boyfriend

I’m Dating a Demisexual!

Kate Sloan

Have you ever heard of demisexuality?

It’s okay if you haven’t. I hadn’t either, until I read a post on a friend’s blog, a response to a woman who had recently come out to her mother as being demisexual (i.e. she doesn’t experience sexual attractions to people unless she already has a strong emotional bond with them).

The argument against this woman (which I do not necessarily agree with – I’m still not entirely sure) was twofold:

1. You should not use LGBT terminology like “coming out” to apply to an identity that is not nearly as oppressed or disadvantaged as LGBT identities are.

2. You should not regard demisexuality as a legitimate identity, because it’s just a way to slut-shame women who don’t need to be emotionally connected to someone to have sex with them.

Initially, as a queer and sex-loving woman, I thought, “Yeah! Stop appropriating our terms and making other folks feel shitty for enjoying loveless sex!”

And then my boyfriend told me he believed himself to be demisexual.

Obviously, this required me to re-examine my beliefs about this orientation. And I realized what I always end up realizing when I initially reject someone’s self-professed labels: We each get to choose how we identify, and it’s no one else’s place to dispute that.

The thing is, there are people who genuinely aren’t sexually interested in folks until they know them a lot better (or, to quote Ewan McGregor’s character in the movie Down With Love, “all the way better”). It’s not intended to slut-shame on any level; it’s not a case of sexual elitism or puritanical ethics; it’s just the way their brains work. And if they feel like they want to use terminology like “coming out” to describe their experiences, we should allow them to do so… provided they are willing to accept the fact that they are (assuming they’re also straight) inherently privileged and not oppressed to nearly the same degree that LGBT people are.

Look, no one’s going to call you a freak for wanting to wait until you know someone better to have sex with them – no one, at least, who isn’t either totally stupid or totally joking. No one’s going to try to strip you of your basic human rights for being sexually choosy. So yeah, it’s probably going to piss some people off if you try to group yourself in with other non-standard sexual identities like gay or asexual or even kinky. That’s something you basically have to be willing to deal with if you want to proudly identify as demisexual.

As for the practicalities of dating someone who’s demisexual, here’s what I can tell you:

1. When we’re out and about together – walking down the street, getting drinks at a bar, whatever – I will occasionally see people that I find attractive. People who, if I were single, I might flirt with. People who seem cute and fuckable to me. By contrast, this never happens to my boyfriend. Literally never. If I point out some girl and say, “Wow, look at that foxy lady,” my man might acknowledge that said woman is pretty or is wearing a nice outfit, but he will express ambivalence on the topic of whether or not she is sexy or whether he would “do” her. I find this a bit vexing.

2. Recently I told my boyfriend that I sometimes wished our relationship was closer to “monogamish” than monogamous – that I would feel happier within our relationship if I were able to kiss and flirt with other people on occasion. While he was okay with this, and readily agreed to this “rule change” in our relationship, he could not fathom feeling how I felt. He could not identify with my need for the excitement of pursuing, and being pursued by, other people. I tried to explain it to him, but he couldn’t really get his head around it.

3. He is much more interested in emotionally-based sex than I am. I’m not sure if this is because he’s demisexual, or just because he’s a gentle, sensitive kind of guy (or maybe they’re related?), but it’s very noticeable. Sometimes I joke that, in some ways, he’s “the girl” in parts of our sexual union, because if he had it his way, I think we would always have slow sex in missionary position. I, on the other hand, would be happy to have hard, fast, doggie-style sex almost every time. We both enjoy having sex both ways (and other ways too), but it’s clear that we each have our favorite way, and they differ.

I believe strongly that the universe delivered me exactly the kind of lover that I was yearning for in the months before I met him. My previous boyfriend had exhibited signs of possibly being very bad at monogamy, and so I felt an acute desire to be with someone who had eyes only for me. So of course, I ended up with a demisexual – someone who can be hit on by a random hot person and have no interest in them whatsoever. I find it amazing how this worked out.

This is a huge topic, one I have a lot of interest in and haven’t yet formulated strong opinions on. So I have to ask you, readers: What’s your take on demisexuality? Do you think it’s a legitimate identity? Are you at all offended by it? Do you know any demisexuals? Tell me all about it!

10 Sexy Things I Appreciate About My Boyfriend

Kate Sloan

1. He uses toys on me, enthusiastically and often. He is also totally thrilled that I review sex toys now, because we have all these fun new things to play with all the time. Some of my best orgasms ever have occurred while he was licking my clit and thrusting a toy inside me (a particular favorite for this purpose is the Lelo Mona). Seriously, the man knows his way around a dildo.

2. I told him once, long ago, that before inserting a toy into me, he should lube it up, either with actual lube or just by sticking it in his mouth for a few seconds. Ever since then, he’s typically begun each toy-play session by basically giving it a blowjob in front of me. He’s completely straight, but he knows it delights me to see him do this – not only because it’s hot, but because it reminds me how happy I am to have a sex-positive and open-minded boyfriend – so he does it every time.

3. He’s uncut. Fuck yes. I don’t mean to be insulting to dudes with circumcised cocks, and it’s just a matter of personal preference, but damn, do I love me some foreskin. It’s easy to operate, and smooth, and fun to play with. A++, would jerk again.

4. He fucking loves cunnilingus. Like, probably as much as I do. We met on OkCupid and I made sure to mark the “do you enjoy giving oral sex?” question as “very important” for my matches; I do not regret this decision. Receiving impassioned oral from a dedicated lover is one of life’s greatest pleasures, methinks.

5. Not only does he love cunnilingus, but he understands its importance in the grander scheme of sex. He understands that I need to be well-lubricated and turned on for intercourse to feel good. He understands that I need warm-up if I’m going to be able to masturbate to orgasm while he’s inside me. And he understands that good, enthusiastic oral can make me feel more loved and appreciated than almost anything else I can think of.

6. He’s adventurous. We’ve attempted some kink, a bit of roleplaying, a few silly positions. We’ve experimented with weird toys, for me and for him. We’ve laughed at our fumbles and moved on to have progressively better and better sex as time has gone on. Sex is like a game – you have to keep moving, you have to try new strategies and tricks to achieve your goals.

7. He knows how to use his cock. When we first met, he hadn’t had much experience with straight-up intercourse, and was nervous about his abilities – but over the year we’ve been having sex, he’s learned. Oh boy, has he learned. He can hit my G-spot with stunning accuracy, and often at high speeds. He seems to know the exact angle and pressure I need from him to help me get off during PIV. It’s extremely impressive and I don’t commend him enough for it.

8. He communicates. I mean, he’s dating me, so of course he does – but he does it well, and without complaint. When we have a problem, sexual, romantic, or otherwise, we discuss it until a solution is found and the issue dissipates. We’re both good at asking for what we want, even in the middle of the action. We don’t have to use coy metaphors and embarrassed phrasings – we just say it, whatever it is. Communication is the cure for bad sex, which is why ours is so damn good.

9. He doesn’t see penetration as the be-all and end-all of sex. We frequently have “intimate times” that involve using only our hands and mouths on each other, and neither of us views that as a downgrade of any kind. When I want to be fucked, I know he can deliver, but I greatly appreciate the fact that he values hand and mouth sex as much as I do – as much as everyone should.

10. He’s really fucking handsome. His face, hair, hands, mouth, arms, ass, and cock are totally enticing. And he smells how I imagine George Clooney would smell after a day at the beach. Is there anything sexier than a smart man who smells good? I doubt it.

Sexamples #001: New Mattress

Kate Sloan

I’m in the midst of upgrading to a new bed. Today the mattress was delivered, but due to some mistakes made by the bed company, I don’t have a bedframe or a box-spring yet… just a bare mattress, hanging out awkwardly on my bedroom floor.

The boyfriend and I, naturally, decided we needed to immediately christen this new piece of furniture. We sprawled across the mattress, which was still wrapped in plastic. And exchanged sexual favors. And then lay together smiling, having adequately welcomed the newcomer to my room.

Getting Over Penis Terror: A Triumphant Tale

Kate Sloan

Once upon a time, I was a little queer girl who had never touched a penis.

Admittedly, I had never touched anyone else’s pussy either. But I’d previously been in a sexual relationship with another girl for a year and a half, and I’d been skilfully managing my own pussy for almost two decades, so there was no intimidation there.

Single but desperately ready to mingle, it dawned on me that a huge part of my issue was my fear of penises. It dominated the shadowy back room of my brain, threatening to burst through and cause major anxiety. I’d think about a cute guy, fantasize about kissing him, maybe contemplate his tongue on my clit, but as soon as his dick became part of my visualization, I felt sick and confused.

Not to get all hippie-dippy on you, but I am certain that the universe sensed my penile apprehension, and that that’s why my romantic life was such a disaster during that time. I longed for my (safe, reliable, non-terrifying) female ex, and wrote her pathetic love songs, which freaked her the fuck out. I dated a guy who was entirely wrong for me and ended up dumping me so he could fuck four other girls at a party. I spent all my time wishing for a boyfriend while unconvincingly sidestepping what I knew was the real issue.

Men wrote to me on OkCupid, men of two different varieties: those who propositioned me for casual sex, and those who seemed genuinely sweet and interested in dating me. The former, I ignored, or occasionally wrote rude replies to; the latter category of men, however, were more difficult. I strung them along, convincing both them and myself that we would eventually meet, even just for coffee, but as soon as that possibility became real, I panicked and ended all contact. All because of that looming, impending penis that gnawed at my composure.

That didn’t change when I first started going out with Jeremy*, but I did like him more than I’d liked anyone in a long while. We went on cute dates to tea shops and bookstores, and while I giggled and gallivanted with him, I secretly dreaded the moment his pants would inevitably come off.

I let him touch me – over the shirt, under the bra, over the skirt, under the panties. I let him do all sorts of nice things to me, all of which he (thank god) loved doing. Sometimes I would be overcome with guilt that I hadn’t reciprocated his sensual touch yet, and I would burst into tears while lying with my head on his chest. He’d hold me and tell me it was okay, I could go as slow as I wanted, and he’d be willing to wait forever for me. But I didn’t want him to have to wait forever.

It was a combination of attraction, mild cajoling, and plain courage that finally got me to touch his penis for the first time. He said, “You don’t even have to do anything to it. You can just put your hand on it.” So I did.

It wasn’t so bad. Soft and sensitive, just like my girly bits. Lightning didn’t strike me dead; I didn’t faint from terror. It was just… fine.

After a couple minutes of gentle, idle touching, I withdrew my hand and he let me watch him jerk off. I snuggled up to him and cast my gaze on the way his hand worked his foreskin up and over the head of his cock, again and again, alternately concealing and revealing that moist, pink surface. That night, I wrote in my journal, It was actually kind of gorgeous.

*Name changed to protect the cocks and egos of the innocent.