to those affected by substance abuse/addiction.

Five. That’s the number of pills I had left.

I stared at the baggy, shocked by how many that meant I had taken that day. I must have miscounted, and somehow, the second time I opened the bag, five more pills would surely appear right before my eyes. But this was not the case.

I shoved the bag into my pocket as my girlfriend walked in and asked if I was ready to go. We had planned on going to a friend’s party later that night — something we both always looked forward to. She knew about the drugs, or at least what I decided to tell her. To her, I was simply a guy who liked to get high once in a while. She had no idea as to the extent of my addiction — the toll that it took on me emotionally, physically, and even on our own relationship.

After spending the night drinking at our friend’s house, we decided to Uber to hers. Feeling the positive momentum of the night, we started hooking up as we sprawled out across her oversized fluffy bed. I could tell she wanted to have sex, and I did too. But instead of relishing in that reality, I felt a wave of fear wash over my mind.

How many pills had I taken that day? Would I even be able to get hard? Would I enjoy myself at all?

This was the part of my drug use that I had to constantly hide. How it left me feeling so aroused, but barely able to get hard. Sometimes I couldn’t even cum. I would go at it for two hours hoping and hoping that I’d finally be able to finish, only to end up having to fake an orgasm. The drugs were stealing from me the thing I valued most: connecting with her in one of the most intimate ways I knew how.

I briefly considered giving them up and returning fully to the girl I loved, before a flurry of fear and self-doubt quickly pushed all hope of quitting far away. I knew I could never truly give myself to her while I was high, and I constantly lived with that guilt.

Half of me tried to blame her accepting nature for my addiction — as if I would quit the second she told me to, absolving me of all responsibility for my actions. Deep down I knew this couldn’t go on forever. One day we went up to San Francisco during Christmas break to spend the day shopping and eating. I couldn’t have been happier. Everything was decorated beautifully. I was getting to experience it all with the girl I loved the most. It looked like something out of a movie. Yet I still found myself sneaking away for a moment to slip my hand into my pocket, fish out a pill, and quickly swallow — no water needed. I was an expert by now.

The guilt I always felt was quickly replaced by shame. I had everything I ever wanted in the world right in front of me, but I still felt the need to get high. Even worse, I knew that no matter how much we both enjoyed each other’s company that day or any other day, the experience would never culminate in the deeply passionate sex I used to know.

I wish I could say the problems I experienced ended with the physical, but that was just the beginning.

After a while I found myself needing more and more pills to feel as good as I used to from one (you all know how the story goes). Whenever I didn’t have enough to keep me high, I would look at her with pure contempt whenever she spoke. When I was craving, everything about the girl I supposedly loved left me with a feeling of rage, my mind preoccupied with how I was going to get that next pill. I’d lie almost constantly, making excuses to leave her so I could pick up. I would go to the bathroom sometimes twice during one meal. Eventually, everything came to a boiling point.

I experienced a rare moment of clarity and decided that it wasn’t fair to either of us for this to continue. I promised myself that that was the last time I would allow a substance to get in the way of what was probably the best thing that had ever happened to me.

The following two weeks were hard, but as I felt myself being purged of all the drugs, I knew my decision was the right one. When I looked at my girlfriend, that rush of endorphins that was once so familiar returned and I was filled with a euphoria that no drug could ever come close to producing.

Our sex life became full of the passionate vigor that I always wished for, and my body finally felt clean and free. I realized that the high I had been chasing was right in front of me the whole time, and it blew everything else out of the water.

As cliché as it may sound, love can be a drug, and without it, I fear I would have never been able to break free from my addiction.

Photos by Haley Hasen.

Euphemia on Sex Ed, Kink, and Butt Plugs

RoleModel is an interview series highlighting badass individuals.

When we first start having sex, it is easy to believe that fast and rough sex is good sex — blind to the spectrum of experiences. Certified pleasure educator Euphemia Russell wants people to explore their bodies through science, communication, and body autonomy.

In fact, they want to see a cultural shift of how society views it. Russell founded the website and blog I Wish You Knew as a platform to share information to assist people wanting to navigate their bodies with a new light — whatever that looks like for each individual. From the classic latex to the more niche kinks, this self-proclaimed dork wants to find what pleases you.

I had the pleasure of talking to the 30 year-old San Francisco resident about kinkiness, pleasure as a tool for health, and their upcoming workshops — including a butt plug dance party in Oakland.

Can you start by describing your work?

Russell: I am a pleasure educator who started my own business I Wish You Knew. It is a platform to share practical information with adults on how they can explore their pleasure, bodies and communication. I also do workshops, blogs, consultations, and soon online courses.

Why did you start I Wish You Knew?

I came and spent six months in San Francisco, I realized there are so many amazing people making a core vocation out of sex and pleasure education for adults. I was like hell yeah I want to do that.

Growing up in Australia, what were the challenges you faced in expressing your sexuality?

The sex education I got was mostly scare tactics and heteronormative. Focusing on penis, vagina penetration. A lot was about reproduction and there was nothing about pleasure. There was never actually any talk about how sex is supposed to be fun.

How would you like to see sex education changed?

I would like to see it being sex positive. Celebrating whatever people’s needs, wants, and identities are. It could be having no wish to have sex and supporting them to do that. Or people who are potentially really slutty and celebrating that too. For young people what I would really like to see is them understanding their bodies and autonomy.

That is why I talk about pleasure autonomy, the nervous system and understanding the science behind pleasure. A lot of it is cultivated through experience. So encouraging people to explore what feels good in a way which doesn’t encourage shame, unless that is something they are into.

How can pleasure be a tool to better a person’s health?

I talk about how pleasure is health. In our society it is seen as an indulgence or distraction. Talking about the nervous system — if you move from the fight or flight state, which is the sympathetic state we are so often stuck in and shifting to the parasympathetic state, which is like rest and digest. This is when your anal sphincters relax, and when your immune system kicks in, when you are able to digest food and you start lubricating. Being in that state is good for your health, and gives you time to regenerate. There needs to be a big cultural shift. Having pleasure in your life is not a distraction, it can be a tool for your physical and mental health.

On your site you say, “It’s not about ‘being good at sex or spicing up your sex life.’ It’s about body autonomy.’” Can you talk about what you mean by body autonomy?

First and foremost your body is your body. You decide exactly what you want to do with it. It is no one else’s, you don’t owe anyone else your body. It is knowing what you want, need, and desire. Then having a relationship with your body so you can feel connected to the subtleties, nuances and what feels good, instead of rationalizing situations just in your mind.

So you have been teaching sex education in schools around San Francisco. What subjects make up the curriculum?

We teach much more beyond STIs, birth control and reproduction. We teach puberty to eight and nine years old, so hopefully before they go through puberty they actually know what is happening. Then we build up each year to 15-year-olds. We go into healthy relationships talking about sexual harassment, assault and rape, and understanding how to look after yourself online — porn consumption and sexting. We also talk about the basics of pleasure and information around health.

I think sex education now is completely lacking discourse around digital communication.

Yes, there is a whole other realm of how to look after yourself. It is a hard time to be growing up.

So you also run adult kink workshops?

I do three fundamental workshops at the moment. One is the ‘Kinky science of pleasure’, one is ‘Know your sexy parts’ — which is about pleasure anatomy. The third is ‘Know your fantasy and desires.’

Define what a kink is?

I don’t love the word kink, because sex is weird for everyone — there is no normal. But basically kink is the less common practices or fantasies, desires that people have, which maybe are not as known or accepted. I think kink has become a fashionable aesthetic, but it is a narrow representation. For example, black, red, leather and latex. But it can look literally any way. And it is the same with sex. Pleasure and sex can look literally any way. It doesn’t have to be a particular way, it’s not prescriptive.

For someone who might be interested in attending, can you give a sneak description of your upcoming kink workshop in California?

The ‘Kinky science of pleasure’ will be about going through waves to regulate your body, getting into your parasympathetic state of your nervous system. Then tips for magnifying your pleasure that aren’t considered common. It ranges from impact play to spanking to various different toys and technique. It is for all bodies and genders.

Then I have butt plug dance party that is happening in Oakland in March, and an impact play workshop in Santa Cruz.

What does the butt plug dance party entail?

Well a lot of people think it’s pretty kooky, but it’s basically a way to get people into their bodies during my workshops without any nudity or hooking up. When you get a ticket you are sent a video on how to choose a butt plug for your body, how to use it safely and pleasurably, then ways you can magnifying this pleasure. If you live here you can come along to the actual dance party.

Basically it will be a room full of a 100 people dancing around. The DJ is playing butt songs. It is dorky and fun, but people also get to explore what it feels like to wear a butt plug and it can be super pleasurable. It’s actually the cutest party ever.

Tickets to Euphemia’s upcoming workshops in California can be found here.

You can follow them on Instagram at @sex.iwishyouknew and visit their website www.iwishyouknew.net.

Photos by Shannon May Powell.

The Erasure of Teen Sexuality in Film

Teenagers fuck, right?

This seems like a universal truth. Our adolescence is a critical period of sexual discovery, experimentation, and foundational growth. The experiences we have throughout our youth inform the way we will perceive our own bodies, romantic relationships, and intimacy later in life. So why do movies about teenagers get it so monumentally, hilariously wrong?

There is a dichotomy in films that handle teen subjects. Sometimes, the characters are presented as sexless, chaste automatons. Movies like Love, Simon and To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before take this approach. Whatever sexual behavior or intimacy depicted in films like these is marginal and brief. Haphazard make outs and uncomfortable first kisses are offered up as if to allude to the fact that, yes, these kids do indeed fuck — or at least, will at some point. But, they stop just short of ever depicting any genuine expression of sexual intent or behavior.

Why does this happen?

On one hand, depicting underage sexual behavior will more likely than not leave your teen-oriented film with an R rating, thus limiting its reach and scope of audience. Most sixteen-year-olds won’t even be able to legally see the film. On the other hand, America has a habit of brushing its legions of horny teens under the rug. In his (amazing) essay, “Afternoon of the Sex Children”, culture critic Mark Greif pinpoints the general attitude with which teen sexuality is treated by the adult arbiters of American culture: “…yet in public we want to believe that children are not prepared for sex as we are, do not understand it, and have a special, fragile, glassy truth inside them that will be endangered by premature use — as if the pearls of highest value for us, our chase after sex, our truth of ‘sexuality,’ should not also be the treasure for them.” This is where the cognitive dissonance lies.

In public, moralists shun honest and wholly natural explorations of teen sexuality as being pornographic or shameful. Yet, in private, these same moralists fondly look back upon their own youthful experiences as part of the greater tapestry of their adult sexual development. These experiences can only be enjoyed and appreciated once adulthood has been reached and the taboo has been lifted. But the fact of the matter is, teens are having sex before being able to contextualize these experiences in a lifetime’s worth of sexual encounters. Thus, in an effort to appease both the moralists and the wider culture, filmmakers attach figurative chastity belts to their teen protagonists.

The other method used to depict teen sexuality is equally misinformed. The kids found in these films are deranged, maniacal sex freaks looking to get off anywhere and in any manner they can. Boys are presented as frothing-at-the-mouth perverts hellbent on “punching their v-card” or getting head. Girls are Greek nymphs, running from their pursuers with perky, voluptuous breasts and perfectly manicured vaginas in tow. Some examples of this approach can be found in films like American Pie, Not Another Teen Movie, and Superbad. While they may be fundamentally more honest than the spayed-and-neutered approach previously discussed, these films also fail to paint an honest and relatable picture of teen sexuality.

Did we all, more than likely, spend a lot of time thinking about sex as adolescents? Yes (most of us do as adults, too).

Did we all behave in the way presented in films like these? Mostly, no.

This approach to the presentation of teen sexuality is unhelpful because it is generally unrelatable for countless kids and can set unrealistic expectations regarding our high school sexual development. It’s a carnal caricature of youth that most people simply don’t and can’t relate to.

None of the films I’ve discussed here are necessarily bad films (maybe Love, Simon — but that’s a topic for another piece). They simply portray sexuality in a mythic way that does not speak to the way sexuality exists today for most of America’s teens. I want to see movies that show sex and intimacy in all its configurations. Teen sex needs to be portrayed as what it is. At different times and all at once, it can be awkward, passionate, life-changing, boring, uncomfortable, painful, freeing. It can be awkward makeouts, clandestine car-hookups, or intimate firsts in bed. Sex can lead us to better understand ourselves and others — and it can lead us into trouble. Sex is not good or evil. Sex is sex.

But teen sex is still sex. So, let’s start treating it as such.

First two photos by Haley Hasan, and the third by Brianna Saenz.

Hoe, But Make It Queer Art

DoubleTap is an interview series highlighting creatives whose work explores sex, body, and identity.

Grindr, a modern advent that has, in many ways, picked up where the bathhouses left off, is equal parts sexy, hilarious, and demoralizing. The hookup app is what most cis gay men use to find no-strings-attached sex… and queer photographer and anthropologist-lite Andrew Harper has been watching this space for the sake of art and a nut since he was 18 years old.

If you are unfamiliar with the Grindr interface, it displays “looking” users within a 1-mile radius. The messages between interested parties are often brief and nude-laden. Think OkCupid if OkCupid were a focus group of primed and geographically compatible gays — with triple the dick pics. Since it launched back in 2009, the platform has developed a notoriety for its members’ candor (folks say the darnedest things when they’re horny!). Harper, originally from Florida, takes these exchanges and superimposes them over pictures of himself and his friends. The result of which is the popular Instagram account Gaytona Beach.

It’s a simple enough concept, but by pairing real communications with photos of actual queer bodies, a bit of our reality is laid bare on our feeds. Featuring conversations ranging from sweet affirmations to troubling displays of internalized racism, fatphobia, and femme-shaming — Gaytona is a mirror for the community.

Harper set out to explore the dynamics of gay men negotiating sex, and in the process he is uncovering the cultural and social influences that take us to bed.

What was the initial inspiration for Gaytona Beach?

Harper: When I was living in Daytona Beach, I felt like I was the only openly gay guy around. I had, up until this point, created an identity for myself from all of these things coming of age in coastal Florida, like sneaking margaritas in to-go cups onto the beach, dancing to New Order until we drove our downstairs neighbor into moving out, going on long drives through the swamps at night and turning our headlights off to really see the stars.

But up until 19 [years old], I had never explored the parts of my identity that related to sexuality. You can imagine that when I first downloaded Grindr it was an immediate addiction, because for most of my childhood and early teen years the majority of gay culture came from Tumblr and porn. So I felt that I had virtually nothing but sex, sin, and conflict to attribute to being gay.

I was surprised by how venomous and angry people could be [on] the app, and how easy it seemed for complete strangers to be just as abusive online as [the people who] shouted slurs at me from their pickup trucks. I started documenting the wild conversations I had, and over the course of a few years, compiled a folder of something like 3,000 screenshots (no joke). I was also in school for photography at the time, and so one day I was going through my photos and found one that reminded me of a conversation I had screenshot-ed and bam — the rest is history. I began telling these stories with these conversations and pairing them with real moments of life around me in that city, and it felt humorous and cathartic.

I have to ask, are any of these interactions staged? Are these really all things people have said to you on Grindr?

Believe it or not, they’re 100% real! For the first half of a year or so every message I posted was one [that was] sent to me. Like I mentioned, I had thousands of old conversations and messages to work with. Now I’d say about half of the ones that end up on the page are ones that have been submitted to me. You know how some people get those “Saw this and thought of you!” texts or DMs and it’s like a cute gif of a cat? I get those same messages, but instead it’s a screenshot of a stranger saying “Piss in my ass.” I still pull from that original folder all the time, though.

You’re a photographer and — correct me if I’m wrong — but the majority of the images you use for backdrops are other people’s selfies/nudes. What’s the inspiration behind this?

Yes, the majority lately has been that way, but originally this wasn’t the case — it developed over time with the growth of the project itself. Actually, when KAAST and I first met, I was predominantly still using beach landscapes and photos of spring breakers. Using other people’s selfies started when I first started taking submissions, and it happened kind of naturally because I was already using photos of other people but only ones I had taken. Because I was using images of people with anonymity to convey a story, it only made sense to start incorporating selfies and nudes because that’s the majority of photos being passed along on Grindr.

Would you ever consider taking your own photos to pair with the app exchanges? Or would that undercut the authenticity of what you’re going for?

I love this question because for the people who have been following the page from the beginning or know me IRL, you can actually spot a lot of photos of myself on there. For a while, I was also using a lot of my portrait work — I spent some time in Orlando before moving to New York last year, and I was working for a commercial studio. My mom also owns a studio in a small coastal town called Ormond Beach, so I had a lot of studio work to play with. I wouldn’t say it undercuts the authenticity because the focus of the page is each individual message, and the photos are just a way of bringing them to life and giving them energy or translating them visually for people.

Your posts really run the gambit, hinting at all sorts of queer realities. Are there specific topics you try to tackle with your work?

This changes all the time. Almost weekly, actually.

First I should say I listen carefully to input and criticism. I never expected the project to transform into something that has a sense of responsibility to it, but that’s what’s happened. The topics started as my own personal ones that I encountered — online harassment, drug use in the gay community, the internalized homophobia of others, etc. — these were all things that I was directly exposed to in Daytona Beach. And after documenting those interactions, I decided to express my own perspective.

One time I addressed the local police officers for a homophobic raid they performed (using Grindr!) and tagged them in it. Sometimes [posts are] more lighthearted and humorous, like sugar daddies and small town gossip, but the more interactions I posted for anyone to see, the more responses I got of people being able to relate. Eventually I left Daytona and along with that came a very clear shift in the types of conversations I had and topics that came up (obviously). The bigger the city, the more you see, hear, and experience, and so slowly but surely the page has gravitated towards bigger social conversations. Topics that come up now range anywhere from mental health to body image, and even to things like the response to Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico. This might be my favorite part about the page, honestly. If you look at it as a timeline, you can visually track the mindset and journey from small town to big city.

How has your approach changed over the years?

As soon as I opened it up to be collaborative, I assumed a sense of responsibility to focus on diversity and inclusiveness. The project used to be just me and my experience — whatever was immediately around me in Daytona Beach. But that’s obviously changed a lot. My surroundings and my community have transformed.

In your professional opinion, what are some of the biggest differences between Grindr in Daytona and Grindr in Brooklyn?

Well, the most obvious difference is the density. Here, the person at the bottom of the list on Grindr is at most like 1,000-2,000 feet away. Back In Daytona, the fourth person over from you could be miles away. Forget about the bottom of the list, they’re usually in the next town over. But to really get an idea of how intensely unique that experience was, you have to take a step back and look at Daytona Beach itself: it proudly wears the locally-crowned title “World’s Most Famous Beach.” It’s the birthplace of NASCAR, a fixture of the American Spring Break phenomenon, and the location of the final showdown between Aileen Wuornos and the law. You can imagine it’s an outlandish group of people down there.

Have individuals whose messages you’ve featured ever gotten salty [that you’ve posted them online] after the fact?

Nope, but I never really expected them to anyways. When I first started [Gaytona Beach] that was what felt the most daring about it — I would get these messages that were sometimes so violent or hateful and [would then] posting them for anyone to see. If you were the person who sent that message, you would A) never want to out yourself for it and B) probably not want to talk to the person that you said it to again. I figured they would never reach out to me via Instagram and reveal any personal information by doing so. Besides, the focus of these posts is the dialogue itself — not the person who said it. My intent was never to create a public roast, but instead to evaluate an experience I was dealing with — which I later learned was a universal experience.

Basically, in order to get salty with me about something you said, you would have to address what it was in the first place. On the other hand, I also don’t post any content that would be harmful to someone or reveal their identity, so that would be the only other time I could see someone being salty with me.

Gaytona Beach definitely deals in the lead up to a hook-up. Would you ever consider exploring the aftermath of it? I could totally see your format applied to themes like ghosting, unrequited crushes, STI scares, etc.

I think you’re on to something here….

Grindr probably has a more artistic connotation for you than most of us. Do you still use the app for pleasure?

Yes! I have this account linked to my profile, but I still mostly just use the app for the same reason anyone does. Eventually I want to [unlink the project’s Instagram account] from there, but for now it generates a lot fun conversations.

What does the future for Gaytona look like?

Bright! Last year I learned a lot, and I’ve made the promise to myself this year to circle back to why it all began in the first place. Growth is fun, change is fun — but its background is what made it interesting. Something else you’ll see more of is an integration between this and my day job [Andrew works in healthcare services].

I’m currently designing a system for people who take (or want to start taking) PrEP to get it them affordably, help with office visits and testing scheduling, as well as answering questions and connecting them with LGBT focused medical providers in the city. I realized there’s a lot I can learn from the diverse following of the page. For instance, if you ask your doctor about the side effects you think you’re having on PrEP, they’ll likely say something like “a small portion of people report experiencing side effects but this will go away soon.” I doubted this for a while, and I recently ran a poll of around 350 Gaytona followers that revealed half of them [have at some point] experienced side effects. Out of that group, around 10% of them experience ongoing side effects from their PrEP.

I’m not completely sure what that will look like for the page, but I’m excited about it. I’d really like to use the page to help New Yorkers connect with affordable LGBT care. Aside from that, I have a couple things I’m crossing my fingers for, but you’ll have to wait to see.

All photos provided by Andrew Harper. You can follow Gaytona Beach here.

It’s Your Vulva Not Vagina

Raise your hand if you could correctly label a diagram of external female reproductive anatomy.

I know there are a few hopefuls thinking, “Yeah, I learned this in high school, I think I could do it,” and even fewer still who are fully confident in their abilities. But if we’re being honest here, most people’s hands should be down. This isn’t to say that none of us paid attention in health class. Rather, it’s something that many of us were taught incorrectly, and some of us weren’t taught at all. So forget everything you think you know about the vagina; this is your comprehensive guide to external female anatomy and its role in sexual pleasure.

Let’s begin with the most elusive organ: the vagina.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but most of you would have most likely labeled this on your diagrams as either the small slit within the folds of the labia minora (the inner lips; we’ll touch more on this later, no pun intended) or in reference to the entire external edifice. Both of these answers would be incorrect. The vagina is actually located inside the body. It’s the elastic organ that does most of the work during intercourse, either expanding or contracting to hug the inserted object (i.e. penis, fingers, sex toy, etc.). So, what is the proper name for the slit on the external diagram? Technically speaking, this is called the vaginal opening. But keep in mind that the vagina is, in fact, an internal organ.

I know, shocking.

If this is the case, then why does society most commonly refer to the entire anatomical structure as the vagina? The truth is, no one knows. There is no evidence to show where the societal shift occurred from calling the external “vagina” by its proper name, vulva. Perhaps it’s simply the phonics of the word — vagina seems to have more of a ring to it than vulva, don’t you think?

Or maybe we’ve just been conditioned to think that because the transition just happened and nobody thought to change it back? One thing is for sure: if you’re seeking anatomical correctness, you might want to start referring to what you thought were “vaginas” as vulvas. It turns out that possessing this knowledge may actually help you improve your skills in the bedroom. The more you know, right?

The vulva lies just beneath the mons pubis, or the pubic mound. This is more commonly understood as the “top of the vagina” — again, this is somewhat of a misconception. The mons pubis is essentially just layers of fatty tissue which lie on top of the pubic bone in order to protect the more sensitive area below. This is also where pubic hair grows.

Starting from the top down, the vulva is comprised of the clitoris, clitoral hood, clitoral glans, labia majora, labia minora, urethral opening, vaginal opening, perineum, and even the anus. Clearly, there’s a lot going on here, so let’s break it down and make it just a bit more fun by discussing the role of these structures in arousing sexual pleasure.

Ah, the clitoris: illusory to most, remarkable to all. Like the vagina, perhaps even more so, the clitoris is commonly mistaken for an external organ. Now, this isn’t entirely false, since the clitoral hood (the flap of skin covering what most people mistake for the clitoris) and the clitoral glans (the pearl-shaped external part of the clitoris, often confused as the entire organ) are located on the outside of the body. The majority of the clitoris, however, is actually located on the inside of the vulva, and extends beneath the folds of the labia, up to around 5-7 inches in length. Note that this is also the size of the average erect penis; just like a penis, the clitoris may become engorged with blood in anticipation of intercourse. So, next time you’re looking to pleasure yourself or your partner with a vulva, remember to focus your attention not only on the portion of the clitoris that is visible, but also on the parts which you cannot see. This can be accomplished by simply stroking the area at a speed which makes you or your partner feel comfortable, activating the nearly 8,000 nerve endings within this extremely sensitive area. No matter how you go about achieving clitoral stimulation, remember that approximately 75% of people with vulvas require additional stimulation other than straight-forward intercourse in order to reach orgasm.

That being said, the clitoris is not the only sensitive part of the vulva. The labia majora and minora, otherwise known as the outer and inner lips, are also extremely sensitive and often overlooked during sexual arousal. These folds are made of soft, thin tissue meant to protect the vagina and internal reproductive system. Due to increased blood flow to the area during arousal, the labia may also become swollen and more responsive. It is important not to leave this area behind during stimulation; engaging the entirety of the external genitalia may increase the likelihood of orgasm altogether. Make sure to ask yourself or your partner what feels good!

Another titillating area to explore is the perineum. This is the small patch of skin located beneath the vaginal opening, just above the anus. If you’re not quite ready to engage the anus, this is a good place to start. Massaging or stroking the area can be pleasurable as it is rich in nerve endings. Again, when trying new things, always remember to check with your partner first.

Let’s tackle the idea that masturbation can decrease the sensitivity of the clitoris and other female erogenous zones. This is not only completely false, but also yet another misconception that perpetuates the disparity of the orgasm gap. Experiencing orgasm, no matter how frequently, should be celebrated. It has no harmful effects on the female body, in fact it is actually proven to be beneficial for heart health and overall well-being. Vulva anatomy differs from one individual to the next, meaning that each and every person with a vulva may experience the sensation of orgasm differently, which is totally normal. Not to mention, it is physically harder for people with vulvas to reach orgasm due to the complexity of their genitalia, and a general lack of knowledge in society about how to navigate these complexities.

So now, armed with your newfound understanding of the vulva, you can go out into the world knowing not only how to correctly label an anatomical diagram — but also how to successfully pleasure yourself and a partner!

Illustration by Lucy Han, and photos by Nate Jerome.