Musings

21 Perfectly Valid Reasons to Have Sex Other Than Sexual Attraction

Kate Sloan

I came out as demisexual recently, and found myself looking back at many of my past sexual experiences through the lens of this new knowledge. It became clear pretty quickly that I haven’t been sexually attracted to all, or even most, of my past sexual partners. But here’s the thing: that’s not necessarily bad!

See, as many asexual and ace-spectrum folks already know, there are plenty of reasons besides sexual attraction that people can and do pursue sex. While many of these people (including me) have no doubt encountered creeps who try to get you to have sex you don’t want, it is possible to want sex even in the absence of sexual attraction. I don’t necessarily advocate or have sex for all of these reasons myself, but here are 21 possible reasons you might like to bang even if you’re not viscerally attracted to the person you’re banging…

1. Pleasure and/or orgasm. I mean, of course. Isn’t this why a lot of people have sex? It feels good. You don’t necessarily have to be super attracted to someone for them to be able to give you pleasure, especially if they’re sexually skilled and/or you’re good at communicating what works for you.

2. Fun. Maybe you’re bored. Maybe you want to let loose. Maybe you just like the “adult playtime” nature of sex. It’s one of the few spaces in adult life where we really get to play around and be goofy!

3. Intimacy. Whether you’re in a relationship, considering a friends-with-benefits arrangement, or just have a crush you want to get closer to, sometimes sex is a way to deepen your emotional connection with someone. Being intimate (in the literal way, not the euphemistic way) is one of life’s great joys.

4. Adventure, exploration, and curiosity. Maybe you’re trying to figure out if you’re ace, and want to give sex a shot just to check. Maybe you suspect you’re kinky but think you won’t know until you try some stuff. Maybe you just like the way sex allows you to explore more parts of your psyche – and of someone else’s.

5. Reproduction. Had to mention it. Perfectly valid. Obviously common.

6. A self-esteem boost. Granted, this practice can get unhealthy fast, particularly if you start over-relying on sex to prop up your self-image – but if you just need to feel better about yourself once in a while, sometimes sex can help with that.

7. Stress relief. Pleasure and orgasm can help relax you after a hard day or take your mind off a difficult experience. They can also help you release your inhibitions, if you’re feeling a little boxed-in lately.

8. Relief from arousal. Look, sometimes your body can feel like it “needs to” get off or you won’t be able to concentrate on anything else. Sex can often relieve that (as can masturbation, natch). Then, once you’re done, you can get back to work, or do whatever else your arousal was making difficult.

9. Pain relief. As this chronic-pain sufferer well knows, the naturally analgesic effects of sex and orgasm can be a godsend at times.

10. To fall asleep. I’ve heard from many aces that they use masturbation basically as a sleeping pill. You can use sex that way too, as long as your prospective partner is okay with you zonking out immediately afterward!

11. Exercise, endorphins, or warmth. Sex (especially the more aerobic varieties) boosts your heart rate, raises your body temp, and gets those sweet sweet endorphins flowing. Yummm.

12. To transgress or make a political statement. It can feel powerful – especially as a queer or kinky person, or someone who’s been socialized to think their sexuality should be kept quiet – to have sex almost as an act of rebellion. Hell yeah.

13. To enjoy kink. You don’t need sex (or sexual attraction) to be part of your kink play if you don’t want it to. There are many ace or ace-spectrum people who derive great joy and fulfilment from kink but don’t necessarily want sex to intermingle with that every time or ever.

14. To nurture and comfort someone. Say your (allosexual) partner’s had a rough day and you know sex reliably cheers them up and de-stresses them. It can be nice to have “sympathy sex” sometimes. (Only if you want to, of course.)

15. To practice or feel competent. When you do something well, sometimes that sense of mastery can be a boon for your mood. Maybe you’re really good at oral sex and want to show that off and feel like a sex genius for a while. Or maybe you just want to practice your sexual skills so you’ll have them under your belt (so to speak) later on when you fuck someone you’re more attracted to.

16. To soothe your heart after a breakup. They do say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else…

17. Money or gifts. Sex work is valid! Sugar babies are valid! Frivolous materialism is valid!

18. Power. There may be situations where sex can procure you a higher standing in a particular social group, or can even get you a better job. I’m not saying I necessarily advocate this, but… it does happen, and I wouldn’t blame you for making that choice.

19. Religion, spirituality, or transcendence. Lots of people access some kind of “God state” through sex, or include it in their spiritual rituals. It can be a way to escape the bounds of yourself and convene with something bigger than you.

20. Gender affirmation. Maybe particular kinds of sex, or sex with particular kinds of people, makes you feel better in your gender or in your body. Totally cool and probably common!

21. Empowerment or reclamation. For some people, it’s powerful to reclaim sex and pleasure after sexual trauma – in your own way and on your own terms. I support you wholeheartedly.

What are some non-attraction-related reasons you like to have sex?

So… I’m Demisexual!

Kate Sloan

“A demisexual person is someone who does not experience sexual attraction to another person unless or until they have formed an emotional connection with that person. It’s more commonly seen in, but by no means confined, to romantic relationships. The term demisexual comes from the orientation being ‘halfway between’ sexual and asexual.” -the AVENwiki page on demisexuality

Have you ever heard of demisexuality? Prior to this one, my only post about it was from many years ago, when my boyfriend at the time told me he thought he might be demi. I wrote about it with skepticism, because the premise of it seemed strange to me. You can only become sexually attracted to someone after you have an emotional connection with them? Okay, how is that different from how… many, if not most, people experience attraction?

But in the years since, my own sexuality has shifted and mellowed, and I’ve come to understand that I myself am demisexual. Plot twist!

When that (now ex-)boyfriend came out to me as demi, in struggling to understand his orientation, I asked him, “So when you’re walking down the street, you never see someone you find sexually attractive and would like to have sex with?” and he told me, “No.” I later heard him say to a friend that, while he could appreciate that women other than me were pretty, he didn’t see them as hot; he just “didn’t work that way.”

While my attractions are not as monogamously-focused as that, I’ve come to understand (I think) what he was feeling. I used to see people on the street I’d like to fuck, and now I don’t anymore. My desire to have sex with someone is rare and highly contextual. Usually it pops up after a few dates, or a lot of texting, or reading their tweets for months. I have to know their brain and their heart, or my genitals just aren’t interested.

I sometimes wonder – as so many folks on the asexuality spectrum do, when grappling with internalized acephobia – if this orientation is the result of difficult past experiences. While I wouldn’t describe any sexual encounters from my “slutty phase” as traumatic, I do think that all those lackluster hookups with people I barely knew probably had an effect on me. Too often, I basically dissociated during sex from the utter weirdness of banging someone you’re not (yet) attracted to, which meant that not only did I not enjoy the sex, but I wasn’t always able to make it a fun experience for my partners either. Maybe I came to associate “not knowing someone well” with “terrible sex,” or maybe demisexuality crept fluidly and reasonlessly into my sexual orientation as these things are wont to do, or maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, I’m now saddled with the reality of never wanting to fuck someone unless I’m intimately acquainted with, and excited by, their mind.

The only exception to this, in the years and months I’ve been turning over this identity in my mind, is my current partner. I knew after just a few minutes of conversation that I wanted to fuck them. But then again, those minutes of conversation were unusually intimate and cerebral for a first date, and we had already flirted a little in our Twitter DMs. We weren’t starting from zero – and if we had been, I don’t think the date would have ended as wonderfully and lasciviously as it did.

My partner – who is not demi, but understands it well – has pointed out to me what appear to be hints of burgeoning demisexuality in my work and my life. They’ve noticed that when I write about crushes, usually I’m writing about their competence or their words rather than their physicality. They’ve heard me waffle and groan about dates I didn’t want to go on, simply because I hadn’t given myself enough of a chance to become attracted yet. They’ve seen the way I melt moreso from things they do or say than from the way they look, smell, or feel (though those things are great too). It felt validating to have someone confirm to me that my attractions operate a bit differently from the norm, and that the demi label therefore fits.

The other biggest confirmation of this identity, for me, has been the random men on the internet who try to sext with me. Granted, most women don’t respond well to this type of thing in their DMs – but even in contexts where sexting is expected and perhaps even consensual, like Tinder, it leaves me cold if the person on the other side of the screen is a stranger. Even if they’re weaving beautiful sentences backed up by anatomical knowledge, sexual adventurousness, and feminist ideology, I am only ever, at best, mildly interested. But sexting with someone I’ve had hours-long conversations with? That’s a totally different story.

I think that this development directly contributed to me abruptly losing almost all interest in dating apps and hooking up, way back in early 2017. Scouring potential matches’ bios while all but ignoring their photos, and automatically recoiling if they got too sexual too fast, made me all too aware of how different my preferred approach is from what’s being offered on these apps. Even sites traditionally understood to be more personality-focused, like OkCupid, make me feel lost in a sea of “maybes.” How am I supposed to know if I find someone attractive enough to talk to them… if I haven’t already talked to them?!

If and when I ever get over my distaste for dating new people, I think the best approach for me will be to meet up with people IRL as soon as possible if they seem interesting. Maybe that seems counterintuitive, but I’d rather get an attraction simmering ASAP than lead someone on by messaging back and forth for weeks when I’m not even sure if I’m into them.

I’ve also found it helpful to state upfront in my dating bios that I’m looking to date, not hook up. And when it comes to actual dates, I now prefer to schedule them for mid-day – say, coffee or lunch – so that sex isn’t really presented as an option, at least until I know them well enough to know if I want to fuck them. Knowing about these “demisexual life hacks” helps me feel more confident in my ability to rejoin the dating world when I’m ready.

For now, though, I’m predictably really enjoying having consistent sex with two people I know quite well. It’s a demisexual’s (wet) dream.

5 Ways Hollow Strap-Ons Can Transform Your Sex Life

Kate Sloan

When the subject of my past in sex toy retail comes up in conversation, one question I’m often asked is, “What products did you sell the most of?”

Beginner vibrators, anal douches, and We-Vibes all rank highly on that list – but so does, surprisingly, the humble hollow strap-on. Customers – usually older-looking married men – would wander into the store seeking something to supplement their sex life, and sometimes their line of inquiry would lead them straight to the strap-on section. It gave me great satisfaction to see happy folks leaving the store with new treats to excite their partners and themselves.

Here are 5 ways this underrated and oft-misunderstood product can give your sex life a boost…

Erectile dysfunction. Whether you’ve tried E.D. meds and found that they don’t work (or just don’t work as well or as reliably as you’d hoped), or you’ve never tried them and don’t want to, a hollow strap on can stand in for your god-given dick if you and/or your partner are missing the joys of penetration in the wake of erectile difficulties. This is, by far, the most common reason my customers ended up going home with a hollow strap-on, and I think it’s a great solution! (Remember: soft or semi-soft dicks can still be pleasured in lots of non-penetrative ways, before or after your strap-on sesh. Erection, ejaculation, and orgasm are 3 separate phenomena that don’t all need to be present every time.)

Premature ejaculation. If you can’t last long enough to give your partner the poundin’ they (or you!) desire, slip your dick into a hollow strap-on – either before or after your own orgasm – and you’ll be able to fuck your sweetheart for as long as your muscles hold out. This is also great if your partner (like me) loves coming during penetrative sex but takes a while to get there.

Gender affirmation. We hear a lot about people with vaginas (e.g. pre-op/non-op trans men or assigned-female non-binary folks) using strap-ons as a way to access gender euphoria, but there’s less discourse about people with penises doing the same. Why, you might be wondering, would someone with a flesh-and-blood dick feel good and gender-affirmed when they strap a silicone one on over top? Well, some trans and non-binary folks find it distressing or even triggering to use their genitals in the “traditional” ways prescribed by hetero- and cis-normative culture. Using a strap-on can help some people express and experience their gender more pleasurably during sex, and that’s a wonderful thing.

Chastity kink. This is my #1 fantasy involving hollow strap-ons: a submissive partner isn’t permitted their own pleasure until they fully please their dominant, and so they slide their dick into a strap-on so having it touched isn’t even an option. In this way, the strap-on can serve the dual function of a chastity belt for the sub and a dildo they can fuck their dom with. Hot!

Mindfulness. This one is a bit more abstract, so bear with me… Sometimes, when you’re having sex, it’s easy to get so distracted by your own pleasure that you forget to focus on everything else that’s going on: your partner’s pleasure, their sounds, how cute they look when they bite their lip, how good their skin feels against yours, and so on. If you temporarily take your own genital sensations out of the equation, these other lovely details immediately come into sharper focus. Does this mean strap-ons are kind of… zen?!

What are your favorite potential uses for hollow strap-ons?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

The True Meaning of Friendship (with Benefits)

Kate Sloan

I’ve been fucking my friend with benefits for over two years and we’ve never taken a selfie together.

If this doesn’t seem that strange to you, I should explain: I take selfies with almost everybody who matters to me. My romantic partners, my friends, my family. Sometimes random people I meet at shows, if they’re into it. It’s a small act of digital-age intimacy. And I’ve never done it with this person whose dick has been in my hands and my mouth and my cunt occasionally-but-repeatedly for almost two and a half years.

If he read this, he’d probably offer to take a selfie with me on the spot – he’s that kind of sweetheart. But the selfie isn’t the point. The point is that we’re trained to think of casual sexual relationships as emotionally inconsequential, and thus undeserving of intimacy, care, and consideration. I think these connections can provide so much more value than we give them credit for, and that they therefore deserve kindness and tenderness just like our romantic relationships – if not the same amount, then at least the same quality.

Like Carsie Blanton, I think we’re too precious with our usage of the word “love.” We wall it off inside a spire and reserve it for a tiny subset of the people who make our heart stir. Then we imagine, by extension, that only those people deserve our focused attention, our empathetic concern, our “Thinking of you!” texts and “I missed you!” greetings. When I’ve lamented my loneliness during slutty phases, these things are most of what I’ve wanted: the comfort and consistency of a relationship, by which I don’t necessarily mean a romantic one.

Days after my last brutal breakup, my FWB trekked to my parents’ house, which I was in the process of moving out of. We’d planned a sex date before all of this drama unfolded, and, against the impulses of my crushing depression, I didn’t cancel it. My room was piled high with half-packed boxes and half-used tissues; a heart-rending rejection is a great way to derail a big undertaking like a move. But his lanky, warm body filled the space with light I thought I’d lost. “I know you’ve had a hard week,” he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “We don’t have to do anything. We could just cuddle, if you want. I just want to be here for you.”

I didn’t cry. These words, uttered by a romantic partner, would’ve summoned the floods. But my tear ducts shuttered up instinctively; this boy was only my casual sex-pal. Our genitals knew each other better than we knew each other as people. It didn’t seem right. Still, I thanked him, and we went ahead with the sex we’d planned, because I wanted to feel wanted again. As he moved inside me, I reflected on how this thing between us had become more than sex but less than love. Maybe that’s what it feels like when a friend with benefits is truly a friend.

Our friendship, now, is verifiable and undeniable. He’s been to my birthday parties; he’s commented on my Facebook selfies; he’s chatted with my partner about cocktails in my kitchen. I’ve confided in him about things even some of my friends (sans benefits) don’t know: career anxieties, relationship hopes, depression struggles. We’ve exorcized our troubles in a sex-club swimming pool, ciders in hand, and then smoothed them over with kisses. We’ve been patient with each other’s bodies when they were uncooperative or hurting or menstruating. Sex with him has been a balm, a rock.

What strikes me most about this copulationship, compared to some others I’ve had, is that it’s built on a bedrock of genuine esteem and respect. He doesn’t reduce me to a wet hole he can fuck, nor does he assess our encounters by how much sex was had or how good it was; while the sex is partly the point of getting together, it isn’t the whole point. He checks up on me via text, asks how I’m doing, says he misses me. He makes me laugh and compliments my “magic vagina.” He treats me, in short, like a friend who he happens to be banging – which unfortunately isn’t always the case in FWB arrangements.

I’d like for these relationships to be acknowledged and understood as the powerful connections they can be. When asked, I say I have two partners right now – by which I only mean two sexual partners, but still, something feels good and right about acknowledging my FWB in the same breath as the person I hold hands with in public and introduce to family members and want to be with for a long time. These two relationships have different levels of commitment, of upkeep, of social validity and recognizability, but they are equally as valid and equally as worthy of my attention and appreciation.

I’ve never said “I love you” to my FWB and probably never will, because I don’t love him romantically and never have. But there are casual equivalents in our friendship, which make me feel safe and valued in the same way an “I love you” does – like the time he randomly texted me while he was at work to say, “By the way, I think you’re pretty neat.”

5 Frank Sinatra Songs That Are Definitely About Kink

Kate Sloan

I’ve Got You Under My Skin

The addictive, all-consuming qualities of love often described in these Tin Pan Alley-era love songs remind me so much of my kinky relationships. Modern-day dating is so much about “chillness,” or the illusion thereof, that it’s refreshing to hear these old-fashioned confessions of feeling utterly un-chill. I’ve mostly experienced this “I’d sacrifice everything, come what might, for the sake of having you near” level of devotion in kink dynamics, not vanilla relationships.

The moment that really kills me in this song, kink-wise, is this: “Don’t you know, little fool? You never can win. Use your mentality. Wake up to reality.” In the narrative of the song, it’s the voice of Frank’s own anxiety and inadequacy whispering this to him – but it’s also something the most merciless humiliatrix might spit at a submissive. And it makes me feel all tingly. Oh, Frank.

Can I Steal a Little Love?

This is pure submissive Frank. “Hug me, kiss me, til I’m red,” he sings, “til my eyes bug out my head.” Consensual violence ahoy!

Later in the song, he swears, “With a smile, I will lead you down the aisle. I won’t even need a shove.” He’s talking about marriage, sure, but it’s also this super subby promise that he’ll happily do things other men find scary or uninteresting, because he’s so devoted to his darling. Aww.

Fly Me to the Moon

This charming classic reminds me of how immersive and otherworldly kink can be. Unlike vanilla sex, it takes me out of my head and makes me feel like a temporarily different person in a temporarily different place – like I’m in outer space.

“Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars,” he sings. “In other words: baby, kiss me.” Oh, swoon.

Somethin’ Stupid (featuring Nancy Sinatra)

Look, it’s a little weird that Frank Sinatra sang a romantic duet with his daughter. Asked about the song 40 years after it was recorded, Nancy said, “Some people call that the Incest Song, which I think is, well, very sweet!” What a strange non-response, perfectly in line with the overall strangeness of the song and its enduring popularity.

Setting aside any implications of actual incest between Frank and his daughter – of which I haven’t seen any suspicion or proof – this song makes me picture Ol’ Blue Eyes as a Daddy dom. Several of my favorite Daddy dom tropes are based in traditional 1950s masculinity: well-tailored suits, protectiveness over women, shellacked hair, an easy and assumed dominance. That type of gender dynamic was less than consensual in actual 1950s nuclear family units (well, most of them, anyway), but it’s hot to imagine consensually reclaiming it in a contemporary context. And handsome Frank would make a hell of a father figure.

My Way

When I told friends I was working on this post, they all insisted I had to include this song – because what could be a more dommy sentiment than “I’ll do it my way”?!

However, examining the rest of the lyrics, there’s not much of kinky substance in this tune. I think what makes me think of dominance, moreso than the lyrics, is the calm confidence with which Ol’ Blue Eyes performs this big, showy song – and that same confidence when it shows up in karaoke aficionados’ performances, since this is a mainstay of that genre. Listening to this song stiffens my spine with pride and surety, so this shy little submissive can get a taste of what it might feel like to be a whole-hearted dominant.

What are your favorite kink-tinged jazz standards?