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Sexual & Racial Politics in the Age of Grindr

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Much like Facebook and Twitter, Grindr is a community of people interacting politically, revealing how our desires are shaped and politicized by culture.

By Senthorun Raj

Why am I on it? What do I want? Who do I talk to? Which profile picture should I use? Where should I hook up? When am I going to delete this?

For those of us who use Grindr, these questions probably sound familiar. I know that they haunt my subconscious pretty much every time I load the app. Some of my friends even like to joke that I spend so much time talking about Grindr, as opposed to talking on Grindr, that I’m just a “Grindr Academic.” To them, I’m the person who writes about my sex life (like I’m doing right now) and then cites Michel Foucault to give it academic legitimacy. I find the joke endearing. But, we should not trivialize the politics of Grindr.

So, what can this space of hooking-up teach us about sexual and racial politics?

Whether you are cruising for casual sex or complaining about love or procrastinating online, Grindr has rapidly transformed the way we negotiate intimacy and frame sexuality. Erotic, platonic, and/or romantic relationships are now just a “click” away on our smartphones. With millions of users worldwide, Grindr has become a source of sexual sustenance. From the moment I tap on to Grindr, I’m connected to a range of other profiles via my geographical proximity to them. I am enmeshed in a process of—as one user so neatly describes—“window shopping.” What I choose to shop for as I scroll through profiles, however, tends to vary. Some profiles display semi-nude selfies that invite “NSA” (no strings attached sex) while others display a photo of a night out in a club to indicate their interest in “friends, dates and maybe more.”

I can use Grindr to organize casual sex, professional networks, neighborhood parties, friendship, and dating. There are infinite intimate possibilities. In the words of Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner, these new “sexual counterpublics” emerge to facilitate new forms of emotional and sexual labour that do not just revolve around the traditional imaginaries of reproductive or matrimonial relationships.

With such titillating possibilities, I could easily herald Grindr as a transformative and revolutionary space for queer connections. My optimism, however, comes with concern: filters cannot block the everyday cruelties of ignorance and inequality. Grindr, for example, relies on standard categories of defining bodies (ethnicity, height, weight, age) in order to mediate sexual desire. Many of the app users fashion their online identities through both visual and written statements that they are “masc” (masculine) and “str8 acting” (appearing heterosexual). In doing so, Grindr users mimic and reproduce norms of what is socially desirable.

Discussing our desires can evoke feelings of embarrassment or anxiety. We like to protect our intimate attachments from public interrogation. Apps like Grindr, however, blur such distinctions. When “personal preferences” take shape in rhetorical statements like, “Don’t be another old, ethnic, nelly bttm” or “If people can tell you’re gay … you’re not masculine,” private desires are woundingly public. Even if it is a virtual platform, much like Facebook and Twitter, Grindr is a community of people interacting politically.

Grindr users respond to these disaffecting profiles in various ways: some people angrily use the block button, more patient people try to challenge the rhetoric online, and others just take screenshots and vengefully send them to Douchebags of Grindr. For those who have not stumbled upon it, it is a website where we can revel in shaming those who shame. The idea of shaming arrogant Grindr users seems both fair and funny. But, despite this, the public “outing” and breach of privacy involved raise a number of ethical questions about how we should respond to the “Douchebag Politics” we encounter online.

We need to recognize that bigotry is a social malaise—not a personal pathology.  Grindr makes bigotry painfully apparent but this is not unique to the online platform. In making spectacles out of the purported douchebags on Grindr, we can make the more insidious forms of racialized activities seem palatable by comparison. After all, why does using overtly racist words in your profile attract moral opprobrium, while using an automatic filter to exclude certain kinds of bodies does not?

Making spectacles out of unrepentant bigots may satisfy or entertain us, but it does little to ensure that the intimate worlds we are building are inclusive and respectful. Whether we are on public transportation or networking online, racism is a systemic problem that is not just isolated to highly visceral tirades. Isolating people or profiles in order to stigmatize the individual person, rather than challenge the problematic behavior, is counterproductive. It just makes most of us more defensive (no one likes being labeled as a racist or homophobe even if they obviously are). Moreover, this usually limits our ability to confront the more insidious forms of prejudice that underscore such problematic behavior or that which is coded in terms of “preferences.”

This is not to suggest we can turn to anti-discrimination law in order to redress our sexual grievances. We should not treat desires as justiciable. There is little value in policing ourselves to desire others on the basis of exclusion. Finding someone solely attractive because of, or in spite of, their difference—whether it is their perceived “Asianness” or a specific body type—turns people into fetish or pitied objects to be consumed.

But, we do need some uncomfortable reflections. We live in a society that privileges certain kinds of body types, genders, ethnicities, and ages. From eroticizing heterosexual masculinity or whiteness to repudiating effeminacy or fatness, Grindr is saturated with social hierarchies that are pervasive in society. Grindr shows us how our desires are shaped and politicized by culture. Few of us would deny that.

While we are often quite willing to confront the scenes of bigotry that our visible to us in public forums, we need to extend this ethic when reflecting on the prejudices that operate at the most banal and emotional level of our lives.

Grindr is a tool for sex. It’s also a tool for politics. In the words of Audre Lorde, “our visions begin with our desires.” So, let’s be open about that. The political is personal.

Complete Article HERE!

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What do men really think about sex? This is why we need better education

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We asked men how they learned about sex, and found that puerility and pornography have always trumped the facts. Mandatory sex education is most welcome

‘Alan, now aged 79, was evacuated to the countryside at the age of five – and spotted a bull mounting a cow. “It was a significant part of my sex education,” he said.’

It was announced this month that sex and relationship education is to become mandatory in schools for children aged four to 15. About time too. It’s never been easy for children who have wanted to learn credible information about sex.

We’ve recently been interviewing men for a project to find out what they really think, feel and do about sex, and found the early information they received was, in many cases, baffling. “Women don’t like it,” Bill was told as a teenager in the 1960s, “but you can do it all the same … [and] you only do it on Sundays when the children are out.”

Back in the 1940s, communicative adults were hard to come by, and children had to solve the mystery by themselves. Alan, aged 79, was evacuated from London to the countryside, aged five. There he spotted a large bull mounting a cow. “It was very significant,” he said. “I have never forgotten it.”

At primary school Bill, now 75, believed boys stood behind girls to do “it” (he was basing this on his observation of dogs). He was hugely embarrassed when told to stand behind a girl in a school folk-dance performance. “I thought that was very dirty.”

It was a rare grown-up who suggested that sex might be something pleasant, or something to look forward to; rather, a child’s sex education was more likely to elicit feelings of fear, danger and shame – and would often involve a lonely search for the facts. By the late 1950s, parental guidance was still fairly non-existent. At 14, Michael remembered finding a “dirty book” belonging to his father: “The Kama Sutra was an excellent source of information, but often mind-boggling too … the contortions! The big penises! And the pleasure shown on women’s faces. I couldn’t believe it could be like that!”

‘The Kama Sutra was an excellent source of information – but mind-boggling, too!’

While Michael was studying the Kama Sutra, the only sex still being taught in the classroom involved plants and rabbits, and was often expressed in Latin. Several more decades were to pass before human genitalia and procreation were bravely described in English. Not until the early 1990s did the national curriculum specify that sex education must be taught. But just the mechanics. Nothing about relationships. And making the subject even more shambolic was the decision that each school could have its own individual policy, and each teacher was stuck with their own capabilities, experiences, terrors and confusions in conveying this information.

The easy way out was to explain that sex happened “when people loved each other and wanted babies”. Pleasure, variety and consent were rarely mentioned. But some teachers bravely tried to further enlighten the children. In 1994, in his last year of junior school, Dean, who was then aged 10, went to a sex education lesson in which his teacher tried her very best to take an innovative, practical and robust approach.

“Miss Woods asked the class if they knew of any ‘barrier methods’. I didn’t really know what they were, but someone said ‘condoms’. Miss Woods said, ‘Yes, anything else?’ Then a boy called Dave said, ‘You can get them with feathers on the end, Miss.’ Miss Woods looked cross, and said, ‘No you can’t’ – but Dave went on and on, saying, ‘Yes you can, they’re called French ticklers, I read in my Mum’s book. It had pictures in,’ and then Miss butted in, and said ‘Nonsense’, so Dave had to shut up.”

Here was Miss Wood’s chance to grasp the nettle. But even then, in the late 20th century, she could not. Although bolder than many teachers, she was still not able to respond to any surprises that might crop up.

Even if teachers now manage to describe sex as pleasant, it sometimes seems to frighten and shock, rather than enthuse the children. Informed, six years ago, by a comparatively enlightened teacher, that people had sex “because it felt lovely”, eight-year-old George was horrified. “Miss made a terrible mistake,” he told his Grandma, with great authority and concern. “She said it felt nice! She’s got it really wrong!”

Age specificity hadn’t really been thought through. Slightly older, more intrepid boys, sensing that they still weren’t quite getting at the truth, or any satisfactory explanations – either from each other, or from adults – now gained access to a greater selection of more flamboyant, salacious, almost cartoonish information: porn.

“I think as boys we’d seen a few porno films here and there,” said Jason. “The first stuff I saw was on a video. I was 13, and the tape started doing the rounds – we thought that was the way you did it.”

As the years have passed, and porn has become more widely available online, younger and younger children have been seeing such imagery. In 2001, Jack, then aged 10, learned about sex from pornography. “Everyone was looking at it,” he said. “That’s how I found out I was gay. I didn’t want to look at the girls.”

Despite the overwhelming flood of pornography – and the continuing lack of guidance – there do appear to be a few glimmers of hope. The importance of relationships and feelings is now creeping into sex education at last, and it is a relief to find the idea of consent has surfaced. Many of the young men interviewed in the BBC3 documentary Sex on Trial were sympathetic when shown footage of a young woman whose consent had not been clearly given. In fact, they were more sympathetic than the young women. That’s reason to be hopeful, at least where young men are concerned.

Unfortunately, most sex education is still passed between children themselves, taught by the “naughty” peers who seem to have found out more than anyone else. Or are pretending that they have. Boasting has always been, and still seems to be for many boys, the beginning of proving that you are a proper man. Frequency, volume, conquest and size still matter to them. How are young men to understand women if they have never been taught to understand themselves, and the people teaching them have been taught even less?

Hopefully the new national curriculum mandatory sex education plans will bring about change for the better. It might help if lessons could be conducted in small groups, with the sexes separated. It would need to be age-appropriate, of course – with less emphasis on the mechanical details, and more on the importance of relationships, with appropriately trained teachers, prepared for anything the children might say, know or have experienced. They also need to be unshockable.

Complete Article HERE!

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If You’re Totally Clueless When It Comes to BDSM, This Video Clarifies a Lot

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by

Think of the things you might have learned about BDSM from Fifty Shades of Grey. OK, now forget pretty much all of that. While the books and movies got a few things right, there’s a lot more to the multifaceted world of BDSM that people should know (and try out, if they’re interested!).

BDSM is an umbrella term comprising the words describing the erotic practices of Bondage and Discipline (B and D), Domination and Submission (D and S), and Sadism and Masochism (S and M). Carvaka Sex Toys — creators of the informational and ultra-classy Butt Plugs 101 video — just released another instructional video that breaks down the basics of BDSM. Here’s what anyone interested in delving into the kinky world should know.

Words to know:

  • Bondage — The act of tying someone up. This is done to render the submissive or “sub” vulnerable to the desires and actions of the dominant.
  • Dom — The dominant partner.
  • Sub — The submissive partner.
  • Switch — Someone who switches between the roles of dominant and submissive.
  • Discipline — When the submissive obeys the commands of the dominant.
  • Sadism — Enjoying the act of inflicting pain.
  • Masochism — Enjoying the act of having pain inflicted on you (ex: flogging, spanking).
  • Safe word — A word that is decided upon before the session and is said when the sub wants the act to stop. A safe word is used in place of “stop” because the safe word is supposed to be something that wouldn’t come up naturally during a session, in order to ensure that the word, when spoken, is taken seriously and that the action is stopped.
  • Hard limit — An act that can’t be tolerated and that cannot be done. Doing the action may provoke the usage of the safe word and can also end the session/relationship.
  • Soft limit — An act that stresses a sub but that he or she can “take in moderation.”

And one of the most common questions: why do people enjoy bondage? Well, it’s pretty simple. It’s fun!

BDSM can be exciting and can even allow participants to feel like they are experiencing a new world. Many subs enjoy the feeling of security they get from being controlled, and oftentimes doms enjoy the feeling of power that comes along with being the one in control. BDSM may not be for everyone, but for many, it’s the perfect way to explore their sexuality and add excitement to their sex lives and relationships.

Complete Article HERE!

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Staying Married Through a Gender Transition

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“Sometimes I see myself as a lesbian, and sometimes I don’t.”

By Evan Urquhart

Six years ago, Cassie and I met and began dating as lesbians. At the time, I didn’t know I was transgender. Then about two years ago, just nine months after we were married, I told her I thought I might want to transition and live as a man. It’s hard to overstate how difficult this was for us at first, but we stuck with one another and managed to preserve our marriage. I spoke with Cassie about staying together, and about being a lesbian (or maybe not) in a relationship with a trans man.

Think back to when I first told you I thought I might want to transition. What was your initial reaction?

When you first told me, I was surprised by how angry I was. I mean, you weren’t my first experience with a trans person. I’ve had a number of friends come out, and it’s never been hard to adjust. Plus, I was in the queer dorm at UMass, and many of the kids I lived with were trans. I always figured I was well prepared for the possibility of a romantic partner coming out. I didn’t know what I’d do, exactly, but I didn’t think I’d be angry. But when you told me, I don’t know … We were trying to get me pregnant at the time, and all I could think was that you were fucking up my adorable little lesbian life.

I wasn’t!

I know. It just felt like you were. I know that’s unfair, but it’s true. I was also angry at myself, because I wasn’t actually that surprised by the news. There was no way I could convince myself that it was just a passing thought. I knew it wasn’t. We’d talked about your gender in the past, and I told you I thought you had some issues to work out. We had so many conversations about how you thought every woman would want to be a man if they could, and I would tell you, no, I wouldn’t want that, and you wouldn’t believe me. It was frustrating, but I forgave it, because I sensed you had some internal issues to work out. But I guess what I thought (or maybe hoped) was that one day you’d recognize a sort of queerness in yourself and stop arguing with me about my own gender, not that you would go full-on with testosterone, surgery, changing your name, everything. Now I tell people I have a husband.

It’s been really tough. How do you think we’ve managed to stay together?

A lot of things. I think I was scared at first because I didn’t think I’d end up breaking up with you. We’re so compatible in so many ways. Part of me was afraid that your personality would change so much I’d not want to be with you, but I didn’t really think that I would leave.

You felt trapped?

Marriage is a trap. That’s a weird question.

Argh. My nonjudgmental leading questions don’t work on you—you’re on to me. What eventually made it OK, when at first it didn’t feel OK?

We talked a lot, all the time, about everything. Even when it was hard, we hashed things out rather than ignoring them. And should I talk about the open relationship? We opened things up, as we’d done before, but I think it was especially important in this case.

The release valve. Not feeling like you’d never be with a woman again. Being able to explore other relationships with other people without ending everything we had to do it.

Something like that.

Do you still consider yourself a lesbian?

Oh, geez. We’re jumping to that question now?

It seemed relevant.

Sometimes I see myself as a lesbian, and sometimes I don’t. Part of me thinks it’s wrong to consider myself a lesbian because if I do, and I remain in a relationship with a trans guy, or even admit attraction, on a certain level, to any other trans guys, I’m effectively invalidating their gender. That said, coming out to myself was such an important thing for me. It made so much about myself make sense, not just who I was attracted to but my personality and how I interacted with the world. It made me so much happier. I don’t want to let that go.

I always said I didn’t have the power to unilaterally change your orientation.

Right, but your transition did make me think about my sexuality in a different way. A number of different people that I’ve been attracted to, whether I dated them or not, were people I thought at the time were cis women who came out later as trans men. If it was really just you, well, you could be the exception. You could be grandfathered in. But I feel like it might say something about me—about the sort of people I like—that you’re not the only one.

I’ve always butted heads a little with the lesbian community, anyway. But at the same time I feel like that’s part of what it means to be a lesbian, to butt heads with the lesbian community. I once got into a fight with a girl who said I wasn’t a real lesbian because of what I was wearing. I got kicked off a lesbian forum for saying I thought you could still be a lesbian if you had enjoyed sex with a penis, even once. God forbid.

This reminds me, we’ve been talking about trans men, but what about trans women? Are you attracted to trans women? Have you ever been with a trans woman? Do you think you can be with trans women and still be a “real lesbian”?

Yeah, I’ve been attracted to and been with trans women. I know it’s a point of contention for some people, but I think that’s silly. At least for me, if I’m hanging out, flirting, feeling attraction and chemistry with someone, then there’s a good chance I’m going to enjoy having sex with that person if I get the chance. I guess if you’re only attracted to genitals, that could be more limiting, depending on the specifics, but I feel like you’re probably having pretty boring sex. Maybe I’m wrong, and to each their own, but it’s not an issue for me. And I kind of suspect it would be less of an issue for other people than they think, but they just don’t want to think about it.

So, my being a trans man was more of a threat to your sexuality than your being attracted to a trans woman was.

Yeah. I’m really not worried at all about sometimes being attracted to trans women.

Talk about my physical changes, and how you feel about them.

Well, it’s better now that you’ve come out of the weird little hole you were in. You were spending all your time on Reddit or in the other room, alone, doing God knows what. You acted so weird at first, so totally in your head about things. You never wanted to have sex, and having a conversation with you was like pulling teeth. I was more annoyed with that than anything. The actual changes didn’t bother me as much as I’d feared. I guess they’ve been gradual enough it’s been easy to get used to. But then you’d do things like repeat the same phrase three times in a slightly deeper voice, and I just had no patience for it. I was finishing a master’s degree and dealing with infertility, and I didn’t have time for your issues.

And I’ve settled down now?

Definitely. We’re about back to normal, I’d say. I’ve settled, too. At this point I’m just kind of embarrassed by how I reacted early on. I think that once I just chilled out and accepted your transition as what was happening, and as a good thing for you, our relationship could just be what it was. No pressure. We started getting closer again, and you started relaxing. Plus, we had a friend at the time, a trans girl, who helped a lot.

Because she was very political.

She was very no-nonsense. She handed you a trans pride flag at the pride parade when you were still only partially out. I’ll never forget the look on your face when that happened. She also started using male pronouns for you and calling you Evan and told me to just get over it. And I did. Probably in part because I liked her, and I didn’t want her to think I was mean. But still, it helped.

So, how are things now for our relationship?

They’re really good. I mean, there are no guarantees. Changes are still happening, and I’m sure we’ll have some ups and downs in the future. I don’t want to jinx anything. But we’re connecting again, we’re having sex again, and sometimes when someone from your family forgets and uses your old name, I have a moment where I’m not even sure who they’re talking about. You’re just my Evan. It works.

And, how do you feel about your sexuality?

I think I still see myself as a lesbian in a lot of ways, and I don’t know if I’ll ever completely change that, but I’ve been referring to myself as queer more often, and I like that as a compromise. I feel like that word fits me pretty well, and maybe I’ll ease into using it completely in the future. But right now I’m not completely over thinking of myself as a lesbian, especially since I’m still generally more attracted to women.

Complete Article HERE!

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Hard times – the ups and downs of the penis

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Penises can be problematic. They are powerful, untameable beasts, capable of wielding immense pleasure but also able to cause devastating emotional wounds. And that’s just anal sex

fun, fun, fun

by Liam Murphy

As well as the obvious physical harm that can be inflicted – skinny jeans have cursed a generation to suffer cock-caught-in-fly related trauma – the magnificent meat mallet can also bring mental torment when, like an untrained puppy, it just won’t do as it’s told.

THE HARDER THE BETTER?
Some of the best things are hard: hard-boiled eggs, biscuits, those rhubarb and custard sweets, Tom Hardy and, of course, the penis. However, sometimes they can spring up at the most unexpected and inopportune times, and just won’t go away.

“I call my hard-on issue uncontrollable as such,” says 21-year-old Ian, “let’s say ‘eager’ or ‘keen’. It doesn’t take much and it’s ‘up periscope’ time. I’ve been this way as long as I’ve appreciated the male form. I went through a phase of wearing an over the shoulder bag in my late teens so I could cover the odd bus boner (the vibrations cause a right disturbance). Rather that than poke someone in the eye on the way past, I guess!”

However, impromptu erections can also lead to embarrassing retail situations, as Ian explains. “Recent men’s fashion means that I’ve become accustomed to skinny fit jeans, and for whatever reason, I went commando that day – I’m sure you know where I’m going with this – and I guess it must have been particularly sensitive or whatever. Anyway, I ended up with a lob-on in Tesco. My skinny jeans/tight t-shirt combo meant there was no hiding, so I did what any self-respecting bloke would do. I awkwardly leant over the shopping trolley for the next ten minutes. On the upside, I can also get hard on demand! It’s just a combination of a high sex drive and an involuntary physical reaction, I think.”

For Kieran, 25, his perilously perky penis is just part of his day. “I wouldn’t say it’s an issue – more just a fact of life. Some people sweat a lot, some people yawn a lot… I get boners a lot. Not getting them would be an issue, but getting too many, yeah that’s a ‘problem’ I’m OK with – at least I know it’s all working well. It does pop up at any time. When I was due to be giving a talk, someone gave me a wink and boom… up popped my friend downstairs to take his moment centre stage. I stood behind the lectern desperately thinking of Margaret Thatcher and trying to kill it so I could step out and begin my talk properly. The worst though, is when someone you don’t fancy or don’t want to have sex with tries it on and it just feels like he’s betraying you.”

And how does one manage the curse (or blessing, depending on your perspective) of a perpetual hard-on? “Like everyone else I learned the ‘tuck it behind your belt’ trick, or to hide it behind my belt. Granted, occasionally there have been times when I’ve had to miss my tube stop and stay sitting down while I waited for one to subside.”

Will, 38, didn’t notice the problem cropping up until he was in a relationship. “I was never aware of it until I met my boyfriend and it became apparent early on that I would get erect whenever I was around him. It has settled down a bit now but whenever we kissed in public I would get a twinge. And in bed it still sometimes feels like I have an erection all night. I would generally be embarrassed that I was getting these erections. I felt immature. This is what happens to a teenager, not an adult. I was going through a difficult break-up once – lots of tears – we were cuddling and I was hard. I realised then that my hard-ons were not always about sex – to me they were about love too.”

PENIS PROBLEMS
Erectile dysfunction can happen to a lot of people, in varying degrees and for many reasons, medical or otherwise.

“It happens to me every time I put on a condom,” admits Steven, 34. “I have no problem keeping it up before fucking – wanking and getting sucked off have never been a problem – but when I go to fuck someone and I slide the condom on, I lose the hardness. Not totally, but enough that I can’t properly put it in someone’s arse and enough that the sensation goes for me.”

Steven tried mixing up condom brands. “I’ve used thin, ultra-thin, ribbed, tingle… every version of a condom you could imagine and I still get the same flaccid result. I think it must be a psychological thing, because it’s not like I can’t get hard at all. It’s fine when I bareback with long term boyfriends, but with one nighters I tend to have to bottom now.”

Anxiety can often be a cause of not being able to maintain an erection, as 27-year-old James confirms: “Sex in general makes me anxious. I hate getting naked and I get so nervous when it comes to getting down to it in bed. I was dating a guy I really liked, so much that when he touched me I would physically shake, but when it came to sex I just couldn’t get hard. He thought I didn’t like him! And now I dread having sex. I love the dating side of it but I always know that heading to the bedroom is going to be inevitable.”

dick-words

What can cause you to have trouble getting or staying hard?

  • Stress and anxiety.
  • Depression.
  • Hormone levels.
  • Smoking, recreational drugs and alcohol.
  • Some prescribed drugs – like Prozac and Seroxat.
  • Diabetes, high cholesterol and high blood pressure.
  • Psychological reasons – the more you worry about your erection, the less likely you are to be able to get one.

What can I do to make myself hard?
If you think the reason is psychological – a distraction helps, so encourage your partner to focus on something other than your cock for a while – kissing or nipple play might help to get you back in action.

  • Cockrings can also be used to help maintain a hard-on – leather or rubber straps are safer to use.
  • Counselling.
  • Drugs like Viagra or Cialis – consult your doctor for these.

Matthew Hodson, CEO of GMFA told us: “Rolling a condom onto a rock-hard penis isn’t a problem but if it’s a bit soft and you start to get anxious then it’s easy to spiral with anxiety to the point where a condom is really tricky to use. The more you’re concerned that you won’t be hard enough to use a condom, the more likely it is to happen. If it’s just an occasional problem it’s probably best not to make a big thing of it and just do something else that turns you on while you wait for it to get hard again. If it’s becoming more of a problem, you might want to experiment with cock-rings or talk with your GP about it – there’s no need to be embarrassed, you won’t be the first person who will have approached them with the same problem. Most erection problems can be addressed so there’s no reason why a temporarily soft dick should be a long-term barrier to you enjoying sex safely.”

Everyone should be able to enjoy a penis (which is my campaign slogan if I ever run for Prime Minister), especially their own. Whether it’s too hard or too soft, it doesn’t mean you and your cock have to suffer alone. Confide in your partner/lover/friend/doctor and discuss what you can do to get you and your lifelong pleasure companion talking again.

Step 1: When your cock is hard, take the condom out of the wrapper carefully using your fingers. Using your teeth to tear the packet could damage the condom. Squeeze the air out of the teat on the tip of the condom (if there is one) and put it over the end of your cock. Don’t stretch it and then pull it over your cock as this will make it more likely to break.

Step 2: Roll it down the length of your cock – the further down it goes the less likely it is to slip off. Put some water-based or silicone-based lubricant over your condom-covered cock. Put plenty of lube around his arse too. Don’t put any lube on your cock before you put the condom on, as this can make it slip off.

Step 3: Check the condom occasionally while fucking to ensure it hasn’t come off or split. If you fuck for a long time you will need to keep adding more lube. When you pull out, hold on to the condom and your cock at the base, so that you don’t leave it behind. Pull out before your cock goes soft.

What lube should I use?

When you don’t use enough lube, or use the wrong kind, the likelihood of condom failure is increased, making transmission of HIV and other STIs possible. Water-based lubes (e.g. K-Y, Wet Stuff and ID Glide) and silicone-based lubes (Eros Bodyglide and Liquid Silk) work well with condoms. Oil-based lubricants like cooking oil, moisturisers, sun lotions, baby oil, butter, Crisco, Elbow Grease, etc. can also cause latex condoms to break.

They can however be used with non-latex condoms, like Durex Avanti, Mates Skyn or Pasante Unique. Don’t use spit as it dries up quickly and increases the chance of your condom tearing.

Complete Article HERE!

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