I never realized I had queer sex because I didn’t realize, for a long time, that there was another way to have sex.
I grew up in a lesbian household, and my understanding of sex was shaped in that context. In middle and high school, as people’s sexualities (mine own included) began to develop, I remember hearing that absurd question, over and over again: “How do lesbians have sex?”
I legitimately didn’t understand the question. What do you mean, how do lesbians have sex? They have sex! I was 22 before someone finally sat me down and explained that “how lesbians have sex” is considered “foreplay” to most people.
Blink. Blink.
What?
I remember learning that people view sex in a linear progression: kiss, makeout, clothes off, oral, maybe fingers for warmup, then penetration, wherein everyone has an orgasm simultaneously because bodies are magical and work like that. And fuck, sometimes my sex goes that way (minus the magical simultaneous orgasm thing). But I didn’t realize that was an expectation of “how sex goes” until…oh…maybe 2 months ago? Whoops. Guess I missed the memo.
I’m still kind of perplexed by this idea. Like… I like penetration a lot, but I’m not necessarily going to get off on that; my body is just going to keep going and going, energizer-bunny style until I grab a Hitachi. True story. You’re more likely to get me off with your fingers than a cock or a dildo, but that’s a totally different kind of orgasm, and there’s no guarantee that I’m going to be done for a while there, either. Also, if you’re going to swing down Fisting Road, the chance of doing PIV after that is slim, although you’re welcome to jack off. If you’d like me to help with that, let me know how and if I’m into it, I’ll gladly help! And like… sometimes I like oral when I’m hyper-sensitive, after I’ve already come. And sometimes, I’d rather you just fuck me senseless when I walk into the house, foreplay be damned. And sometimes, I’m not feeling like being touched, but I’m still feeling sexually toward you.
That’s just dealing with things that are generally agreed-upon explicitly sexual in nature. Kink, obviously, complicates this. I’ve had times where my partner has whispered in my ear and made me cum without anybody’s hands on anyone genitals. And. There are times when I have kicked people in the cunt and the entire thing was entirely non-sexual. And. There have been times when I have had whole conversations across rooms with verbose eyes and suggestive smirks and realized that I was having unexpected muscular contractions because holy fuck you just made me cum by looking at me across the room. And there have been times when I kept my pants on entirely and never had a physical orgasm, but felt immensely satisfied by pleasing someone else. Sometimes I have been on the other side of that.
My point in all of this is: sex, to me, has never been about “the things you do.” It’s never been about a particular action or set of actions (and certainly not laid out in a linear path) that culminate to penetration and orgasm. What makes something “sex,” to me, is the intention going into it.
I think I’m a little confounded at the amount of pressure this linear model of sex puts on both people, and provides more than ample opportunity for shame. Like, sometimes I get nervous about disappointing people. I’m not going to get off without a Hitachi. It’s not going to happen. They have not made hands that move fast enough for long enough to make that work. It doesn’t mean that someone I’m sleeping with isn’t doing a good job- something can feel fucking amazing and I want them to keep doing it, not because it’s going to get me off but because holy fuck that feels amazing when you do that thing with your mouth and hand simultaneously, and pleeeeeeeeease, dear god, don’t stop.
Orgasm isn’t always, or even often, the goal. Sex, for me, isn’t “goal-oriented,” unless the goal is to see you as a person experiencing pleasure. Sometimes, it’s necessary that I get myself off because, fuck, orgasms feel good, and given enough buildup, it becomes necessary for my body and brain to function correctly. But you are not responsible for, nor obligated to worry about my orgasm. Chances are, you might never get me off in the ways that you might want to, and that’s ok- I don’t expect you to. I’ll tell you if I need to get off, and make sure that’s an ok thing to do in this moment, in this space. If you want to be a part of that, let me know. Chances are, if we are interacting sexually, I’d be stoked to have you help.
I’m also not responsible for your orgasm. If you want to get off, and you want to tell me how I can help you with that, fuck yeah. I’m into it. But it’s not my responsibility to magically read your mind, know what you like, know what gets you off, and then do all the things, and also do them right, the first time.
I like interacting with bodies. I know bodies are complicated things, and they don’t always do what we want them to do (mine included). But the pressure of feeling like it’s “my job” to get you off… that feels remarkably unsexy and obligatory. I’m touching you because I want to be touching you. I’m doing things because I want to be doing them, because they feel good right now, not because I’m aiming at some arbitrary goal. Your pleasure is important to me; your desire is your responsibility. If you tell me, “Hey… I’d really like to get off,” my answer will almost always be, “How can I help with that?” But unless we’ve negotiated a scene around it, saying, “What’re you going to do about this?” and gesturing at yourself like your arousal is my responsibility, you’re mostly likely going to get a laugh and a, “Not much.”
I guess, for me, sex is pressurized for certain reasons (things like desire being complicated, and not wanting to be presumptuous and also being fairly terrible at believing cues about sexual interest in general), but it’s not pressurized in the sense of expectation. We’ll go with it and see where it leads. And wherever we end up is great. If I want something more, I’ll figure out how to ask for it, or I won’t, but I’m not going to blame you for not reading my mind (nor will I get upset if something just can’t happen right now for whatever reason).
Long story short: to me, queer sex (and that’s a much longer writing someday that’s not necessarily right now) is fundamentally about intention, not about action. I don’t care what we do, I care that we are doing something together with mutual intention of shared sexual space. I’m not expecting anything except for you to be present, and hoping my mind will shut off as much as it ever does.
I don’t know where I’m going with this rant, really. I’ve just been talking about the ideas of queer sex, and pressurized sexual situations, and how people approach sex, and sexpectations, and I kinda just wanted to get this all out somewhere. So, to be continued?
Monomaniacism 