How to Do It is Slate’s sex advice column. Have a question? Send it to Stoya and Rich here. It’s anonymous!
Dear How to Do It,
So I have a slightly off-the-beaten-path dilemma. I (nonbinary, intersex, transmasculine, bisexual, 43) am in a theoretically polyamorous relationship. My husband is asexual, but is willing for me to explore whatever works for me. I had another long-term partner who died of a heart attack a little under three years ago. It was an awesome relationship that worked for everyone involved including my husband who felt fully part of the relationship. I’m aware that I may not get that again but am starting to feel ready to have some sort of sexual relationship with someone again. There are two problems with that.
One, we live in our RV full time now so we’re not in one place for very long at a time though there are places we revisit and regions we stay in for a bit longer. Two, I’m autistic and the thought of an actual stranger touching me is horrifying. I’ve been poking at Feeld as it seems to be the friendliest of the apps out there but I have no real idea how to balance the two issues to find something that works for everyone involved. I’m OK being someone’s sometimes lover, but the first step of figuring out who to contact and how to express that, while I do want sex, I need to start with friendship. How do I get there?
—Doomed to Masturbation
Dear Doomed to Masturbation,
You’ve got a lot of labels going on—nothing wrong with that, of course. In fact, it shows an aptitude for articulation that you should harness when looking for a partner. State exactly what you’re looking for, whether online or IRL. I would look up queer spaces in your various stops as they may put you in the vicinity of potential partners. Be clear that you’re not really looking to have sex right away—but that you also won’t be around for very long. That’s going to filter out many people but it’s for the best, as it’ll keep everyone from wasting too much time.
Physical attraction is what guides many people to make that initial contact—if you’re looking online, your purview could include the entirety of people’s profiles, including their interests (sexual and otherwise) and the vibe that comes across in the way they describe themselves. At a club or bar, maybe it’s about the way someone dances or carries themselves. State upfront what you’re looking for in any online profiles. You’ll find like-minded people among the horny masses. This is just about taking your time—I know how daunting this all must feel but you can treat your trepidation as a feature, not a bug. You’re in no rush and thus can be deliberate about finding the right match. That’s a good thing; it gives you all the time in the world to be selective.
Dear How to Do It,
I recently turned 43 and earlier this year my husband and I divorced after 21 years of marriage. Our son is off to college and in a few months and I will be living alone for the first time in my life. My problem is that my husband was my “first” everything: date, kiss, sexual experience. I don’t know anything else other than what I have done with my husband, which does not feel like much. I was never able to orgasm during intercourse and over the past few years our sex life was non-existent. Because of this, I feel like I have no knowledge of what I like or even what to do to figure that out. I don’t want to be celibate for the rest of my life and would like to have the experiences that I should have explored prior to getting married. I am not ready for a serious relationship, but I don’t want to wait any longer to get out and learn what it is like to view sex as something pleasurable and with someone that I feel an attraction to. But, where do I even start?
—Wanting More Than My One and Only
Dear Wanting More,
Start with you. Explore your inner world. Can you muster a list of things you want to try? If you can’t, you may want to look around—porn can serve as inspiration. How to Do It’s canon of feminist porn recommendations includes the work of Erika Lust, that of Candida Royalle (if you want to go retro), and PinkLabel.tv. However, it needs to be stated that porn is no real substitute for sex ed. Depending on where your knowledge level is, you might want to do some reading—you could start anywhere from Scarleteen to several of the books we tend to recommend (including Justin Lehmiller’s Tell Me What You Want: The Science of Sexual Desire and How It Can Help You Improve Your Sex Life, which is largely about fantasies, and Ian Kerner’s So Tell Me About the Last Time You Had Sex: Laying Bare and Learning to Repair Our Love Lives). These may get at least your intellectual juices flowing, and I hope will help point you in the direction of things you want to pursue.
Dear How to Do It,
I’m gay, and I have a bad feeling that I’m a “demisexual,” which is making me anxious and inhibited around other guys. This is probably because the pursuit of hookup sex seems to predominate in the community. Moreover, they seem to be able to do it effortlessly, while I only tend to “liven up” when I’ve made some sort of connection with a guy. I need to have some positive connection, even if it’s just a half-hour of enjoyable conversation at the bar. (App texting doesn’t count somehow.) I also need to genuinely like them at some level, not just find them physically hot. When I have gone strictly by physical attractiveness, my performance has ranged from acceptable to non-existent, which has wreaked such havoc on my self-confidence that I’ve started to become anxious even with people I do feel I have a connection with.
Even worse, I’m pretty kinky, and of course, it’s common that people seek out only those whose kinks match up with theirs, and just for play. Unfortunately, I gravitate to the kinky set rather than “vanilla” guys, so this obvious mismatch in attitude is making me feel disconnected from the kink community. In other words, I feel like a bad gay, and whenever anyone talks about a hookup, I feel inadequate inside. Especially if that person is partnered and can have casual sex despite the fact that they already have someone they have a strong connection with.
I would say that my overwhelming desire is to have a long-term relationship, ideally a husband someday, but people practically recoil when it’s obvious I’m asking them on an actual date instead of scheduling a hookup. I also think my natural introversion is a factor—the time and energy it takes to find someone and get to know them to the point where I feel some sort of connection is so lopsided in terms of the payoff, i.e. sex, that it’s not worth it. I have had a couple of fuck buddies in my time, guys I liked enough to hang out with though not date, but the fact that it would only ever be sex eventually eroded my interest in the arrangement. On the upside, when do have sex I frequently get compliments and requests for repeat performances. That does make me feel good, although my anxiety has gotten to a point where I’m relying on dick pills, and medication-free sex is now the exception rather than the rule (though that could also be because I’m pushing 50). I’ve gotten my testosterone tested twice now, and both times it was normal, so I don’t think the problem is physical.
My friends tell me I just have to keep having sex with people until I find someone I click with emotionally, but I’m built the other way around. However, it seems like that’s how a lot of people find their boyfriends. I just feel like I’m doing everything wrong and it’s making me withdraw more and more. I’m starting to fear I’m on the road to being single forever.
—Doing It Wrong
Dear Doing It Wrong,
Did you pop a dick pill before you wrote this letter? I ask because you’re so hard on yourself. (Get it?) I’m feeling a lot of shame coming from you, as you explained multiple times why the way you’re wired is wrong or bad. It’s not. It’s just the way you are. There are definitely gay guys who are extremely comfortable having sex with strangers, sometimes in public settings, yes. But that’s just a part of their story. That way of life can come with its own complications. Shame has a way of clamping its teeth down on the shoulders of us all—you’re not going to see that if you’re fixated on what their dicks, asses, and mouths are doing. I don’t want to pathologize promiscuity (I enjoy it myself) but know that this is a real case of the grass being greener. You’re getting sucked into an image and you’re comparing your complicated situation to it. Let me tell you, brother, it’s all complicated. You’re not inadequate for not wanting fast, cheap sex. You’re sensitive and you prize connection—these are two really good things that you should hold onto. Besides, no one is looking over your shoulder with a scorecard, taking your gay points away every time you creep away backward from a sex party or hold your breath while passing a gloryhole. You feel bad because you feel bad; that’s not other people judging you or making you feel that way, it’s you.
Stop comparing yourself. You’re queer—that means you get to deviate as a matter of course. I know what it is to feel the weight of an invisible orthodoxy from within this group of your supposed people, but the whole point of queerness is that you get to say, “Fuck all that noise,” and live your life as you are compelled to (within legal and ethical confines, of course). Breaking away from this mindset means divesting from the hypothetical judgment you feel on your way of connecting to other guys, but it also means placing less stock in the compliments you get from your performance. Yes, we all like hearing good stuff about our form and dick beauty, but it’s just words and you’ll always need more of them to achieve a baseline of satisfaction if you don’t already have respect and love for yourself. Compliments to a person with little self-regard are like Christmas ornaments on a bare tree.
If you need time to connect with guys before banging, state that in your profile. I’ve seen plenty of guys on apps saying that they want to meet in a public place first (it’s even a default option on some apps’ forms). Let them know that you move a bit slower and let them filter themselves out if that’s too much for them. Look beyond hook-up apps to make your connections if you’re getting revulsion from guys when you ask them out on dates. There are guys out there who do want to date. If a half hour of enjoyable conversation at a bar is what it takes to lube your hole, hang out at bars. Make IRL connections. Talk to guys, get their numbers, and stay in touch. Set your own pace and the guys who are willing to match it will announce themselves as real prospects. So much of this you’re already doing or seemingly aware that you need; what you are doing wrong is not tending to yourself because of perceived societal pressure and out of fear that you’re alone in your proclivities. You aren’t.
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Dear How to Do It,
I’ve been married to a truly wonderful man (I’m a woman) for almost 20 years now. He and I have great conversations and a similar sense of humor, work so well together as parenting and life partners, and have similar principles. He pulls his weight and then some in our household, and has been incredibly supportive of me through a long-term chronic illness that’s not likely to ever really improve. But of course, there’s a “but” or else I wouldn’t be writing.
About a year and a half ago, I started feeling like he was kind of getting distant from me in many ways, including—especially—sexually. I brought it up several times, and he always flatly denied that he was any less interested in me than ever, but also said that he was just not really interested in sex period. (One of the things these conversations made clear to me is that it’s quite possible he’s somewhere on the asexual spectrum, although he doesn’t identify with that term.) We’d talk but things wouldn’t really change — he wouldn’t suggest doing anything together, wasn’t talking to me as much, very minimal physical intimacy. I was and remain certain there was never an affair going on.
After about a year of this, I asked him point blank if he was just planning to leave me when our kid turned 18, and that seemed to break through. He was horrified that I could have thought that and devastated that he could have made me feel that way; we talked about the stress he’s been under over the last year, and since then (it’s been about six months) he’s made a massive effort to be more present all over the map. Around this time we also tried to get hooked up with couples counseling, but thus far we can’t find anyone in our area taking new clients. My problem is: I can’t seem to turn myself back on where he’s concerned. We’re close and affectionate and friendly outside the bedroom, but I spent a year thinking he was just over me and had one foot out the door, and it really did a number on my attraction to him. I want a loving, close, connected sexual relationship with my husband, but I am having the hardest time feeling sexual/romantic toward him right now, even now that he’s making a real effort. I’m responding in kind but a lot of times it feels like I’m just going through the motions. Do you have any advice on rekindling erotic feelings towards someone when they’ve kind of dwindled?
—Where’s the Light Switch
Dear Where’s the Light Switch,
Changing things up somehow might do the trick, though it might be hard to explore sexually if you aren’t into it in the first place. Exploring kink (like roleplay) is often useful in these situations, but both of you will need to be on board to make any real progress. Sometimes it’s worth pushing through the meh beginnings of a sexual encounter to see if you can get into it as the situation (theoretically) intensifies. I must clarify that I’m not saying you should have sex that you aren’t consenting to (obviously)—but if you’re on the fence, especially in the context of wanting to want more with your partner, making the effort to gas a slow accelerator can prove fruitful.
More holistically, you can go the route that Esther Perel recommends in Mating in Captivity and create some distance between you and your partner to cultivate mystery. This could mean adding a new location to your potential venues for sex (like a hotel) or writing erotic emails to each other. Again, this requires effort that you may not feel inclined to put in. Finally, have some patience—you might just need more time to get over the feelings of abandonment (preemptive as they were, they aren’t any less real). Keep looking for that couples counselor, as they may be able to help you forge a path forward that’s tailored to your specific needs and desires.
—Rich
More Advice From Slate
At the risk of being judged and vilified, I pose this question to you as opposed to friends and family. I got involved with an older married man a few months ago knowing that he was and had no intention of changing his situation. He told me he was looking for a female friend to fill the void in his sexual life because when his wife went through menopause eight years ago, she lost all interest in sexual activity of any kind. We eventually developed deep feelings for each other.
