Category: Lesbian

Posted on

You shouldn’t feel pressured to define your sexuality

By Peyton Jeffers

How do you know if you’re gay or bi?

If you were like me at 12 years old, no amount of anxiously Googling “Am I gay?” or frantically taking quizzes that promise to reveal your true sexual orientation gave any insight into what your sense of sexual identity or lived experiences would be.

I turned to the internet for information because the messages I received in school or from popular culture about sexuality were not congruent with my thoughts and feelings. I felt I didn’t fit in either category I had been exposed to at the time — “gay” or “straight.”

So, if you’re asking yourself this question, you’re probably trying to describe your sexual identity to yourself and the people around you in a way that makes you feel comfortable. 

Questioning or challenging your sexuality can feel both confusing and isolating, but take a breath. You’re not alone.

Traditional models of understanding sexuality tend to center around one aspect: our sexual orientation. This model says you can be attracted to the same sex and/or gender, the opposite sex and/or gender, or people of either.

These models are limiting because their language and definitions often assume gender and sex are binary. They don’t account for aspects of sexuality outside of gender, such as the different kinds of sex or sensations we like or the levels of physical or emotional attraction we experience with others.

It might be helpful to consider who you are attracted to in these ways. 

Are you attracted to same-sex, different sex or intersex people? People who are androgynous, masculine or femme presenting? Are you attracted to people who are genderqueer, genderfluid, transgender and/or nonbinary? Simply people regardless of their gender presentation or sex?

If you’re afraid of claiming a specific identity because you’re unsure, then know you can also identify as gay, bisexual, questioning or otherwise without any experience or desire for physical intimacy. 

Relationships require vulnerability and an understanding of how to be romantically or emotionally available with other people, and sometimes these feelings don’t align with our behavior or sexual attraction.

Genevieve Labe, a Ph.D. student and adjunct faculty member teaching human sexuality at the IU School of Public Health, said they don’t think there’s a clear answer to the reader’s question because the way people ascribe labels to themselves varies person-to-person.

“How I might feel or determine how I identify could be so different for someone else,” they said. “I think whatever feels right in the moment is good. My question back to you is why do we need that label?”

Labe said labels can help us make sense of the world, but it’s important for us to think about the trauma labels have inflicted on people in the queer community, whether it be lingering stereotypes or forcing ourselves to stick to labels once we’ve claimed them.

How we interpret ourselves is dependent on the tools we have available. Knowing this, we can accept our sexualities are subject to change as new information and experiences become available over the course of our lives.

For example, if you’re someone who has identified as gay but end up feeling attraction to someone of a different gender, you shouldn’t feel pressured to prohibit that based on a label, Labe said.

On the contrary, it’s also completely valid to want to identify yourself with a label that feels most affirming to you when you use it.

“Labels should not be boxes into which we feel we must squeeze ourselves, but rather tools with which to communicate and to begin conversations,” Robyn Ochs, bisexual activist and editor of “Getting Bi: Voices of Bisexuals Around the World and Recognize,” said on her website.

If you feel safe and comfortable confiding in someone close to you, opening up about these feelings might alleviate some pressure. Your sexuality is also yours to share on your own terms — when and with whoever you want to.

Overall, whatever feels comfortable, makes you feel good about yourself and gives you a sense of community is what is right. You’re always allowed to change and reevaluate your needs and desires if you feel your identity doesn’t suit you anymore.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

Grinding Is the Most Underrated Sex Act

Don’t leave this steamy sex act in high school. It’s worth your adult attention.

By Gabrielle Kassel

Last week during a Zoom birthday celebration, I was mid-professing my love for bump-and-grind hookup action when I noticed some nose-turning happening on the screen. My friends weren’t being judgmental, exactly, but many had taken on the kind of bored expression I reserve for whenever The Bachelor franchise comes up in conversation. Apparently, most of my pals left grinding behind in high school, along with thin-strip eyebrows, slap bracelets, and disc CDs.

While every pleasure-seeker is welcome to their own opinions and preferences, (*insert Carrie Bradshaw voice*) I couldn’t help but wonder: “Are people actively short-changing their pleasure by leaving grinding in the past?”

Obviously, I had a hunch the answer was a big fat YES. But I’m a professional sex journalist, so I took an investigative approach and talked to Taylor Sparks, erotic educator and founder of Organic Loven, as well as other pleasure-seekers who’ve kept the act in their sexual repertoires long after they’d first read The Catcher In The Rye.

Uh, What Do You Mean By… Grinding?

Before we can dive into my thesis statement (that grinding is the best and most underrated sex-tivity), let’s get on the same page about what grinding even is. Really, grinding is any sex act where at least one person is stimulating their external genitals on something or someone.

It can be enjoyed alone using a pillow, the arm of the couch, your own knuckles, or a stuffed animal, says Sparks. Or, it can be enjoyed with a partner. During partnered play, grinding can look like genital-on-genital rubbing, with or without clothes. But, it can also look like genital-on-thigh, genital-on-hip, etc., rubbing, she says.

Grinding can also be known as outercourse, coital alignment, tribadism (vulva-on-vulva grinding), or heavy petting. When all parties involved are fully clothed, it’s also dubbed dry humping, while when all parties are fully naked and rubbing their genitals together, it’s known as scissoring. In what world would a sex act that’s not worth enjoying have that many nicknames? (It wouldn’t!)

Why Grinding Sex Rocks

Two words: Clitoral stimulation. Did you know 73 percent of vulva owners either need clitoral stimulation to orgasm or have better orgasms with clitoral stim? “Grinding gives vulva owners the clitoral stimulation most need to orgasm,” agrees Sparks.

Personally, I enjoy grinding because I enjoy clitoral stimulation, but my glans clitoris (that’s the external portion) is very sensitive. If the little bud is stimulated too much, too fast, suddenly the entire situation becomes a delicate dance of avoiding my clit. Not exactly pleasurable. However, grinding — specifically, clothed grinding — provides a consistent hum of pressure that feels oh-so-good against my clit and manages to do so without overstimulating it.

Sparks adds that the G-spot can also be (indirectly) stimulated by grinding. “The G-spot sits right underneath and behind the pubic bone, so putting pressure on the pubic mound can stimulate that area and offer a really erotic sensation.”

For the record: Grinding can also feel good for people with penises, too. It makes sense if you think about it: What do a hand job, oral sex, and penetrative intercourse have in common? They all involve stimulating the external portion of the penis. “Because rubbing and grinding also involve stimulating the external portion of the penis, they too can be very stimulating for a penis owner,” says Sparks. If penis owners have not been circumcised, “the back and forth motion of grinding can also move the foreskin up and down the penis in a way that can be incredibly stimulating.”

In addition to feeling good, grinding is what Theo, 26, a trans man calls “period-sex proof,” which is why he loves the position so much. “My period gives me gender dysphoria,” he explains. (Gender dysphoria is when someone experiences distress over their biological sex or genitals not being the same as their gender identity.) As such, he doesn’t like engaging in any unclothed sex acts when he’s menstruating. “Grinding sex allows me to keep all of my clothes on during that time of the month, and still receive pleasure,” he says. “Plus, I usually orgasm.”

Dawson, 24, a transfeminine lesbian also credits the position with being identity-affirming for her. “Grinding with clothes on allows me to have orgasmic sex with someone (for instance, a one-night stand) without needing to have a really intimate conversation about my genitals, what I like them called, etc.”

Meanwhile, Courtney, 32, a queer cisgender woman enjoys it because it’s a lower risk activity. “I have herpes, and I’m not on antiretrovirals,” she says. “When I think I may be about to having an outbreak, grinding with our underwear on is one of the ways my boyfriend and I continue having sex.”

She’s right: Grinding is a lower-risk sexual activity — but FTR, in certain circumstances, there is still some risk of STI transmission and pregnancy. If you’re both clothed, the risk of STI transmission is basically zero. If, however, there’s genital-to-genital contact it’s possible for STIs to spread through skin-to-skin contact (HPV, herpes, syphilis, trichomoniasis) or sexual fluids (HPV, HSV, chlamydia, gonorrhea, HIV), too. (Related: Can STDs Go Away On Their Own?)

Pregnancy is possible anytime a person with testicles and a person with an ovary and uterus have penis-in-vagina intercourse. While grinding usually isn’t synonymous with P-in-V, there aren’t any grinding cops, so, if you want to quantify P-in-V as grinding — or use grinding as a precursor of P-in-V — I won’t yuck your yum. Just be aware that pregnancy is possible if those aforementioned requirements are met.

How to Make Grinding Sex Feel Even Better

Trust, these five grinding tips will convert you — and your partner(s) — into fans, too.

1. Dress for the occasion.

“Different types of clothing fabric will generate different types of stimulation,” says Sparks. What feels good to you will vary based on your individual preferences. Denim and corduroy, for example, lend themselves well to intense friction, as do any bottoms replete with seams. Silk, on the other hand, is best for an increased feeling of slipperiness against your bits, she says.

Personally, I like grinding while wearing stretchy leggings or sweats, which allow me to easily spread my legs, and get into a position that makes stimulating my hot-spots easier.

2. Add lube.

Don’t let its nickname (“dry humping”) keep you from adding a little store-bought wetness to your play! Personally, I like to add a little dab of lube between my labia to reduce the discomfort of friction between my downstairs lips. (See: Why Lube Makes Every Sex Scenario Better)

3. Bop in a butt plug.

While I haven’t tried wearing a butt plug during grinding, Carter, 32, and his partner Hannah have. “Hannah wears a butt plug whenever we’re going to a public event,” says Carter. “That way when we sneak off to the coat closet or bathroom to get it on, we can do so with all of our clothes on, and she can still get off,” he says. Hannah, he says, can’t get off from clitoral stimulation alone, but can when she’s being filled anally. (Related: The Best Anal Sex Toys, According to Sexperts)

4. Bring in a buzzy buddy.

Honestly, any type of vibrator can probably be used here, but I recommend wand vibrators.

Just last week I finished unwrapping a new Le Wand wand vibrator (Buy It, $140, babeland.com) when my boo came over. She reached for the glittery thing on my living room table (oh, the life of a sex writer) and turned it on. When I kissed her hello, she began using the buzzy thing on my back. As we continued kissing, she began dragging the wand down my body.

Eventually, she held the wand between our bodies while we bumped and humped against the other’s fully-clothed bodies until, as the Trey Songz bop goes, the neighbor knew both our names.

5. Try standing grinding sex.

“Standing with your partner, and grinding with (or against) them, while one of you leans against the wall can be very sexy and satisfying,” says Sparks. Basically, she recommends recreating the front-facing grinding dance position your middle and high school teachers didn’t allow.

“Adding in a sexy location can take you to an even higher level of sexual heat,” she adds. So, maybe take try standing grinding in the coat closet at your next party. Fair warning: As the aforementioned story suggests, grinding can still be moan-inducing, so you’d do well to mind the noise if you’re in public.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

Here’s a handy glossary of LGBTQ+ terms for allies to commit to memory

Because the words we use matter.

By Ali Pantony

Terminology and naming are essential to marginalised communities, and many have their own language to communicate who they are and the societal struggles they face.

For LGBTQ+ allies, committing these terms to memory is a crucial part of furthering our allyship and learning about the community.

It’s important to note that some terms carry derogatory connotations but have been reclaimed by the LGBTQ+ community over time, and shouldn’t be used about someone unless you’re fully aware that they identify with them. Additionally, because some of these terms are so personal, they carry slightly different meanings for different individuals.

Here’s Stonewall’s guide to LGBTQ+ terms and definitions. It isn’t exhaustive, rather, it’s a good starting point to further our education…

ACE

Ace is an umbrella term used to describe a variation in levels of romantic and/or sexual attraction, including a lack of attraction. Ace people may describe themselves using one or more of a wide variety of terms, including, but not limited to, asexual, aromantic, demis and grey-As.
​

ALLY

A (typically) straight and/or cis person who supports members of the LGBT community.
​

BI

Bi is an umbrella term used to describe a romantic and/or sexual orientation towards more than one gender. Bi people may describe themselves using one or more of a wide variety of terms, including, but not limited to, bisexual, pan, queer, and some other non-monosexual and non-monoromantic identities.
​

BIPHOBIA

The fear or dislike of someone who identifies as bi based on prejudice or negative attitudes, beliefs or views about bi people. Biphobic bullying may be targeted at people who are, or who are perceived to be, bi.

BUTCH

Butch is a term used in LBT culture to describe someone who expresses themselves in a typically masculine way. There are other identities within the scope of butch, such as ‘soft butch’ and ‘stone butch’. You shouldn’t use these terms about someone unless you know they identify with them.
​

CISGENDER OR CIS

Someone whose gender identity is the same as the sex they were assigned at birth. Non-trans is also used by some people.

COMING OUT

When a person first tells someone/others about their orientation and/or gender identity.
​

DEADNAMING

Calling someone by their birth name after they have changed their name. This term is often associated with trans people who have changed their name as part of their transition.

FEMME

Femme is a term used in LGBT culture to describe someone who expresses themselves in a typically feminine way.
There are other identities within the scope of femme, such as ‘low femme’, ‘high femme’, and ‘hard femme’. You shouldn’t use these terms about someone unless you know they identify with them.

GAY

Refers to a man who has a romantic and/or sexual orientation towards men. Also a generic term for lesbian and gay sexuality – some women define themselves as gay rather than lesbian. Some non-binary people may also identify with this term.

GENDER

Often expressed in terms of masculinity and femininity, gender is largely culturally determined and is assumed from the sex assigned at birth.

GENDER DYSPHORIA

Used to describe when a person experiences discomfort or distress because there is a mismatch between their sex assigned at birth and their gender identity.
This is also the clinical diagnosis for someone who doesn’t feel comfortable with the sex they were assigned at birth.

GENDER EXPRESSION

How a person chooses to outwardly express their gender, within the context of societal expectations of gender. A person who does not conform to societal expectations of gender may not, however, identify as trans.

GENDER IDENTITY

A person’s innate sense of their own gender, whether male, female or something else (see non-binary below), which may or may not correspond to the sex assigned at birth.

GENDER REASSIGNMENT

Another way of describing a person’s transition. To undergo gender reassignment usually means to undergo some sort of medical intervention, but it can also mean changing names, pronouns, dressing differently and living in their self-identified gender.

Gender reassignment is a characteristic that is protected by the Equality Act 2010, and it is further interpreted in the Equality Act 2010 approved code of practice. It is a term of much contention and is one that Stonewall’s Trans Advisory Group feels should be reviewed.

GENDER RECOGNITION CERTIFICATE (GRC)

This enables trans people to be legally recognised in their affirmed gender and to be issued with a new birth certificate. Not all trans people will apply for a GRC and you currently have to be over 18 to apply. You do not need a GRC to change your gender markers at work or to legally change your gender on other documents such as your passport.

GILLICK COMPETENCE

A term used in medical law to decide whether a child (under 16 years of age) is able to consent to their own medical treatment, without the need for parental permission or knowledge.

HETEROSEXUAL / STRAIGHT

Refers to a man who has a romantic and/or sexual orientation towards women or to a woman who has a romantic and/or sexual orientation towards men.

HOMOSEXUAL

This might be considered a more medical term used to describe someone who has a romantic and/or sexual orientation towards someone of the same gender. The term ‘gay’ is now more generally used.

HOMOPHOBIA

The fear or dislike of someone, based on prejudice or negative attitudes, beliefs or views about lesbian, gay or bi people. Homophobic bullying may be targeted at people who are, or who are perceived to be, lesbian, gay or bi.

INTERSEX

A term used to describe a person who may have the biological attributes of both sexes or whose biological attributes do not fit with societal assumptions about what constitutes male or female. Intersex people may identify as male, female or non-binary.

Stonewall works with intersex groups to provide its partners and stakeholders information and evidence about areas of disadvantage experienced by intersex people but does not, after discussions with members of the intersex community, include intersex issues as part of its current remit at this stage.

LESBIAN

Refers to a woman who has a romantic and/or sexual orientation towards women. Some non-binary people may also identify with this term.

LESBOPHOBIA

The fear or dislike of someone because they are or are perceived to be a lesbian.

LGBT

The acronym for lesbian, gay, bi and trans.

NEURODIVERSE

A concept where neurological differences are recognised and respected in the same way as any other human difference.

NON-BINARY

An umbrella term for people whose gender identity doesn’t sit comfortably with ‘man’ or ‘woman’. Non-binary identities are varied and can include people who identify with some aspects of binary identities, while others reject them entirely.

ORIENTATION

Orientation is an umbrella term describing a person’s attraction to other people. This attraction may be sexual (sexual orientation) and/or romantic (romantic orientation). These terms refers to a person’s sense of identity based on their attractions, or lack thereof. Orientations include, but are not limited to, lesbian, gay, bi, ace and straight.

OUTED

When a lesbian, gay, bi or trans person’s sexual orientation or gender identity is disclosed to someone else without their consent.

PERSON WITH A TRANS HISTORY

Someone who identifies as male or female or a man or woman, but was assigned the opposite sex at birth. This is increasingly used by people to acknowledge a trans past.

PAN

Refers to a person whose romantic and/or sexual attraction towards others is not limited by sex or gender.

PASSING

If someone is regarded, at a glance, to be a cisgender man or cisgender woman. Cisgender refers to someone whose gender identity matches the sex they were ‘assigned’ at birth. This might include physical gender cues (hair or clothing) and/or behaviour which is historically or culturally associated with a particular gender.

PRONOUN

Words we use to refer to people’s gender in conversation – for example, ‘he’ or ‘she’. Some people may prefer others to refer to them in gender neutral language and use pronouns such as they/their and ze/zir.

QUEER

Queer is a term used by those wanting to reject specific labels of romantic orientation, sexual orientation and/or gender identity. It can also be a way of rejecting the perceived norms of the LGBT community (racism, sizeism, ableism etc). Although some LGBT people view the word as a slur, it was reclaimed in the late 80s by the queer community who have embraced it.

QUESTIONING

The process of exploring your own sexual orientation and/or gender identity.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION

A person’s romantic attraction to other people, or lack thereof. Along with sexual orientation, this forms a person’s orientation identity.

Stonewall uses the term ‘orientation’ as an umbrella term covering sexual and romantic orientations.

SEX

Assigned to a person on the basis of primary sex characteristics (genitalia) and reproductive functions. Sometimes the terms ‘sex’ and ‘gender’ are interchanged to mean ‘male’ or ‘female’

SEXUAL ORIENTATION

A person’s sexual attraction to other people, or lack thereof. Along with romantic orientation, this forms a person’s orientation identity.

Stonewall uses the term ‘orientation’ as an umbrella term covering sexual and romantic orientations.

TRANS

An umbrella term to describe people whose gender is not the same as, or does not sit comfortably with, the sex they were assigned at birth. Trans people may describe themselves using one or more of a wide variety of terms, including (but not limited to) transgender, transsexual, gender-queer (GQ), gender-fluid, non-binary, gender-variant, crossdresser, genderless, agender, nongender, third gender, bi-gender, trans man, trans woman,trans masculine, trans feminine and neutrois.

TRANSGENDER MAN

A term used to describe someone who is assigned female at birth but identifies and lives as a man. This may be shortened to trans man, or FTM, an abbreviation for female-to-male.

TRANSGENDER WOMAN

A term used to describe someone who is assigned male at birth but identifies and lives as a woman. This may be shortened to trans woman, or MTF, an abbreviation for male-to-female.

​TRANSITIONING

The steps a trans person may take to live in the gender with which they identify. Each person’s transition will involve different things. For some this involves medical intervention, such as hormone therapy and surgeries, but not all trans people want or are able to have this.

Transitioning also might involve things such as telling friends and family, dressing differently and changing official documents.

TRANSPHOBIA

The fear or dislike of someone based on the fact they are trans, including denying their gender identity or refusing to accept it. Transphobia may be targeted at people who are, or who are perceived to be, trans.

TRANSSEXUAL

This was used in the past as a more medical term (similarly to homosexual) to refer to someone whose gender is not the same as, or does not sit comfortably with, the sex they were assigned at birth. This term is still used by some although many people prefer the term trans or transgender.

UNDETECTABLE

HIV medication (antiretroviral treatment, or ART) works by reducing the amount of the virus in the blood to undetectable levels. This means the levels of HIV are so low that the virus cannot be passed on. This is called having an undetectable viral load or being undetectable. For more information, visit the Terrence Higgins Trust.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

How Queer Women Powered the Suffrage Movement

For many suffragists, scholars have found, the freedom to choose whom and how they loved was tied deeply to the idea of voting rights.

Molly Dewson, left, with Polly Porter in 1925. Their relationship is one of many that have surfaced as scholars seek to broaden history’s narrative of the suffrage movement.

By Maya Salam

In 1920, the suffragist Molly Dewson sat down to write a letter of congratulations to Maud Wood Park, who had just been chosen as the first president of the League of Women Voters, formed in anticipation of the passage of the 19th Amendment to help millions of women carry out their newfound right as voters.

“Partner and I have been bursting with pride and satisfaction,” she wrote. Dewson didn’t need to specify who “partner” was. Park already knew that Dewson was in a committed relationship with Polly Porter, whom she had met a decade earlier. The couple then settled down at a farm in Massachusetts (where they named their bulls after men they disliked).

Dewson “made every political decision, career decision based on how it would affect her relationship with Polly Porter,” Susan Ware, a historian and the author of “Partner and I” and “Why They Marched: Untold Stories of the Women Who Fought for the Right to Vote,” said in a phone interview.

Dewson was far from the only suffragist who had romantic relationships with women. Many of the women who fought for representation were rebels living nonnormative, queer lives.

“These kinds of non-heteronormative relationships were just part and parcel of the suffrage movement,” Ware said. “It’s not like we are having to dig and turn up like two or three women. They’re everywhere.” Including among the highest echelons of the movement.

In her diary, Alice Dunbar-Nelson, an African-American writer and a suffrage field organizer, described “a thriving lesbian and bisexual subculture among Black suffragists and clubwomen,” Wendy Rouse, a historian and associate professor at San Jose State University, wrote in an article published on the website of the Women’s Suffrage Centennial Commission. In those entries, Dunbar-Nelson wrote about the romantic and sexual experiences she had with men and women both while she was single and while she was married.

Carrie Chapman Catt, a president of the National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA), settled down with Mary Garrett Hay, a prominent suffragist in New York, after the death of Catt’s second husband. Catt asked that she be buried alongside Hay (instead of either of her husbands), which she was, at Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx.

And Dr. Anna Howard Shaw, another NAWSA president, had a decades-long relationship with Lucy Anthony, the niece of Susan B. Anthony. Though the elder Anthony was concerned about her niece’s long-term well-being, given more than a decade difference in their ages, she understood the kind of relationship she was in, said Lillian Faderman, a scholar of L.G.B.T.Q. history, who wrote the book “To Believe in Women: What Lesbians Have Done for America — A History.” Shaw “assured Susan that she would take care of Lucy forever,” Faderman said in a phone interview, “and she did indeed do that.”

Susan B. Anthony herself had relationships with women, Faderman said. Anthony wrote romantic letters to the suffragist Anna Elizabeth Dickinson and had a long relationship with Emily Gross. Faderman found letters — one to a relative, another to a close friend — in which Anthony refers to Gross as her lover. Lover was a term used for an admirer, but not in Anthony’s vocabulary, Faderman said.

Today, we have many terms for romantic relationships between women: lesbian, bisexual, same-sex and queer, among others. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, they were sometimes called “romantic friendships” or Boston marriages, which Faderman described as “long-term domestic relationships between two women who were financially independent thinkers.”

When the history of the 19th Amendment is taught in classrooms, suffragists are often depicted as boring, chaste and dowdy, and their campaign is rarely framed as a major social and political movement. But as greater attention is starting to be paid to suffrage history, and to the roles of Black and brown women, the narrative that is emerging is much more varied. This broader, more accurate picture is also increasing our understanding of queerness in the movement. Rouse, who is among scholars working to “queer the suffrage movement” — which she described as “deconstructing the dominant narrative that has focused on the stories of elite, white, upper-class suffragists” — uses “queer” as an umbrella term to describe suffragists who challenged gender and sexual norms in their everyday lives.

They did this by choosing not to marry, for example, or by living a life outside the rigid expectations placed on women in other ways. The suffragist Gail Laughlin demanded that pockets be sewn into her dresses, a radical request at the time.

Belle Squire, a suffragist from Illinois, “not only wanted the vote, she wanted to smash what we now call ‘the patriarchy,’” Rouse wrote in her article. In 1910, inspired by Squire and her No Vote, No Tax League, thousands of women refused to pay their taxes until women were granted the right to vote. Squire also publicly declared her refusal to marry, “a bold statement against the oppression of women,” Rouse wrote. And, demanding the same respect as married women, she insisted on being called Mrs. Squire, not Miss Squire.

Of course, the reality of living as an outlier wasn’t exactly rosy, especially for women in the working class or women with a more masculine presentation. In her research, Faderman found several instances in which a sex toy was found in the possession of women, a discovery that she said was “certainly frowned upon.” Those women, especially if they were of a lower social status, “were sentenced to jail” or “sentenced to be publicly whipped.”

The societal expectation that middle- and upper-class white women would marry men created a smoke screen of sorts. “I think that the world outside didn’t speculate about the possibilities of a sexual relationship between” women, Faderman said, adding that parents were probably relieved to learn that their daughter had an intense relationship with a female friend, and not a man, before marriage.

In a way, this smoke screen extended to detractors of the movement, known as anti-suffragists. Anti-suffragists already viewed suffragists as abnormal for wanting equal rights, and they pointed to gender-nonconforming suffragists as evidence that the movement was deviant. They argued that these women would reject marriage, family and the home, and they feared women would adopt men’s clothes and assume male privileges, Rouse said in an email. But somehow they didn’t latch onto the fact that many of these women were having romantic relationships with each other.

This oversight was in part because same-sex relationships didn’t start to be pathologized until the early 20th century, and because, as Ware put it, “Women are kind of invisible, period.” But maybe most of all, it was because the suffrage movement itself downplayed the queerness within it, Rouse said, a defensive strategy that contributed to the erasure of queer suffragists.

Leaders of the movement (including Shaw and Catt) opted instead to present a version “palatable to the mainstream,” Rouse said, by emphasizing normalcy. So suffragists who were seemingly happily married wives and mothers — or young, beautiful and affluent, a.k.a. marriage material — became the faces of the movement.

Despite this internal friction and these fraught side effects, it ultimately made practical sense that queer women would be at the forefront of the movement. Married women of the day often had children, and mothers didn’t have time to lead a movement, Faderman said. “But the women who didn’t have kids, they did have time to lead.”

For these queer women, the freedom to choose whom and how they loved was tied deeply to the idea of voting rights.

“They knew they would have no man to represent them,” Faderman said, echoing a common refrain among married women who were not suffragists: “My husband votes for me. He votes for the family.” But unmarried or gay women knew that would not be the case for them, she said, and so, “they needed to get the vote for themselves.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

Is Lesbian Bed Death A Real Thing?

By Charlotte Moore

When I think back to my first same-sex relationship, there are a few stereotypes about lesbians which I realised early on are pretty much baseless.

Firstly, even if you own a vulva, everyone is pretty much inept when first faced with someone else’s. This is only cemented by the brutal lack of LGBTQ+ sex education – or even basic acknowledgement of the clitoris, let alone pleasure for cis women and trans women – in schools.

Secondly, those who pander to the stereotype of women being incredible communicators have clearly never endured a night of the silent treatment or a blazing row over who was supposed to take the bins out. And then there’s the notion that one woman somehow takes on the role of a ‘man’ in a lesbian relationship to take those bins out in the first place.

There is, however, one hackneyed cliche that I feared might be true: lesbian bed death. Just like jokes about the “urge to merge” aka moving in together after one date, lesbian bed death is a concept that many women and people who identify as women who date women and people who identify as women deal with day in, day out. “Oh,” they say, giggling, “soon you won’t be getting any at all.

This tired, worn joke – that we don’t like sex, that we feign headaches to get out of it and have to be pressured into doing it at all – is so familiar to cis women, isn’t it? I don’t know about you but that’s not my experience or the experience of any of the women I know. So where did the idea of lesbian bed death even come from?

Let’s go back to the 1980s when this term was coined by the sociologists Pepper Schwartz and Philip Blumstein while researching sex for their book, American Couples: Money, Work, Sex. Schwartz concluded that lesbians have less sex than straight or gay couples and, with that, lesbian bed death (or LBD) became a thing.

The term lesbian bed death was coined by the sociologists Pepper Schwartz and Philip Blumstein in their book, American Couples: Money, Work, Sex. Schwartz concluded that lesbians have less sex than straight or gay couples and, with that, lesbian bed death became a thing.

There are plenty of issues with Schwartz and Blumstein’s book, namely that its authors posited their small research sample as being representative of all lesbian couples. Something else to consider is that back then, lesbian sex was harder to define. Internalised misogyny led to a lot of women assuming that what they were doing wasn’t necessarily sex, because sex meant penetration. On top of this, the study only measured the quantity of sex, not the quality – which, as we all know, tells you nothing.

Why, then, has the shaky concept of lesbian bed death persisted? A huge reason has to be the fact that, predictably, there is little reliable research into the sexual experiences of lesbians. With this in mind, it would be easy to disregard lesbian bed death as a homophobic, anti-women myth. But to do so would make those who do experience it feel even more isolated.

I know this myself. Despite being worried about my sex life, I have shied away from addressing the subject of lesbian bed death, for fear of being told I was reinforcing a problematic idea.

“We’ve been together for two years and everyone jokes about lesbian bed death. I love my girlfriend more than anything. We’re both just so busy and when we climb into bed after work – it’s honestly the last thing on my mind,” says 24-year-old Emily. “I don’t think she’s unhappy. But we haven’t really spoken about it – maybe we should?”

Talking about sex – having it and not having it – is key to any relationship. But, says 23-year-old Lily, giving oxygen to the idea of lesbian bed death is problematic.

“It’s obviously a trope of lesbian relationships that women don’t have a sex drive or any sort of libido – so, obviously, LBD is inevitable,” she tells me. “This, I think, is patriarchal nonsense. But I think we need to acknowledge that female sexuality is different. Sex with your partner is different when you’re in a f/f relationship.”

I sat down with Tabitha Bast, a psychosexual therapist experienced in LGBTQ+ relationships, to get her thoughts. “The first thing to say is all long-term relationships, statistically, will see a decrease in sexual desire,” she explains. “And a relationship with two women can have nuances that a heterosexual relationship doesn’t – for example, if you’re two cis women, that’s two menstrual cycles. It’s common to feel less sexy around your period and with two cycles to manage, this can present a challenge.”

There’s also a theory, popularised by Emily Nagoski, a women’s sexual health expert and author of Come As You Are, that there are two core types of sex drive. “The first is spontaneous sex drive – this is pretty much as it sounds: you see someone that you’re attracted to and you want to have sex,” Emily explains. “The second is a responsive sex drive – where you feel sexy once you start to engage in kissing or touching. The latter, a responsive sex drive, is more common in females, so it means that sex needs to be initiated before either party feels turned on.”

The third National Survey of Sexual Attitudes and Lifestyles (Natsal-3) found that 51% of women had experienced sexual difficulties in the last year. So why has this notion that women who have sex with women are more likely to suffer stuck?

Emily also notes that “sex with a woman is different. A study from 2016 highlighted that while lesbian couples may have sex less often, they do have sex for far longer. As well as this, they can actually experience more orgasms than a straight couple. So we also need to highlight the quality of sex, rather than just the quantity.”

Ultimately, regardless of sexual orientation or gender, shame and guilt around how much sex we are having seems universal. In truth, there’s no ‘set amount’ of sex that we should be having. But this can become an issue when one partner’s sex drive is far higher than the other’s. Tabitha talks about the challenges this presents for both parties. “They both feel awful. If you’re the initiator, you can feel shame – it’s a predatory feeling. But being the rejector is just as bad. The guilt that comes with turning down your partner can be just as problematic.”

Perhaps, then, lesbian bed death isn’t a thing. It’s just a questionable name for something we all face at some point in our monogamous romantic relationships with sexual partners: the decline of desire. When real life sets in, with all its takeaways, boxsets and working late, the thrill of tearing off your significant other’s clothes often wanes.

Tabitha suggests that the best way to deal with this is firstly to accept that you are two different people with different feelings. “Communication is the best way to address it. Treat it with curiosity – it doesn’t have to be a heavy conversation – and use prompts. For example, if you’ve watched a TV show with a sex scene, ask: ‘Did that turn you on?’ Introduce feedback as part of your after-sex routine and talk about the parts you enjoyed.”

Another important area of consideration is our hormones. Some women take birth control even in a same-sex relationship to manage their periods or acne. This, too, can affect libido.

And of course, hormones can disproportionately affect trans women. “Since being on HRT (hormone replacement therapy) I feel far more comfortable in my own body. But my libido seems to shut down,” says 29-year-old Harmony. “I’ve only been with my girlfriend a year, but it’s hard to get myself to a place where I feel sexy.”

Trans women can experience a huge mix of side effects from HRT, as well as the pressure of societal transphobia, which can cause anxiety.

“There have been positive and negative changes to taking HRT. I was told that there would be an effect but they couldn’t say how I would be affected,” adds Beth, who is a trans woman and has been on HRT since 2015. “Transphobia and anxiety has definitely affected my libido. I was afraid to be intimate with people for fear of them responding negatively.” While Beth now has a loving partner, she adds that there is a “level of internalised transphobia. Men are perceived as sex-crazed individuals and I was afraid to embrace my own sexual desires in case I seemed ‘less female’.”

Internalised transphobia and anxiety can certainly have a negative effect on sex drive, explains Tabitha. “As a therapist, I obviously recommend that all of these issues can be addressed in therapy. Especially ones that relate to how we feel about ourselves. Therapy is a safe space to discuss these issues and give these feelings the time and respect that they deserve to be treated with.” It’s not just verbal communication which is important here. Touch communication matters, too.

So where do we stand on lesbian bed death? While there’s clearly some truth to the trope, it’s relevant to all couples. Lack of sex cannot and should not be defined as a symptom of queerness. Indeed, the third National Survey of Sexual Attitudes and Lifestyles (Natsal-3) found that 51% of women had experienced sexual difficulties in the last year, with 11% of women saying that they were distressed or worried about their sex life. So why has this notion that women who have sex with women are more likely to suffer stuck?

In the end, reducing the experiences of lesbians, of cis women and trans women, to an oversimplified trope only exposes the continued lack of research and investment in LGBTQ+ sexual studies or even into menstrual cycles, birth control and hormonal changes. It’s 2020: let’s fund that research, amplify women’s voices and leave lesbian bed death in the ‘80s, where it belongs.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

How Quarantine Helped Me Overcome Stigmas Surrounding Queer Dating

By Meggie Gates

I’ve been out since I was 19, and insecure since the day I was born. I’ve shied away from intimacy my entire life, something psychologists label “avoidant attachment” and my mother calls “frustrating.” I am 26, I do not like to be touched, and incidences of sexual assault have only heightened that feeling, narrowing an already limited number of partners I’ve had in the past. I’m sex positive, I support whatever anyone else does sexually, but I can’t go about the act without some wine notched under my belt, something I consider leveling my anxiety and something my therapist describes as “bad.” I rarely know how to approach casual sex. How the heck do I fit in to In a community where sex is constantly, seemingly, on the table?

I live in Chicago, and in Boystown, there is a sign—an advertisement for a dating app with two shirtless, hunky gay men rubbing bodies in boxer briefs. In Wrigleyville, there is a friend—a person regaling hookups on Grindr every time I see them, years of casual lovers. In the queer community, there is commercialization—the kind we celebrate with plenty of skin showing at Pride festivals come June. Condoms are handed out and dental dams are distributed. It is good, safe, serves to destigmatize, and celebrates what years of hate has told us not to embrace. It is beautiful and poetic and deserved of that celebration, but it is not me.

The perceived stereotype of casual sex in the queer community can make some hesitant to date. The questions of casual sex looms overhead in the queer community and that stereotype can affect many people’s approaches to exploring their sexual identity. The pressure sex puts on the queer community can be isolating for some. Worse, it can feel invalidating. In their article “Mr. Right Now: Temporality of Relationship Formation on Gay Mobile Apps,” professors Tien Yeo and Tsz Fung write about the pressure queer people can feel to compromise sex for love.

“For those seeking more durable relationships, tensions arising from the specific temporality of app use that privileges casual sex but which also maximizes the pool of potential partners versus the temporal norms prescribing friendship and long-term romantic relationships become a major source of frustration,” write Yeo and Fung. “Ultimately, these tensions resulted in users conform to routine patterns of interactions, developing alternative modes of interactions on apps that decelerate relationship development, or (temporarily) deleting the apps.”

For people who buy into hypersexualized LGBTQ+ media representation, the anxiety and doubt surrounding conversations on sexuality can feel like another reason not to pursue meaningful connections. In a society focused on hook-up culture, it’s hard trusting someone will have the patience to get to know me. The conversation of how good you are at sex circles the internet; the question of how queer you are hinging on past relationships focused on binary. Sitting across from women on a first date, anxiety constantly creeps up, making me wonder how the night will end.

Quarantine has changed the game for dating across the board. People must decide whether someone is worth putting their life (and the lives of others) at risk. Zoom dates can be awkward, uncomfortable, and the lack of intimacy can be hard. Building a relationship over FaceTime is seemingly impossible. But, strangely, this is the first time I’ve felt truly comfortable approaching dating in years. Why? Because without the expectation of kissing or sex following a date, I’m confident having conversations I’d usually never have regarding my sexuality and gender. It finally feels like dating in a way that’s truer to myself.

Without the expectation of kissing or sex following a date, I’m confident having conversations I’d usually never have regarding my sexuality and gender. It finally feels like dating in a way that’s truer to myself.

I met Ana through Hinge two months ago, another app in a sea of apps geared toward dating. From our first date, I let her know of the anxieties I foster when it comes to queer dating. I ask if my slowness warming up to intimacy makes a difference to her, if my lack of history with people of the same sex erases me in her mind as legitimately queer. She responds surprised, shocked I’d even ask. “Your past doesn’t matter and if someone makes you feel bad for that, you’re better off without them,” she says. “The queer community isn’t a contest.”

It’s no secret gay love has, and still is, stigmatized in many parts of the world. Religion, race, gender, and class all play a part in the need for people to hide their sexuality for different reasons. Being ostracized, ridiculed, or neglected creates a desire for many queer people to feel loved and attractive, resulting in fast connections of momentary fulfillment. Casual sex has many benefits for those who enjoy it. You can share a strong connection with someone for a passing period and go your own way, no strings attached at the end of the night. For me, the anxiety of waking up to someone I barely know overshadows all pleasure. I feel I’m missing out on my 20s as I watch friends stumble out of bars with others. This is what TV said adulthood would be like, but it’s never been that way for me. I miss all the nuance of feeling fun and alive in a city because I’m too focused on my shoes whenever someone asks for my number.

I walk through an obsolete Boystown recounting memories of all the love Saturday nights once held. The avenue is painted with the past of people who carried themselves over the rainbow boulevard looking for a home in someone else, a late-night rendezvous heading out of Berlin hand-in-hand. I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss Red Bull vodka shots at midnight and making out with strangers whose names I don’t remember; how a photo strip of a girl in passing isn’t poetry that spans the lengths of years.

Relationships take a toll and farther into heartbreak we get, the easier it is to run at the sight of something new. Flings that are fleeting outweigh tangling yourself in something messy and complicated. Dating hardly takes off for me because I’m too stressed about the motions, if I’ll be critiqued for the physical instead of the emotional. Now, there’s nothing but time to explore one another as the world around us stops shifting. After two months talking, Ana and I finally met. My family encourages me because they “like her” and think she’s “a good match for me.” We’re slow and have found a rhythm that suits us, one grown from patience and time.

For once, I’m trying to walk rather than run.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

13 Necessary Queer Literary Classics For Every Bookshelf

From Virginia Woolf’s Orlando and James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room to Alice Walker’s Pulitzer Prize-winning The Color Purple and Ocean Vuong’s 2019 debut — the queer literary landscape is vibrant, expansive and ready to be explored.

By Rosalind Jana

The history of queer literature is a long one. From Greek poet Sappho to Irish playwright Oscar Wilde, many writers have approached the challenges and pleasures of the LGBTQ+ experience with great depth and imagination. This hasn’t always been an easy endeavour; often, it’s been a history read in gaps and implied meaning, with obstructions for those depicting the nuances of sexuality and gender identity without censure. Thankfully, this has slowly changed, and the queer literary landscape is now both vibrant and expansive.

In fact, this list of 13 queer classics offers just a handful of the books that could have been chosen. For every inclusion, there is another notable absence. E.M. Forster, Ali Smith, Audre Lorde, Christopher Isherwood and numerous other novelists aren’t listed here, but have all written fantastic fiction that has helped both shape and pluralise the stories that now make up a queer canon. Think of these suggestions as a starting point — a handful of bold and brilliant books perfect for picking up at any time, with lots more to discover when all is read and done.

‘Giovanni’s Room’ by James Baldwin (1956)

Giovanni’s Room condenses an incredible sweep of emotion into its scant length. Detailing the fraught relationship between American David and Italian bartender Giovanni, the former narrates the tale of their time together over a night leading “to the most terrible morning of my life”. This terrible morning, we soon discover, marks the day of Giovanni’s execution. With this looming, David recounts the trials and tumult of their love affair, and, in doing so, sketches a complex portrait of masculinity at war with itself. It is an astonishingly vivid novel, grappling not only with the heady contours of desire, but also the disturbing consequences of shame and self-loathing.

‘The Line of Beauty’ by Alan Hollinghurst (2004)

Nick Guest has left university and summer is in full swing. Living in the Notting Hill house of an affluent school friend whose father is a Conservative politician, the book opens with Margaret Thatcher’s second election victory in 1983 and skilfully interlaces questions of politics, class, and sex. At first, Nick’s sexuality is largely hidden from the upper-class world he drifts into — with trysts in gated gardens and behind closed doors. But as time passes and the AIDS crisis develops, this no longer becomes possible. Taking aim at the hollow allure of wealth and the moral vacuum of Thatcher’s rule, Hollinghurst’s novel is sumptuous and increasingly sombre.

‘Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit’ by Jeanette Winterson (1985)

“People like to separate storytelling which is not fact from history which is fact. They do this so they know what to believe and what not to believe.” Jeanette Winterson’s debut, rooted in her own experiences of growing up as a lesbian in a Pentecostal adopted family, is structured around the religious texts that permeate protagonist Jeanette’s upbringing. Delving into what happens when the expected narratives — both theological and personal — are rejected, Winterson’s voice is fresh, startling, and funny. It’s a brilliant novel, illuminating the consequences of a devout and claustrophobic mother, and an institution that punishes nascent love with cruelty. For a follow-up, try Winterson’s 2011 memoir, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?.

‘Orlando’ by Virginia Woolf (1928)

Some novels are dialogues with difficult questions. Others aim to capture a particular history: cultural, collective, individual. A few are love letters. Orlando is all of the above. Inspired by and written for the magnetic, imposing Vita Sackville-West, with whom Virginia Woolf had a long affair, it follows the titular protagonist through three centuries of history, several romantic liaisons, one gender switch, and a very lengthy poetic project. It is a giddy read, full of humour and warmth as well as searching examinations of gender, sexuality, power and artistic process.

‘Paul Takes The Form of a Mortal Girl’ by Andrea Lawlor (2017)

What would happen if you transplanted Orlando to 1993 and added dozens more explicit sex scenes? The result would possibly look something like Andrea Lawlor’s Paul Takes The Form of a Mortal Girl. This raucous novel follows the adventures of Paul — also known as Polly — whose body is malleable, metamorphic, and endlessly hungry for pleasure. Able to physically transform at will, Paul revels in the sexual and romantic possibilities offered by numerous adjustments in face, height, torso, genitals, and more. Slipping between guises and identities, the polymorphous Paul offers a lucid look at trans identity — as playful as it is serious.

‘Dancer From The Dance’ by Andrew Holleran (1978)

Holleran’s book — dubbed ‘The Gay Great Gatsby’ — takes its title from a Yeats poem. It reads: “O body swayed to music, O brightening glance / How can we know the dancer from the dance?” It’s an apt reference, given the book’s preoccupation with observation, as well as the physical intimacies and distances found in a social whirl. Set in New York in a pre-AIDS era, Holleran brilliantly captures a generation of men for whom hedonism is never-ending, while desire, loneliness, and a restless wish for love continually jostle.

‘The Color Purple’ by Alice Walker (1982)

A devastating, but ultimately hopeful narrative told in a series of letters from protagonist Celie to God and her sister Nettie, Alice Walker won the Pulitzer Prize for The Color Purple in 1983. Detailing the stark realities of abuse, misogyny, and racism in rural Georgia, Walker’s novel offers both a damning indictment of institutionalised and culturally encoded oppression, and the tremendous potential found in reclaiming one’s life for oneself. With the introduction of blues singer Shug Avery, it also becomes a love story — one in which pleasure and passion is reciprocated, and female solidarity provides great solace.

‘Carol’ by Patricia Highsmith (1952)

Published under the pseudonym “Claire Morgan”, the formerly titled The Price of Salt swiftly became a runaway hit. Inspired by a “blondish” woman in a mink coat who had made her feel “odd and swimmy in the head” while working at Macy’s (and influenced too by her relationship with heiress Virginia Kent Catherwood), Highsmith conjured a love story full of erotic charge. Documenting the unfolding relationship between 19-year-old Therese and thirtysomething Carol, it is a crisply observed story in which desire simmers and the constrictions of nuclear family life are stifling. At the time, it was praised for its open-ended suggestion of a happy future. In recent years, it’s enjoyed a renaissance thanks to Todd Haynes’ stylish film.

‘On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous’ by Ocean Vuong (2019)

Language, lust, addiction and inherited trauma coalesce in Ocean Vuong’s debut. Written in the form of a letter from a son to a mother who can’t read it, Vuong combines the precision and lyricism of his poetry with the varied forms of intimacy that exist between lovers, between parent and child, and between the ill and well. Growing up with a Vietnamese mother and grandmother for whom war and violence have left deep imprints, the novel’s speaker Little Dog approaches the question of survival with searching intensity. Combining fragmented memories of childhood with an account of his first troubled love — Trevor, the 16-year-old son of a tobacco farmer — Vuong’s narrative of growing up gay and escaping is tender and heartbreaking.

‘America is Not the Heart’ by Elaine Castillo (2018)

Hero goes by several names. Named Geronima De Vera, in the Philippines she is known as Nimang. But on arrival in Milpitas, near San Francisco, her seven-year-old niece dubs her Hero. It’s a nickname both uneasy and fitting for a woman whose life has taken several distinct turns, from a wealthy upbringing, to a decade as a doctor in the New People’s Army, to two years of torture, to a new beginning in the US. Arriving with broken thumbs and a brittle exterior, Hero’s affections unravel slowly. Castillo’s book is sprawling and energetic: sharp in its interrogations of language, immigration, and class, and bold-hearted in its depiction of Hero’s frank, unsentimental approach to sex and love — with things complicated and transformed by local beautician Rosalyn.

‘Stone Butch Blues’ by Leslie Feinberg (1993)

“The law said we needed to be wearing three pieces of women’s clothing. We never switched clothing. Neither did our drag queen sisters. We knew, and so did you, what was coming. We needed our sleeves rolled up, our hair slicked back, in order to live through it.” Leslie Feinberg’s novel is a blistering and incisive depiction of lesbian and trans experience. Exploring the life of Jess Goldberg, a working-class gender-queer butch lesbian growing up in 1950s Buffalo before moving to New York, Feinberg sheds light on horrific police brutality and queer networks of community and care, and asks what it means (and what it takes) to resist.

‘Under the Udala Trees’ by Chinelo Okparanta (2015)

In 2014, Nigeria’s then-President Goodluck Jonathan signed the Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act with incredibly serious sanctions ranging from imprisonment to death. This sobering fact forms the author’s endnote in Chinelo Okparanta’s moving, sparingly written novel. A coming-of-age tale taking place against the backdrop of the Nigerian civil war, it focuses on a young Igbo woman named Ijeoma who struggles to reconcile faith, family, and her sexuality. Coming to terms with being a lesbian in a culture hostile to homosexuality, Okparanta skilfully weaves between resignation and revelation — unstinting in her focus on the horrors of both war and deep prejudice, while offering a fragile note of hope.

‘After The Parade’ by Lori Ostlund (2015)

As Aaron Englund leaves his older partner after 20 years, his life packed up in the back of a truck, the past constantly infiltrates his chosen future. Relocating to San Francisco, disturbing recollections from childhood mingle with examinations of his time with Walter — a quiet, ordered man who wished “to serve as benefactor to Aaron’s wishes and ambitions, and so bind Aaron to him.” In breaking free of all that has tethered him, Aaron finds room to unravel a complex web of trauma and loss. After The Parade is a stunningly written book, deft in its understanding of love and alienation.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

How To Raise Kids To Be LGBTQ+ Allies

When They’re Growing Up In A Heterosexual Home

by Stephanie Kaloi

This month, you will probably be hearing a lot about one very spectacular celebration: June is Pride Month, and communities across the world will be celebrating.

As a parent, you might also be wondering how to navigate the month with your kids, and you might be extra curious about how you can raise your children to be LGBTQ+ allies if they’re growing up in a heterosexual home.

If you’re nodding along, trust: I get it! My son’s dad and I are both straight, and our self-identified genders correspond with the biological sex we were born with. We are huge allies of the LBGTQ+ community and have so many friends we love and cherish who are part of it.

As such, it’s been really important to us that our son is a fierce ally and friend to this community and really to everyone who isn’t bigoted.

If you don’t have friends who identify as part of the LGBTQ+ community, it might feel extra hard to figure out how to have a conversation about being an ally with your child. After all, one of the best ways to foster empathy is to know and love the people you are empathizing with. With that in mind, I thought it would be helpful to put together a list of ideas and resources for heterosexual parents who are hoping to raise LGBTQ+ allies.

1. Have honest conversations about sexuality early.

My first tip is this: Start talking about sexuality, gender identity, and sexual preference early in your child’s life. And I really do mean early: There are totally board books for babies that cover these topics and ideas. The earlier you normalize the many ways people live and love on this planet, the easier it is. Once you get started, I think you’ll be amazed by how little of a big deal this has to be.

For example, a lot of us already have built-in expectations about gender identity and gender performance due to how we have been socialized, so you can start by examining the ideas you already have and believe. Then identify the areas where you need more growth and learning. From there, find the words that you’re comfortable using with your kids.

Tip: Keep in mind that LGBTQ+ is about way more than just being gay or straight. The community encompasses a huge range of sexual expressions and preferences, and it’s important to give all of them equal weight.

2. Recognize that your children might also be LGBTQ+.

While you’re learning and having these conversations, realize that your own children might actually be part of the LBGTQ+ community, or they might not know if they are and be interested in exploring it. You don’t want to talk about all of this as if it’s something that is distant and removed from your own family. It’s normal and healthy for your kids to explore sexual identity and preference, and if they feel safe and supported in their home (and are raised loving this community of people), then they’ll feel like they can talk to you about those explorations and questions.

Plus, they’ll never have to doubt whether or not you love them.

3. Challenge gender and sex-based stereotypes all the time.

If there is one thing I know about myself, it is that I am relentless. A friend recently asked me how often we talk about racism with our 11-year-old son. I told my friend every single day. They were surprised, but when I explained that either someone we love experiences racism every day, or there’s a story in the news, or we watch or read something and racism is present in it, it started to make sense.

We also talk about other -isms every single day, such as sexism and ableism. We talk about bigotry and anti-LGBTQ+ attitudes and beliefs every day. These aren’t always big, scary conversations about subjects and events that are hard. In fact, more often than not, we’re having celebratory chats.

It can be tempting to only bring up these topics when the news “forces” us too, but I found that deliberately making it part of everything that we do in a day eventually made it come quite naturally.

4. Know and love LGBTQ+ people in your life.

I am absolutely not saying you need to run outside and find the first LGBTQ+ person you see and make them your new best friend, because that would be rude and gross. What I am saying is that if the only LGBTQ+ representation your kids get is from a book or TV, then that’s not really good enough. I know some people truly do live in very homogenous towns, but a lot of us live in diverse cities and communities and, either on purpose or without realizing it, self-choose to be distant from others who we don’t immediately identify as like us.

If you really don’t have any friends who are LGBTQ+ and you’re doing the work to learn to be an ally yourself, I suggest volunteering with an organization that supports LGBTQ+ people in your community as a good way to get to know the people you’re pledging your time to learn more about.

5. Celebrate diversity in your home in obvious ways.

And finally: I always remind myself that, as much as I would love for him to, my child does not learn through osmosis. I can’t assume he will be a kind, gentle person who is a friend and ally just because I want him to be one, or because I believe I am raising him to be “a good person.” The idea of “a good person” is so general that it’s hard to even know what I might mean — and I am sure that how I define “a good person” is not the same definition another family uses.

Celebrating diversity in your home isn’t too hard. Go to events, go to rallies. Support communities that need your support. Make sure your kids see all sides of the LBGTQ+ spectrum — don’t only bring up stories of pain and oppression; bring up stories of love and joy, too. Everything from the books you introduce to the media you consume to the people you spend time with will impact your children.

And on that final note: If your family and friends are bigoted and homophobic, your kids will see it. If you’re really the ally you want to be, then you absolutely have to speak up and educate the people you allow your children to be around. Otherwise, you’ll be little more than a walking contradiction, and your kids will respond accordingly. It can be tough to have hard conversations, but if you’re armed with the right mix of knowledge, facts, and empathy, you can do it. Lives are on the line, so really … you have to.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

The Queer Lingo Dictionary

By Quinn Mathys

While some of the terms used in this edition may be known throughout parts of the queer community, not everyone — not even all queer people — may know their definitions. To help further the conversation, we have created this section so that you may reference it as needed as you read through the pieces. Words have power, and it’s important to understand what they communicate — all of their messages, the emotions with them, as well as their direct definitions.

AGAB — (acronym) stands for “assigned gender at birth,” a term trans* people may use to identify who were born in male (AMAB) or female (AFAB) bodies

Aromantic — (adj.) a person who doesn’t experience romantic attraction but may still experience sexual attraction. To read more about this, check out our piece on the Split Attraction Model (SAM).

Cisgender (sometimes shortened to “cis”) — (adj.) someone who identifies with the gender they were assigned at birth

Cishet — (adj.) a cisgender heterosexual person

Cisexism — (noun) prejudice or discrimination against trans* people

Closeted — (adj.) used to describe someone who is not open about their queer sexuality or non-cis gender identity

Coming out — (verbal phrase) the act of a person revealing their queer sexuality or non-cis gender identity

Cross-dressing — (noun) the act of wearing clothes and presenting as another gender, not to be confused with identifying as that gender

Equal protection — (noun) a clause included in the 14th amendment that keeps any governing body from denying its citizens equal protection

Femme — (adj.) presenting or acting in a way that is traditionally feminine, regardless of the person’s gender identity

Gay — (adj.) a person who is romantically or sexually attracted to others of the same gender, sometimes used as an informal umbrella term to refer to members of the entire LGBTQ+ community

Gender (as opposed to sex) — (noun) a social construct relating to expectations of behavior, characteristics and thoughts; commonly confused with “sex,” which is usually assigned by doctors at birth based on a person’s genitalia or their chromosomes

Gender expression —(noun) the way that a person chooses to present their gender identity

Gender-nonconforming — (adj.) a term used to describe someone who does not follow the traditional gender norms of the gender they were assigned at birth

Heteronormative — (adj.) an action or belief that pushes heterosexuality as the normal or preferred sexual orientation

Heterosexism — (noun) prejudice or discrimination against people who are not heterosexual

Homosexual — (noun) someone who is sexually attracted to people of the same gender; however, this label carries a negative connotation, as it has been used as a clinical term to discriminate against gay people.

Intersectionality — (noun) the different aspects of identity (race, gender, sexual orientation, ability, etc.) as they apply to an individual or a group of people; these social categories overlap in interdependent systems of discrimination

Masc — (adj.) presenting or acting in a way that is traditionally masculine, regardless of the person’s gender identity

Orientation — (noun) the determination of how one person relates to someone else (i.e., romantic orientation or sexual orientation). Gender identity is not an orientation.

Outing — (verb) the act of revealing a closeted person’s queer sexuality or non-cis gender identity, which should only be done with the permission of said person. Outing someone without their permission is a violation of their trust and is highly frowned on.

Phobia (as in homophobia/biphobia/transphobia/aphobia/etc.) — (noun) dislike or prejudice against gay/bisexual/trans*/asexual individuals, more obvious or direct than heterosexism or cissexism

Queer — (adj.) a person who is a part of the LGBTQ+ community

Spectrum — (noun) a range between two opposite points (i.e., the gender spectrum), but it is more commonly used in reference to autism spectrum disorder (ASD)

They/them/their — (pronouns) the most common singular gender neutral pronouns in the English language, which have been used since the 14th century

Trans* — (adj.) people who do not identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. The asterisk acknowledges there are people who may not feel like the term “trans” or “transgender” accurately applies to them, and its placement shows that those other identities are being included in the discussion.

Trans panic — (noun) an excuse that can be used by the accused to get a lighter sentence in a court of law if the accused has murdered a trans* person.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

Sex Tech Has Embraced Female Pleasure,

But Lesbians Are Still Being Left Out Of The Conversation

LGBTQ+ women bring skills, experiences, and insights that straight consumers can benefit from, … [+] says Brianna Radar, the founder of Juicebox.
By Franki Cookney

Sex tech entrepreneurs wanting to cater to women, would do well to listen to what lesbians have to say about female pleasure.

Barriers between the traditionally white, straight, male world of investment and the increasingly female-populated worlds of design and production are starting to slowly break down. Women are leading the way in audio porn, sex education, and toy design, and the sexual wellness industry is no longer a stranger to female-founders. But the vast majority of products that come to market are still based around a heterosexual understanding of sex.

Speaking as part of DIVA’s Lesbian Visibility Week schedule of virtual events, psychosexologist Dr Karen Gurney pointed out that there are some key differences when it comes to women who have sex with women. “Research shows that when you ask heterosexual people what sex should look like, there is a formulaic and narrow definition given,” she said in a video talk. “But sexual scripts for women who have sex with women provide more freedom. There’s no typical script for what lesbian sex should look like or who should do what in what order.”

The clinical psychologist and author of of Mind The Gap: The Truth about Desire and how to Future-proof Your Sex Life, Dr Gurney added that women who have sex with women are well-placed to bust myths around female bodies and sexuality. “Women’s bodies are not tricker than mens,” she said. “And women who have sex with women will probably know more about that than a lot of women out there.”

She referred to what is known as The Orgasm Gap, based on a 2016 study into differences in orgasm frequency, which showed that women’s rate of orgasm when they have sex with men is only 65%, while straight men report having an orgasm 95% of the time. However, she points out that the rate of orgasm for women who have sex with women is 85%.

“Women who have sex with women typically report a greater variety and frequency of sexual acts,” she said. “Unsurprisingly, this shows itself in more orgasms, as well as higher reported sexual satisfaction.”

Despite this, marketing in the sexual wellness sector is still largely informed by the experiences of heterosexual women.  “Historically, cis men have been the leaders in the space we now call sex tech,” says Maggie Stiggleman, the senior software developer at Lioness. “When women are thought of it’s often only straight women.”

While there are of course similarities between what straight women enjoy in bed and what gay women enjoy, lumping lesbians in with discussions of straight female sexual pleasure is unhelpful. “It is almost like lesbians get forgotten in the mix of female sexuality,” says Alice Derock, the CEO of Wet For Her. “When it comes to products, it does feel lesbian sexuality is approached in the same way as heterosexual women’s sexuality. There doesn’t seem to be an understanding of lesbian couples’ sex and how this is different. There is a market within the lesbian community and I think this sometimes forgotten. ”

Founded in 2009, Wet For Her designs and manufacturers lesbian sex toys. Derock says that while she’s always found the adult industry to be very welcoming, the startup space is still tricky to navigate as a woman, let alone as a lesbian-founded sex tech company.

“Many people assume when you say you have a lesbian business, that it must be making porn,” she says. “When you search the term ‘lesbian’ on search engines, it is always porn that pops up first, even though the terms ‘sex tech’ and ‘sexual wellness’ have become more mainstream.”

Stiggleman says that gay women also face an extra hurdle when it comes to breaking into the sex tech world, because of the ways that sexism and homophobia intersect. “Sex tech companies have a hard time being taken seriously because of the stigma already associated with sex,” she says. “Women-run ones have an even harder time because society has taught us to trust men with business, not women. So, a lesbian-run sex tech company? Investors don’t come running for something society has told them is deviant in so many ways.”

Both women say they feel completely supported and welcomed in their own workplaces, but acknowledge this isn’t always the case. Furthermore, Stiggleman feels proud to be working on a product—a smart vibrator that allows users to measure and track their orgasms—that is taking the lesbian experience into account. 

“I do a lot of the designing and coding for our mobile app, and I make sure that we do not assume the sexuality or gender of our users,” she says. “It is important to me that I’m helping to make a great sex tech product when I know that lesbians weren’t even thought of during the inception of many others.”

O.School founder Andrea Barrica recently pointed out that in today’s market there is no single identifiable customer for sex tech products. While there will always be a demand for lesbian-specific products, entrepreneurs looking to reach a broader customer base need to let go of assumptions about what kinds of sex their users are having.

Brianna Radar is the founder of Juicebox whose products include Slutbot, a virtual sexting coach. She thinks the future of sex tech will lie in taking a more gender neutral approach. “That’s the future Gen Z is looking for,” she says. “Not necessarily a product that exclusively speaks to queer women but a more gender neutral approach that’s personalized.”

She too thinks that LGBTQ+ women bring skills, experiences, and insights that straight consumers benefit from. “More than any other demographic, queer people are excellent at talking about sex,” she says. “We have to be, as minorities. The goal of our product is to take everything I’ve learned from being in fringe communities and bring the positive aspects to the mainstream.”

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

7 myths about queer sex you should stop believing now

By Canela López

  • While sex in general has been misrepresented in popular media and porn, LGBTQ sex, in particular, tends to be exaggerated. 
  • Less than 6% of teens reported that they received sex education with any mention of LGBTQ-related topics, making it easy to believe some of the most popular myths. 
  • Here are 7 things you may have gotten wrong about queer sex. 

While almost teens in the US get some form of sex education, fewer than 6% had sex education classes included LGBTQ-related topics as of 2015, according to the Guttmacher Institute.

This lack of formal education paired with the overall misrepresentation of LGBTQ sex in mainstream media and porn makes it easy for myths about queer sex to circulate.

Here are 8 things you may have gotten wrong about LGBTQ sex, from scissoring to STIs.

Myth: “Scissoring” is real.

“Scissoring” is not a thing. At least, not in the way that most porn portrays it. 

For those unfamiliar with the concept, “scissoring” is when two people with vaginas touch clitorises in order to stimulate each other. It is one of the most common ways queer people with vaginas — typically cisgender lesbians — are shown having sex.

While a realistic version of scissoring called “tribbing” is actually used, the way porn portrays it is typically wrong, with a lot of forceful slamming of genitals and awkward positions that can’t be comfortable for anyone.

Myth: Penetration happens with no preparation.

Porn portraying queer men often fails to show the preparation involved in anal sex, such as cleaning the area, using lube, and foreplay. 

According to Dr. Joseph Terlizzi, a colon and rectal surgeon, people who are bottoming — or being penetrated during anal sex — oftentimes need to prepare their bodies before sex to make sure they don’t get hurt. 

“If your anus is too tightly contracted when you are first penetrated, you’ll run the risk of tearing skin or damaging your sphincter,” Terlizzi told Lighthouse: LGBTQ+ affirming care. “That’s why it’s important to relax your anus before penetration using various foreplay techniques and to keep your anus relaxed and well-lubricated while bottoming.”

In real life, not preparing adequately can lead to an uncomfortable and painful experience for those bottoming.

Myth: Bisexual people are just going through a phase.

The idea that bisexual people are just going through a phrase is one of the most common misconceptions around bisexuality, according to the Human Rights Campaign.

This kind of statement implies that you don’t believe their sexuality exists. Experts acknowledge that sexuality is a spectrum, just like gender, and people can be attracted to people of all genders, one gender, or no gender at all.

Myth: Women having sex with women must use a strap-on.

Porn, television, and movies that show queer women having sex often focus heavily on penetration, specifically with a strap-on — or a sex toy that attaches a dildo to a harness so that people can engage in hands-free penetration. 

But the idea that strap-ons are a part of sex every single time is inaccurate, and frames queer sex in a heteronormative way.

In reality, sex can look lots of different ways for queer people with vaginas, and not all of them revolve around penetration. Oral sex, clitoral stimulation, dry humping, nipple play, and tribbing are just a few of the ways that queer people can get it on without penetration.

Myth: People with vaginas can’t give each other STIs.

While the use of dental dams — or latex sheets designed to be put on the vagina during oral sex — is sometimes seen as a joke among queer people, the idea that two people with vaginas can’t transmit STIs to each other is far from true.

Queer people with vaginas are at risk for the same types of STIs as cisgender or straight people and sex should still be approached with caution. STIs can be transmitted from skin to skin contact, oral-genital stimulation, and contaminated toys, so safe sex practices are important.

Myth: You can guess who’s a top and who’s a bottom.

A consistent theme in media featuring queer people is the masc-femme, top-bottom dichotomy. Think Shane Mccutcheon on the original “The L Word” being the ultimate top heartbreaker while sporting her iconic androgynous rocker aesthetic.

Essentially, feminine-presenting people are framed as being the “bottom,” or the person the sex is done to, and masculine-presenting people are framed as being the “top,” or the person being assertive during sex.   

In reality, people can be tops, bottoms, or switches — or people who are versatile in their sexual preferences — regardless of gender presentation. 

Myth: Having preferences that exclude people based on whether they are cisgender or a certain racial group isn’t problematic.

Queer men often list “preferences” on dating apps like “no blacks, no femmes, no fatties.” Sometimes, these preferences really just act as thinly veiled guises for racism, transphobia, and fatphobia.

Research released earlier this year on sexual racism illustrated the negative impacts this kind of dating exclusion can have on queer men of color.

In addition to racial preferences, a significant number of dating app users exclude transgender people from their dating pool.

These kinds of identity-based preferences lead to feelings of low self-esteem and marginalization among those excluded, and can contribute to disproportionately high rates of poor mental health and even suicide among these groups.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

An essential safe sex guide for lesbian, bisexual and queer women

Everything you need to know about vulva-to-vulva sex.

By Paisley Gilmour

If you’re a lesbian, bisexual, pansexual or queer woman, or someone who has a vagina and sleeps with vagina-having people, it’s likely you haven’t had the sexual health education you need. School sex ed is so heteronormative that many of us never heard so much of a mention of vulva-to-vulva sex. It’s no wonder many queer folk don’t realise STIs can be transmitted through fingering, oral sex and sharing sex toys.

This gap in our knowledge is nothing to be ashamed of. Safe sex for LGBTQ+ women, non-binary, trans and intersex people is just rarely (if ever) efficiently covered in school.

So here’s your essential safe sex guide, courtesy of Linnéa Haviland from sexual health service SH:24.

Stigma exists and it might affect you

A recent study found LGBTQ+ women face barriers when accessing sexual health care, the main reason being ignorance and prejudice among health care staff. I have certainly been questioned a few times about why I’m going for a smear test, simply because I’ve said I have a girlfriend. With information about safe sex being extremely penis-centred, it can be really hard to know the facts and stand your ground in the face of individual and institutionalised queerphobia.

Know how STIs are actually spread…

Contrary to popular belief, there doesn’t have to be a penis involved for STIs to spread. STIs can be passed on through genital skin-on-skin contact, through bodily fluids on hands and fingers, oral sex and sharing sex toys. STIs “like the specific environment of the genitals, so can spread from one vulva to another when they are in close contact or if fluids come in contact via sex toys or fingers,” says SH:24 sexual health nurse Charlotte.

Chlamydia, syphilis, gonorrhoea, HPV, genital warts and genital herpes can all be spread this way. These STIs can also spread via oral sex. Throat swabs for STIs aren’t routinely offered to women, but if you are worried you can request one. STIs won’t survive outside their cosy environments for long though, so you can’t get them from sharing towel, toilet seats, or by using a sex toy someone else used a week ago.

…and know how to protect yourself

You’ve probably heard of a dental dam for oral sex, but if you’re anything like me before I started working for a sexual health service, you’ve probably never actually seen one. Originally used for dentistry, they are quite expensive and hard to get hold of, so unless your local sexual health clinic has them I would recommend a DIY version: the cut up condom!

Unroll the condom, cut the tip off, then cut it lengthwise to unroll it into a rectangle. Use the lubricated side against the vulva, or if flavoured, the flavoured side against your mouth (note: flavours can irritate the vulva!) When sharing sex toys, use a condom on the sex toy, and change this every time you switch user.

For fingering and fisting, you can use latex gloves for extra protection (add some lube though – they’re dry!) If you’re rubbing genitals or scissoring, you can try to keep a dental dam in between, but it can be really hard to keep it in place… the best way to stay protected is to test regularly for STIs (we recommend yearly or when changing partners – whichever comes first!)

Go for your smear test

There is a prevalent heteronormative notion that you don’t need to get a smear test unless you’ve had/are having S.E.X (meaning penetrative sex with a penis.) This isn’t true! HPV, the virus which can cause cervical cancer, can be transmitted via oral sex, sharing sex toys and genital contact. HPV is very common, and most people will have it at some point in their life, but clear it without symptoms. Because it’s so common it’s important to always go for your smear test!

Know about HIV

HIV is is slightly different from other STIs, because it has to get into your bloodstream. “There is a high quantity of white blood cells both in the rectum and on the cervix, so if the virus gets there, it is very close to where it needs to be. Tearing adds another way for the virus to come in contact with your blood stream during sex,” says Charlotte. HIV can only survive outside the body for a few seconds, so transmission via non-penetrative sex or sharing sex toys is thought to be extremely low.

However the actually transmission rates of HIV during sex between two vagina-having people is unknown, since this has not been recorded or studied on any larger scale. There has been one documented case of HIV transmission between two women – but more cases might be masked by assumptions that the virus was contracted in a different way (such as heterosexual/penis-vagina sex or needle sharing). There is a lot of stigma attached to HIV, so it’s important to remember that if you have HIV and are on the right medication, you can keep the viral load undetectable, which means you can’t pass it on!

Learn the risk factors

When making a decision about whether to have protected or unprotected sex with someone, it’s a good idea to be informed about the risk factors involved in different types of sex. British Association for Sexual Health and HIV (BAASH) guidelines says non-penetrative contact carries the lowest risk, but no sexual contact is without risk.

For penetrative sex (like fingering, using sex toys and fisting) the risk of transmission is related to the degree of trauma – i.e if there is friction or aberration (tiny cuts). Risk is also related to if you or your partner(s) are likely to have an STI – so be in the know and test, test, test! There is an assumption in the medical field that vulva-to-vulva sex carries hardly any risk of STI transmission, but different reports suggest this generalisation may not be correct.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

Am I Queer?

Here’s How To Tell

By Caroline Colvin

So, you’re not sure if you’re “bisexual,” “pansexual,” or “lesbian” to be exact, but you have an inkling you’re not strictly straight. If you’ve been wondering, “Am I queer?”, there is no simple answer to that question. On one hand, you might be able to pinpoint exactly which childhood female celebrity crush sparked a sexual awakening. Or maybe you distinctly remember a K-12 Valentine made with extra special care for a girl in your class. On the other hand, maybe you’ve shared a curious, impulsive kiss with a girl. Or maybe you’ve hooked up with another woman, either one-on-one or in a threesome, and have elected to ignore those implications. Whatever your case may be, there are def some aspects of your sexual and romantic attractions you can reflect on to answer that question.

Data from the Pew Research Center shows that more and more Americans are identifying as members of the LGBTQ+ community. As of 2017, a little more than 10 million people in the U.S. or 4.1% of Americans identified as LGBTQ+. That’s up from 8.3 million people or 3.5% of Americans in 2012, according to the same researchers. Interestingly enough, millennials lead the pack when it comes to identifying as queer. In 2017, LGBTQ media organization GLAAD found that 20% of 18- to 34-year-olds identify as LGBTQ+ in the U.S.

If you’re curious about whether you’re queer, here are some aspects of your desires to consider.

“Queer” can be how you identify

It’s important to know that “queer” can be an umbrella term. For example, you’ve possibly heard people use “the queer community” and “the LGBTQ+ community” interchangeably. It’s also important to know that “queer” can be the specific label you identify with — that’s the “Q” in “LGBTQ+!” The queer community includes people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, and pansexual — so, anyone who isn’t straight. (This also includes folks who are transgender, non-binary, or two-spirit, so anyone who isn’t cisgender or the gender they were assigned at birth. But for the purposes of this article, we’re just going to focus on sexuality, which is separate from gender.)

When it comes to using “queer” as your label, sex and relationships therapist Courtney Watson, whose practice works specifically with LGBTQ+ people of color, says, “‘Queer is a term that offers the most fluidity in definition. [It also] allows for a sexuality identity that transcends discreet gender and sexual orientation categories.”

What you’ll notice romantically is…

One thing sexuality educator Jamie J. LeClaire emphasizes is that there isn’t just one way to be queer, especially when it comes to romantic orientation. You might be:

  • aromantic, which means you lack of romantic attraction completely,
  • biromantic or panromantic, meaning you feel romantically attracted to more than one gender,
  • or homorantic, meaning you feel romantically attracted to people of the same binary gender that you identify as.

Do you have warm and fuzzy feelings for a woman at work? Has romance just never been your jam? Do you dwell on how nice it would be to cuddle, hold hands with, and raise a dog with one your hot, charming non-binary friends? Queerness looks different for everyone, but LeClaire says, “If you find yourself developing romantically-fueled, crush-type feelings outside of the scope of heteroromanticism, you might be queer!”

What you might notice sexually is…

As LeClaire puts it, one of the main signs you might be queer is you catch yourself “fantasizing or desiring sexual intimacy, in any way outside of strict heterosexuality.” You might be:

  • asexual, meaning you lack sexual attraction completely,
  • bisexual or pansexual, meaning you’re sexually attracted to two or more genders,
  • or lesbian or gay, meaning you’re sexually attracted to people of the same or similar gender as you.

This might look like an interest in lesbian porn, or sexual fantasies with people of the same gender or similar genders. It could be as tame as daydreams of kissing a cute someone of the same gender (or a similar gender presentation) from one of your classes. This might be having zero or only a passing interest in sex at all. Queerness differs from person-to-person, but these are some things to consider about your sexual desires.

And don’t feel pressure to come out

“Generally speaking, ‘coming out’ is a never-ending process in today’s world, where people are harmfully assumed to be cisgender and heterosexual/allosexual,” LeClaire says.(Allosexual is term for folks who experience sexual attraction, unlike asexual folks.) “Do what is right and feels comfortable for you and your situation.”

Especially if you feel like your parents, guardians, or community will react badly (or even violently) to your newly acknowledged queerness, wait until you feel safe to do so.

“If you have the financial privilege to go to therapy, it can be an incredible tool for navigating the coming-out process,” LeClaire suggests. Cultivate a support system of friends or “chosen family” to have your back as you figure your queerness out. “Support can very well come from online queer communities if that’s all you can access, which are incredible resources as well.”

Whatever the case may be, don’t stress about labels

No matter what label you end up sticking with, Watson explains, “It’s also important to know that your attractions and identities can be fluid and change.” It’s why Alfred Kinsey, a famous sexologist, invented the Kinsey scale — a numbered spectrum between completely homosexual and completely heterosexual — to help queer people express how they felt. Because even in 1948, people were realizing that no two bisexuals loved and desired people in the same exact way, and that sexuality evolves.

“As for how to find a label that works for you, think about what you feel most deeply resonates for you right now,” Watson says. You can identify as bisexual today, but pansexual a year from now. You might feel comfortable with the lesbian label at first, but then realize you’re also asexual — so then you feel good about “gay and asexual” or “homoromantic asexual,” or no labels at all.

The word you pick for you identity is not a “life-long stamp.” Keeping that in mind can help take the pressure off.

What’s more, Watson says, “You can have an identity regardless of your current partner’s gender/sexual orientation.” You might be dating a man and still have sexual desires for women. You might be dating a lesbian woman and feel genderqueer. Who you’re dating at any given time doesn’t take away from who you are and how you feel comfortable identifying.

At the end of the day, LeClaire says, “Gender and sexuality are more than a spectrum. They are a universe of opportunities to live, love, and be loved.” Keeping this in mind can help you embrace and celebrate your queerness in a positive, reaffirming way.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

What straight people need to know about going to gay bars

It’s great you want to support your queer friend, but all those looking for a GBF: listen up.

By Grace Walsh

As a gay person, knowing my straight friends want to come to LGBTQ+ bars and spaces fills my heart with joy. I appreciate the accepting atmosphere that these spaces create, and I love that my friends want to show their support of me and my community so openly in them.

I came out just before starting university, having made wonderful (and very straight) friends during my time at college. I was worried they would treat me differently after I came out, or be freaked out thinking I either hated men or fancied one of them. Luckily, neither one of those age-old stereotypes came true, and actually I didn’t give them enough credit. It turned out most of them knew I was gay long before I did.

But recently, when I took a group of them to Soho in London for a night out, I realised even the most well-intentioned, supportive straight/cis friends can miss the mark entirely. One of my male friends came back from the bar carrying drinks and a phone number, written on a napkin. He loudly demanded to know why the bartender had thought he’d be interested because after all, he didn’t “look gay”. Sigh.

Later on, we went to dance at another bar. On a small side stage, men in cowboy costumes were dancing. Before I knew it, another friend was dancing between them and trying to take a hat from one of their heads. Awkward side glances and a request for her to get down followed.

After another friend who was feeling queasy and asked me (the only actual LGBTQ+ person in the group) to go outside with her, I left feeling let down and a little pissed off. They’d been so supportive of me for so many years, yet they’d made me – and others around us – feel uncomfortable, in a space that I had invited them into.

I could go to “straight” bars with my friends, and I often do. But there’s something quite special about being able to hold my girlfriend’s hand or kiss her without double takes from passers-by (or the horrifying offer of a ménage à trois). That’s why queer spaces and bars are important to me and many other members of the LGBTQ+ community. It’s where we can be in the majority for once, where we can feel the most comfortable and protected, and where we have the most access to music by early noughties queer icons – an integral element for survival. These spaces give people who can’t be “out” publicly for whatever reason somewhere they can truly be themselves. These are places where trans and gender nonconforming folk can hopefully feel physically safe and recognised, away from a world that isn’t always so accepting.

For Meg-John Barker, author of Life Isn’t Binary and expert on gender, sex and relationships, queer spaces are vital. “LGBTQ+ people often become used to having to come out repeatedly, to being asked intrusive questions about their bodies and sex lives and being treated as an object for people (the weird one in the office, or the gay best friend, for example). It’s understandable that they might want some spaces where they don’t have to worry about that stuff. Where they can assume that everyone will ‘get it’, relax and breathe easy,” they say.

How to behave as a straight person in an LGBTQ+ space

So, you want to support your queer friend in the space they love and have a boogie to Whitney Houston? That’s fabulous. But here’s how to do it while being respectful and considerate of the space you’re in.

Think about your motivations for going

If you’re there on safari and looking “to see something strange and exotic to you or you’re there to exploit the coolness of LGBTQ+ culture in some way” as Meg-John puts it, then maybe take your night out down the road instead.

“I’ve tried to buy a drink for/ask for a number from several women in queer spaces, who have turned out to be straight. Instead of politely declining, I’ve often been made to feel like a gross pervert for even suggesting they might be queer and interested,” says 22-year-old Becca, a bisexual student from Oxford. “I’ve also taken straight friends to queer clubs and been horrified and embarrassed when they react inappropriately when someone has assumed they’re queer

Meg-John says your reason for wanting to go to a queer space should be to “support your LGBTQ+ friend who is keen for you to go along.” They add it’s fine “if you want to learn something, or it’s an event that’s particularly looking for allies to support it and the people going.

Check whether you’re actually welcome there

For straight, cis people, the world really is your oyster! You can pretty much go anywhere and everywhere without worrying that you’ll be physically or verbally assaulted because of your sexual or gender orientation. Meg-John explains, “Don’t go to [a queer space] with your straight, cis partner and get off together very publicly. Remember that everyday spaces are safe for you in a way they aren’t for the rest of the people there.”

Luke, a 27-year-old gay writer, says queer spaces have become somewhat of a tourist attraction for hen dos. And this can cause a lot of problems. “If you’re thinking of going to a queer space as a primarily straight, cis hen do – just don’t do it,” he says. “I’ve been to numerous nights were a group of be-sashed, wasted white chicks show up and start shrieking. It really changes the vibe. Having a hen party there makes everyone feel that they’re a spectacle on display for someone else’s enjoyment and entertainment, which isn’t much fun

When hen parties invade queer spaces, they bring the gaze of the outside world with them. This means we have to go back to monitoring the way we behave, in spaces that are supposed to belong to us.”

Educate yourself before you go

Even if you think you know everything about every identity under the LGBTQ+ acronym, do your homework Meg-John says. “There are plenty of videos out there about things LGBTQ+ people are sick of hearing, or what not to ask them, as well as easy 101 introductions to language,” they add.

There’s no shame in not knowing something about a community unfamiliar to you, but there’s plenty of shame in asking a same-sex couple an ignorant question steeped in stereotypes like, “Who’s the man in the relationship?” Believe me, it still happens.

“I was once at a gay club with some straight friends celebrating our friend’s 21st. Perhaps trying to be supportive and ‘in touch’ with the birthday boy’s sexuality, they started throwing phrases like ‘Yaaaaaas queen’ around to all the camp men, assuming they’d respond positively,” says Ellen, a recent graduate who identifies as bisexual. While you may think this referencing of queer culture by straight people is totally harmless, not all LGBTQ+ people agree.

“Many queer folk are tired of hearing such over-used drag queen lingo,” Ellen adds. “And they don’t owe it to you to respond if they aren’t comfortable, especially in their own safe spaces.”

Treat people queer people like you would anyone else

Meg-John says you should avoid going to queer bars if your intention is “to flirt or get off with somebody LGBTQ+ because you’re curious, or want to have a story to tell. This involves treating people as objects for your pleasure, not full human beings.”

Ed, a 22-year-old bisexual teacher, has experienced this kind of behaviour first hand. “I have experienced problems with straight women using me a bit like a shiny new handbag. They just pull me over and are very tactile. They randomly dance with me before ushering friends to take pictures of us dancing without asking me. Then they can get frustrated when I try to walk away!”

Pansexual sex educator Topher, 30, agrees that although this behaviours is common, it can be really harmful. “I was in a very famous gay pub in Soho, resting on my boyfriend’s chest when a drunk, straight-presenting lady informed us of how attractive we were as a couple,” he says. “I said, ‘Thank you’, and turned my head away back to him.

“This is when I felt her hand run up the back of my T-shirt and down my back, before attempting to squeeze my bum. We shoved her off, and she acted very shocked to have been corrected while sexually assaulting me in public. I felt invaded and we left. One of my biggest issues with it, other than the assault, was that this was my boyfriend’s first experience of a proper gay bar and what he’d witnessed was unpleasant.”

Don’t take over the space

“Don’t go with your straight, cis mates and take up a lot room in the venue with your bodies or your noise,” Meg-John says. “Many people will feel less safe if you’re doing that. Be considerate of places with a maximum capacity that are already pretty full, too. It’s better to let LGBTQ+ people be the people who get to use the space,” they add.

So, maybe trying to get you and six of your friends into G-A-Y on Pride weekend is an idea to rethink

The morning after my night out I was presented with a bacon sandwich and some sheepish looks. Hopefully my next trip to Soho will be more successful, with a lot less eye rolling and quick escapes out of the side exit

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

Posted on

What Do Lesbian Sex Dreams Mean If You’re Straight?

For starters, it’s totally normal.

By Lindsay Geller

You’ve just woken up from a sex dream and, instead of feeling happy and relaxed (thanks, sleep orgasm!), you feel totally confused. Why? Because the regulation hottie in your dream wasn’t your usual Chris Evans or Chris Hemsworth (or okay, even Chris Pratt)—it was a woman. Yep, let’s just come out and say it: You had a lesbian sex dream.

But, wait, you’re straight…right?

It’s a question that makes total sense to ask, especially if you’re one to interpret dreams on a literal basis.

I get it: You enjoyed the dream—a lot—but you’ve never really thought about women that way before. Sure, you’ve helped your friends pick their best thirst trap and ogled actresses’ fit bodies, but you’ve never, in the words of Katy Perry, kissed a girl and liked it. (Obvs, you’re cool with lesbian relationships, you’ve just never felt the desire to be in one.)

But before you go texting every one of your friends to find out if you’re the only one who’s had an unexpected girl-on-girl fantasy (P.S. you’re so not) and spiraling into crisis mode, let experts decode what a lesbian sex dream really means.

First, know what a lesbian sex dream is not.

“Women are often anxious about their lesbian dreams, and they needn’t be,” says Gayle Delaney, PhD, a dream specialist, clinical psychologist, and founding president of the International Association for the Study of Dreams. “It’s the rarest of possibilities that you turn out to be a lesbian.” (Not that there’d be anything wrong with you if you come to that realization, but it’s very unlikely the case.)

FWIW, gay men and women have the same horrified reaction when they have a straight sex dream, Delaney says, so it’s not about any stigma but rather the element of surprise

In all her years of analyzing dreams, she’s never encountered someone who identified as straight suddenly realize that they were actually gay (or vice versa) by way of a sex dream.

Psychologist Rubin Naiman, PhD, a clinical assistant professor of medicine and the sleep and dream specialist at the University of Arizona, hasn’t either. “It’s my experience that dreaming doesn’t smack you in the head. I’ve never seen that happen,” he explains.

“I think a woman who has an opening in her heart toward sex with other women or a lesbian relationship would probably have some awareness,” he says. “The dream might surprise her, but it probably wouldn’t shock her.”

Delaney agrees: “People generally aren’t that repressed.”

Still, you might be a bit closer to lesbianism on the sexuality spectrum than you originally thought.

“Most people are on somewhat of a sexual continuum,” Naiman says. “But that doesn’t mean that a woman having this dream is a lesbian.” (ICYDK, tons of straight women get off to lesbian porn, but that doesn’t impact who they choose to date.)

Okay, so what does it mean to have a lesbian sex dream?

I hate to break it to all you dream-dictionary owners, but there “are few, if any, universal meanings to a dream,” says Naiman. The only way to figure out what your imaginary lesbian encounter really means is to ask yourself what it means to you</em

The first step is interviewing yourself about your dream. Delaney recommends asking these questions:

  • What happened in the dream?
  • How did the dream feel?
  • Who’s the woman you’re having sex with?
  • What does it feel like to be with her?
  • How does the sex go?

Of course, the answers will depend on your individual experience. That said, Delaney has noticed striking similarities in women’s responses whenever she’s conducted this type of dream interview.

“Almost always, women say it feels wonderful,” she explains. “Some have a more erotic dream, and some have it more loving. But in both cases, the sex goes really well.”

As for your dream’s costar, it’s “likely a woman you know and whom you admire,” says Delaney. Often, she’s further advanced in her career, and might even be your boss. Again, don’t freak out—your dream isn’t an HR violation.

“The relevant part is what this figure plays in your life. She’s usually someone more along your path, whatever that is,” Delaney explains. “This dream means you really have come a ways to be accepted and liked by a woman who plays a role in your life goals.”

There are exceptions to this dream interpretation, of course, but “the vast majority” of lesbian dreams Delaney has heard actually reveal a woman’s career aspirations—not her sexuality

If that seems ironic, or weird, it isn’t. “One of the mistakes we make about sexual dreams is that we reduce it to the anatomical, physical act of sex,” Naiman says. “Symbolically, a sexual connection is a connection of love.”

So, regardless of whether or not your dream reflects your personal goals, it might also be about how you connect to women—and womanhood itself.

“Dreaming is not just about our personal unconscious, it’s also about our shared, social, and collective unconscious,” Naiman explains. He believes the evolution of pro-women movements over time, most recently with #MeToo and Time’s Up, have made their way into that collective unconscious.

And get this—you don’t even have to be actively aware of or involved in these movements to have their underlying effect on society influence your dreams. Translation: Your dream about making love to another woman could simply mean you love women. (I mean, why wouldn’t you? They’re the best.)

Regardless, however your confusing dream went down, don’t overthink it.

“We have to come at the dream—even difficult and frightening dreams—with the presumption that it’s friendly,” Naiman says. “If we don’t, we’re going to lose some of the personal meaning that’s hidden in the dream.”

So, the next time you have a lesbian sex dream (hey, if it happened once, it can happen again), just embrace it. Then maybe tell a boss lady in your life how much you admire her. Spread the love!

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!