I Have a Higher Libido Than My Partner

—How Can I Be Both Supportive and Satisfied?

By Rebecca Alvarez Story

Question

In recent years, my partner and I have grown to have mismatched sex drives. Now, I have a higher libido than my partner, and while I want to be supportive and certainly don’t want them to feel pressured to have sex, I do wonder if there’s anything I can do to help rejuvenate their interest. Regardless of their libido, though, how can I make sure that I’m still satisfied within my confines of my relationship?

Answer

Mainstream society has grown to idealize fiery relationships denoted by passionate partners who can’t keep their hands off each other. The truth is, though, that libido fluctuates every day, and the chances that one’s libido will always match the level of their partner is quite slim. In fact, one of the most common issues couples face in relationships is mismatched libidos. Often, partners adapt to this reality and find a balance that works for them. Other times, though, mismatched libidos can snowball into bigger issues full of frustration, guilt, and resentment.

In particular, people with a higher libido than their partner tend to feel as if their needs are not being met, shame that they want sex more often or rejection when sex is off the table. By contrast, people with lower libido than their partner tend to feel frustrated, pressured, and anxious about their desire not being on par with their partner. Thankfully, though, a mismatched libido is a solvable issue so long as everyone involved is willing to be honest, empathetic, and to prioritize the relationship.

Being on either side of the sex drive seesaw can be frustrating, but let’s consider ways the partner with the higher sex drive can be both supportive and satisfied.

1. Access their stressors

Before you can begin addressing intimacy concerns, take inventory of what is going on in your partner’s life. The partner with the lower sex drive may be contending with a combination of libido-compromising stressors. Some of these lifestyle or health factors may include high stress, medications, chronic health issues, work demands, mental illness, family responsibilities, financial strain, or lack of sleep.

Now, what can you do about it? Well, if you know, for instance, that your partner is stressed, consider how you might be able to help them to feel better. Communicate that your intention is always to help them feel good in order to show that you’re not just trying to address your own sexual desires. Simple acts of support—like offering to cook breakfast for the week, taking a walk together at lunch or allowing them to sleep in on the weekend—can help revitalize their overall mood.

If your partner is going through a change that is more permanent than a period of stress, consider building support into your daily routine. Depending on the severity of the issue, you’ll want to pace yourself and be consistent in your support in a way that feels manageable to you.

2. Rate your sex drives

One easy way to begin healthy sexual communication on this topic is for each person in the relationship to rate their sex drive from one to 10 and explain their ranking. For the partner with the higher drive, make sure you actively listen to why your partner describes the number they share. Regardless of whether your numbers are very different or not too far from each other, use this exercise as an opportunity to empathize with your partner and try to understand their perspective.

3. Expand your definition of sex

Consider this an invitation to unlearn bad sex ed, including unhealthy myths that sex (only) means penetration and that orgasm is always the end goal. Now is a good time to expand your definition and expectations of what diverse pleasure can mean. To do so, have partner write down 10 intimate activities that they enjoy doing with their partner and 10 intimate things they’d like to try. Share the lists with one another and allow it to be the starting ground for an expanded list of acts all parties can enjoy together.

4. Try breathwork together

A few moments before bed, or when you both have downtime together, face one another and take deep breaths together. Unwinding together can help you both feel at ease next to each other. Gently reminding your partner with a lower libido to connect in breath with you allows you both to feel more synced.

5. Don’t forget you-time

While you are working on intimacy in your relationship, do not forget to build intimacy with yourself. Ideas that a partner should “fulfill you” or that they must be your sole source of pleasure aren’t healthy and put too much pressure on one person. You should be a primary part of your pleasure equation and spend time exploring and enjoying your body alone, regardless of your relationship status. Some ideas to bring more pleasure to your life can include full-body massages in the shower, a lunchtime masturbation session or a date night alone in your room with aromatherapy, music, and your favorite toys.

6. Throwback dates

Sometimes, the easiest solution for couples struggling with mismatched libidos is to go back to the basics. Many couples get stuck in a routine and don’t plan out date nights together the way they may have early on in the relationship. There’s no need to reinvent the wheel here, either. Instead, book consistent date nights and hit up old spots you used to enjoy together. Having dedicated time to look forward to helps build desire before the dates; meanwhile, spending quality time together on the dates helps you reconnect more intimately.

7. Work with a professional

It can be scary navigating intimacy concerns with your partner. Whether you are new to the relationship or are in a committed, long-term partnership, working with a professional can be a source of comfort. Sex therapists, sexologists, and intimacy experts are trained to help you talk about difficult topics and guide you on how to reach your goals together. There may also be instances where the best option for the relationship may not be one you have been open to before. Consider working with an expert if you want support navigating mismatched libidos.

Complete Article HERE!

Student Sex Workers Exist.

Denying That Won’t Make Them Go Away

By Cerys Turner

“If you don’t like the idea of students having to sell sex, we have a suggestion for you! Fight for cheaper rents, the return of grants, and higher minimum wage. But to attack services aimed at student sex workers is profoundly dangerous.”

These are the thoughts, voiced on Twitter, of SWARM (a grassroots, sex worker-led collective fighting the criminalisation of sex work and supporting sex workers) following the controversy surrounding Durham University students’ union’s safety training for students involved in the sex industry. The training provides support, advice and event collaborations for pupils already employed in sex work. The Times reported that Michelle Donelan, the minister for higher and further education, said Durham was “legitimising a dangerous industry”. On the political left, the Labour MP for Hackney, Diane Abbott, also voiced her concern, describing the safety training as “horrific”.

“Services and support for student sex workers do not ‘encourage’ students into sex work,” continued SWARM on the Twitter thread. “Students sell sex and sexual services because of the high cost of living (in particular, high rents), low wages in other forms of work (eg hospitality), and a lack of grants & other forms of financial assistance.”

As Refinery29 reported earlier this year, students are turning to sex work due to financial pressure. The high cost of living in the UK has always been a major factor in sex work but with average student rents across the country having increased by almost 20% since 2020, student sex workers have been hit particularly hard. In 2016 the National Union of Students (NUS) ran a survey with student sex workers and discovered that less than 15% of respondents believed their institution or students’ union was providing sufficient support for their line of work. Meanwhile 53% of respondents wanted more information on sexual health and 51% on financial help.

Sex work has long been a point of contention in British society. It’s taken decades of hard work by those employed in the industry and their allies for prostitution even to be considered a legitimate job. Whenever the subject comes up, there is considerable moral panic. However, as recently as 2019, high profile institutions such as the Royal College of Nursing (RCN) have called for sex work to be decriminalised. The RCN’s appeal was based on the notion that the current law puts sex workers’ health in danger by deterring them from seeking medical help from the NHS due to the risk of prosecution.

Student sex workers are a fact of modern life. To deny them support in higher education is a grave mistake with real world implications for the students I represent.

Jonah Graham, Durham Students’ union

Ultimately, the tension underpinning conversations about student sex work lies between those who reinforce the stigma surrounding sex work and those who want to support sex workers. What gets lost in that debate are the very real economic conditions which push some people into sex work. If we could focus on supporting sex workers and, at the same time, address those conditions then we might actually get somewhere.

Soliciting sex – offering money for sexual services – in public may be illegal but legal forms of sex work have evolved since the most recent Sexual Offences Act was passed in 2003. For instance, the internet subscription service OnlyFans has become the latest platform for sex workers to profit from producing adult content.

What exactly constitutes sex work in 2021? According to Open Society Foundations, sex workers are adults who receive money or goods in exchange for consensual sexual services or erotic performances. These can come in many forms, including but not limited to stripping, webcamming, dancing and pornography.

However you slice it and whether you like it or not, sex work happens. And the face of sex work in the UK – and the people behind it – isn’t uniform. It is not always a negative experience or a choice made out of desperation, as the TikTok videos about becoming a sugar baby, which receive millions of views, attest. It is also true that for some sex workers, it is a financial means to an end.

You might not like the fact that something exists but that won’t make it disappear. In any case, regardless of a person’s reasons for undertaking sex work, do we not have a duty, as a society, to protect them?

Durham SU has been making headlines for providing exactly that sort of support, educating student sex workers on their rights, their safety and the potential risks of the industry. Jonah Graham, Durham SU’s welfare and liberation officer, highlighted the importance of raising awareness of students employed in sex work. “We agree that ‘it is right that vital support to women is offered’, which is why the training was created. The training’s target audience is those who support students, so they understand the legal, safety, and wellbeing concerns of students and how to respond to disclosures sensitively.

“Student sex workers are a fact of modern life,” he continued in a statement in response to the backlash from Donelan. “To deny them support in higher education is a grave mistake with real world implications for the students I represent.”

Denying the needs of student sex workers does not eliminate their existence. While Donelan highlighted the £85 million universities received last year to support financially struggling students, economic issues run far deeper than a one-off payment can resolve. In a 2020 survey by Save The Student, 56.9% of student sex workers reported that funding their education was one of the main reasons they went into sex work, while almost half (45.1%) also said it was to avoid getting into debt.

Even though the government provides hardship funds for those struggling financially, many students aren’t aware of the cash. Tom Allingham from Save The Student tells Refinery29: “Forty-three percent of students feel as though they haven’t received enough information about the funding that could be available to them.”

56.9% of student sex workers report that funding their education was one of the main reasons they went into sex work. 

However, the biggest issue, Allingham notes, is the “ever-increasing gap between the money students receive from the government and how much they actually need to spend on essentials like rent, food and bills”. Save The Student’s latest survey revealed that the average maintenance loan is £340 less than students’ living costs each month.

This is happening against the backdrop of a 7% increase over 2021 in the UK Student Living Index – an index run by NatWest which calculates the most expensive university towns and cities across the UK – meaning the average cost of living is far higher than the previous year.

“The government urgently needs to increase the funding available to students to ensure that nobody feels pressured into making money in ways that they’re not comfortable with,” Allingham continues.

Rosie Hodsdon, an executive assistant at National Ugly Mugs (NUM), an organisation that provides resources and protection for sex workers, also recognises the need to target the economic factors that lead students into sex work.

“Student loans are awful. Students are expected to find employment that fits around other commitments, do university work, as well as caring responsibilities people might have, while also paying enough for them to live on and poor working conditions as well,” she tells Refinery29.

“The vast majority of student sex work takes place in response to those conditions, and we must understand that those conditions exist,” she continues. “If you have this idea that sex work should be stopped and eradicated, you need to deal with the conditions that encourage students into sex work. You cannot take away support for those who are doing it simply because you don’t believe that it should exist.

As Hodson sees it, universities should support students engaged in sex work on a duty-of-care basis. “If you want to stop someone doing sex work, don’t take away their studentship – that’s just going to make them do more sex work,” she continued.

Hodson also emphasised how universities and students’ unions should be pushing for student landlords to remove morality clauses from their contracts. These are lines in agreements which stipulate that a student can be expelled or evicted if found to be engaged in sex work. “Those can lead to student sex workers losing accommodation and becoming homeless, which will encourage more people into sex work,” she added.

The most important thing, however, is simply encouraging an understanding of the realities of student sex work and actively engaging with those employed in the industry. As ever, this is about listening to sex workers instead of talking about them.

“There are resources out there that are written by student sex workers, for universities, that have been designed in collaboration with student sex workers, about what they need, what resources are out there,” Hodson concluded. “How can you treat them better? By actively engaging with them and respecting their voices, their experiences and actively being on their side. That’s going to massively change the culture of hopefully universities as a whole with regards to student sex work.”

Durham isn’t the first university to advocate for better support for student sex workers. Leicester University provides a toolkit for student sex workers while the University of Sussex freshers’ fair hosted stalls by the Sex Workers’ Outreach Project Sussex. Normalising this line of work needn’t be radical. Just as schemes such as The Loop have opened up a more accepting dialogue around drug use, acknowledging sex work – and, more importantly, tackling the stigma that it is a problem at all – has gone far further in supporting students employed in sex work than avoiding their existence altogether.

The Department of Education told Refinery29: “Universities should provide an inclusive environment for all students. This is a matter for providers and we expect them to support any student who may be involved in potentially harmful situations.”

“However, the government is concerned that sex work training could enable, normalise and encourage sex work and the exploitation of mainly female students. We consider more effective action could be taken to support students in such situations. Students in hardship should be helped by their provider, and more generally providers should be supporting the wellbeing and mental health of students who are vulnerable.”

“If a student is experiencing hardship, their provider should make all efforts to identify how they can support the student and prevent the student from being involved in potentially harmful situations as a consequence.”

Complete Article HERE!

A Better Way to Write About Sex

Works that question how we think about love and desire: Your weekly guide to the best in books

By Kate Cray

J. H. Kellogg may be best known for his popular cereal brand, but his legacy includes much more than just breakfast. The inventor of corn flakes was also a health activist who lobbied aggressively for controversial practices—including painful and extreme measures to prevent masturbation. As the book Sex in America argues, the breakfast magnate’s campaign against self-pleasure cast the normal and healthy activity as taboo, just like many of the other anti-sex forces that had dominated the country for centuries.

But those forces couldn’t persist forever. In recent years, an attitude of sex positivity has become the norm, counteracting this long-standing culture of shame. Sex actually is good, the new thinking goes, and people should be having more of it (with consent, of course). Still, although the empowering philosophy has expanded our understanding of sexuality (and is infinitely preferable to a culture of shame), its liberating power has sometimes been hindered by the simplistic way many people apply it. “Positive” may be too one-note of an outlook on something as messy and complicated as sex.

For one, not everyone wants sex. As the journalist Angela Chen explores in her book Ace, our culture’s obsession with sexual attraction can leave those with different experiences feeling abnormal or as though they have a problem that needs to be solved. Even those who do crave sex don’t crave all sex or all sexual experiences. The broad defense for any critiques of our sexual attitudes seems to be consent: If everyone involved said yes, then there can’t be a problem. But this framework is inherently limited, the academic Katherine Angel writes in Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again, as it ignores the power dynamics that sometimes restrict the freedom of our choices. We need a standard for communication that goes beyond mere agreement.

Talking about any of this can seem impossible. Sex positivity does mandate openness, but as shows like Netflix’s Sex Education demonstrate, that forthrightness often seems to permeate only conversations that celebrate sex—not those that question or complicate it. But nuanced and caring discussions about the topic do exist. One place to find them is in romance novels. The genre may have its roots in bodice rippers, many of which cast scenes of rape as romantic, but new writers are aware of these past failings—and are eager to do better. As the author Jasmine Guillory told my colleague Hannah Giorgis in 2018, she aims to write characters who respect each other and who seek not just consent but enthusiasm. In doing so, she is charting a better way to write about love and desire.

What We’re Reading

illustration of a bird and a bee

Why are young people having so little sex?

“Signs are gathering that the delay in teen sex may have been the first indication of a broader withdrawal from physical intimacy that extends well into adulthood.”

crowd of people

The limits of sex positivity

“As American culture has become more expansive in its understanding of sexuality, so has sex therapy. But this kind of sex positivity often doesn’t leave room for those who don’t want sex at all.”

Silhouette of female torso in pink over profile of face in green and shape of a hand with photo of woman's nose and lips

The problem with being cool about sex

“Half a century after the sexual revolution and the start of second-wave feminism, why are the politics of sex still so messy, fraught, and contested?”

Stills from 'Sex Education,' 'Sex: Unzipped,' and 'Sex, Love, and Goop'

Where sex positivity falls short

“The catch of a faultlessly sex-positive universe in which everyone’s up for everything is that there isn’t much space to explore what happens when they’re not.”

illustration of two people on a background printed with Cupid's arrows

How to write consent in romance novels

“[Jasmine] Guillory is particularly skilled at writing the men who woo her novels’ female protagonists with compassion and empathy … Guillory’s male leads aren’t perfect, but they’re unwavering in their respect for the women at the center of these stories.”

Complete Article HERE!

Love and rockets

— We need to figure out how to have sex in space for human survival and well-being

By , , , , and

Houston, we have a problem! Love and sex need to happen in space if we hope to travel long distances and become an interplanetary species, but space organizations are not ready.

National agencies and private space companies — such as NASA and SpaceX — aim to colonize Mars and send humans into space for long-term missions, but they have yet to address the intimate and sexual needs of astronauts or future space inhabitants.

This situation is untenable and needs to change if we hope to settle new worlds and continue our expansion in the cosmos — we’ll need to learn how to safely reproduce and build pleasurable intimate lives in space. To succeed, however, we also need space organizations to adopt a new perspective on space exploration: one that considers humans as whole beings with needs and desires.

As researchers exploring the psychology of human sexuality and studying the psychosocial aspects of human factors in space, we propose that it is high time for space programs to embrace a new discipline: space sexology, the comprehensive scientific study of extraterrestrial intimacy and sexuality.

The final, intimate frontier

Love and sex are central to human life. Despite this, national and private space organizations are moving forward with long-term missions to the International Space Station (ISS), the moon and Mars without any concrete research and plans to address human eroticism in space. It’s one thing to land rovers on another planet or launch billionaires into orbit — it’s another to send humans to live in space for extended periods of time.

In practice, rocket science may take us to outer space, but it will be human relations that determine if we survive and thrive as a spacefaring civilization. In that regard, we argue that limiting intimacy in space could jeopardize the mental and sexual health of astronauts, along with crew performance and mission success. On the other hand, enabling space eroticism could help humans adapt to spacelife and enhance the well-being of future space inhabitants.

After all, space remains a hostile environment, and life aboard spacecrafts, stations or settlements poses significant challenges for human intimacy. These include radiation exposure, gravitational changes, social isolation and the stress of living in remote, confined habitats. In the near future, life in space may also limit access to intimate partners, restrict privacy and augment tensions between crew members in hazardous conditions where co-operation is essential.

To date, however, space programs have almost completely omitted the subject of sex in space. The few studies that relate to this topic mostly focus on the impacts of radiation and micro- or hyper-gravity on animal reproduction (rodents, amphibians and insects).

Pleasure and taboo

But human sexuality is about more than just reproduction. It includes complex psychological, emotional and relational dynamics. Love and sex are also pursued for fun and pleasure. As such, space exploration requires the courage to address the intimate needs of humans honestly and holistically.

Abstinence is not a viable option. On the contrary, facilitating masturbation or partnered sex could actually help astronauts relax, sleep and alleviate pain. It could also help them build and maintain romantic or sexual relationships and adapt to spacelife.

Importantly, addressing the sexological issues of human life in space could also help combat sexism, discrimination and sexual violence or harassment, which are unfortunately still pervasive in science and the military — two pillars of space programs.

Due to taboos and conservative sexual views, some organizations may choose to ignore the realities of space intimacy and sexuality. They may also think that this is a non-issue or that there are more pressing matters to attend to. But this attitude lacks foresight, since producing quality science takes time and resources, and sexual health — including pleasure — is increasingly recognized as a human right.

More and more, this means that space agencies and private companies may be held accountable for the sexual and reproductive well-being of those that they take into space.

Thus, space organizations who submit to their conservative funders will likely pay the price of their inaction in a very public and media-fueled way when disaster strikes. The hammer may fall particularly hard on the organizations who have not even tried addressing human eroticism in space, or when the world learns that they knowingly failed to conduct the proper research and take the necessary precautions that scientists have been requesting for more than 30 years.

Intimacy beyond Earth

To move forward, space organizations must stop avoiding sexual topics and fully recognize the importance of love, sex and intimate relationships in human life.

Accordingly, we encourage them to develop space sexology as a scientific field and research program: one that not only aims to study sex in space, but also design systems, habitats and training programs that allow intimacy to take place beyond our home planet, Earth.

We further propose that, given its expertise and the sociopolitical climate of Canada, the Canadian Space Agency is ideally positioned to become a world leader in space sexology. We have what it takes to pave the way for an ethical and pleasurable space journey, as we continue to boldly go where no one has gone before.

Complete Article HERE!

Why do men search for gym buddies on Grindr? An investigation

Grindr has both defined itself by and come to define the language of queer men. One of the most recent trends to be seen across people’s profiles is the rise of the hunt for ‘gym buddies’.

By

Downloading Grindr – then deleting it, before re-downloading it, only to delete it again – has become a modern rite of passage for queer men. The hook-up app revolutionised dating and sex when it arrived in 2009, inspiring the likes of Tinder and the digitised, swipe-heavy dating world of today. Grindr changed gay culture forever too: it created a visual map that proved that gay and bi men are literally everywhere (sometimes just feet away!). The app quickly became the most popular gay app in the world and, by 2014, it had seven million users worldwide. It’s been referenced in many TV shows and films too, from Glee to How to Get Away With Murder, The Real Housewives and, perhaps most fittingly, Trainwreck.

So many discussions about gay culture end up circling back to Grindr, from body image to sexual racism, “chemsex” and bottom-shaming. On the app, users often behave differently to how they would in “real life” and gay Twitter is often flooded with screengrabs of men behaving badly, brutally and straight-up bizarrely. There’s a whole glossary of emoji-driven codes and even visual “tribes” – such as “otters”, “daddies”, “clean cut” and “twinks” – which would take a very long time to explain to most straight people.

One trend that I’ve noticed – and have long been intrigued by – is men looking for a “gym buddy” on Grindr. On user profiles, it’s very common to see the desire for a “gym bud” listed alongside someone’s favourite drink (usually gin), height, body type and preferred sexual position. But why?

On the face of things, a gym buddy is just a friend to go to the gym with. Some people do use Grindr for platonic connections, particularly if they’ve just moved somewhere new, but it’s nevertheless an intriguing place to look for a gym companion. Michael, a 24-year-old gay man who enjoys group exercise classes and going to the gym with friends, thinks this trend makes sense. “Personally, I used to find the gym an incredibly difficult place to be. It was like hyper-masculinity on speed, with this immense pressure to be fit, strong and ultimately to know what you’re doing,” he tells GQ. “I think working out with somebody can break that intimidation because it’s a) somebody to back up what you’re doing and b) potentially somebody to guide or coach you. It’s safety in numbers in what can be a scary place.”

Personally, the idea of being sweaty and exhausted around someone I don’t know very well fills me with dread (particularly if he’s also a gay man which, no, I won’t be unpacking at this time!). But that’s not Michael’s experience. “In the age of athleisure and boutique gyms, the gym doesn’t have to be a gross and sweaty place,” he says. “People look good at the gym. Plus, they can suck each other off in the steam room or have sex in the shower.”

After speaking with Grindr users in London, I can confirm that Michael is right in suspecting that sometimes the search for gym buddies goes beyond a platonic friendship. There’s obviously a reason why men are using Grindr, specifically, in this way (there are already apps for finding a gym buddy, such as GymBuddy and SportPartner). Some guys, such as 26-year-old James*, were genuinely using Grindr to look for a pal to exercise with, because “Straight men might think I’m hitting on them or not be comfortable working out with me. Or, even if they aren’t thinking that, the feeling that they might be would make me feel awkward.” But others, such as 28-year-old Callum*, were hoping for “something more” if the attraction was there, because “You have more time to work out whether a guy is hot at the gym than in nudes he’s probably edited, or just before a hook-up, and it’s less pressure than meeting somewhere else.”

It’s hardly surprising that the gym might seem like a particularly fruitful backdrop for sex – after all, they are spaces full of sweaty men in not much clothing. On gay Twitter, it seems like everyone has a “gym crush” and there’s also an entire genre of porn that fetishises gyms and the locker room. In 2019, Vice UK investigated why so many gay men still go cruising at the gym, after a Virgin Active health club emailed its members saying it would be sending in undercover police to check for “inappropriate behaviour”. Many garments that have become part of the sartorial language of gay men, from jockstraps to tube socks and short shorts, are also rooted in sportswear. For some, there is clearly a feeling of empowerment in being legibly gay in a hyper-masculine space or reclaiming an aesthetic or pastime that they once felt excluded from.

Gyms are horny, but also quite anxious, places for some gay men. “So many of my clients are uncomfortable in gyms,” says Matt Boyles, founder of Fitter Confident You, a fitness company that helps gay, bi and trans guys get into exercise. When it comes to the link between “gym buddies” and sex, Boyles thinks it’s twofold: “The gym is how you can build your body and thus appear more ‘manly’. Speaking from personal experience, I used to think that would make me seem more ‘straight’.” Boyles also suspects that gyms can be a “stepping stone” for some gay men, because many have saunas and steam rooms, which can be a build up to visiting gay saunas. “This might appeal to men who are sexually attracted to men, but don’t want to seem overly ‘gay’ in any other way,” he says.

But why would men go to the trouble of auditioning a “gym bud” rather than simply going on a date or straight to sex? “Grindr is known for having users who don’t necessarily identify as gay or bi, so they’ve maybe experimented, or may identify as straight, but still want to have sex with men,” gay fitness writer Spenser Mestel tells GQ. “I think that looking for a ‘gym buddy’ is perhaps a way for them to engage with gay men, even though they aren’t able to express what their sexual desires are. If they’re not comfortable asking for the kind of sex that they actually want, this is a stand-in for that.”

Mestel is right that, on Grindr, a lot of the profiles looking for a “gym buddy” identify themselves as “straight”. Many don’t have photos on their profiles and some are in relationships with women. One man, who didn’t share his name, told me that he wouldn’t want to be seen on a date with a man as he’s not out. He also can’t host men at his house, because he’s married to a woman and doesn’t like sending pictures of his face on Grindr. So the gym is a risk-free place to meet men who might not otherwise agree to meet him. Another user, who specifically labelled himself as “Str8” and a “top” (the penetrative role in gay sex), tells me that he’s only into “masculine” men sexually but has no interest in any chat. “I always need to cum most after a workout, so the gym showers are the easiest place and gay men are more into NSA [no strings attached] sex than women,” he says.

It might sound perplexing to hear about men on Grindr identifying as straight, but it’s not uncommon for a distinction and hierarchy to be drawn between sexual activity and romantic relationships (this can be seen as far back as Ancient Greece). Some people also perceive a difference between a physical behaviour, such as sex with men, and the formation of a “gay identity.” Plus, even in the UK in 2021, not everyone has the ability to be open about their sexuality.

Social psychology might also tell us why men, particularly those who consider themselves masculine or straight, might highlight the gym as important to them on an app. Social psychologist Russell Spears theorises that when we go online in a more anonymous or semi-anonymous environment, where there’s less information about people, we rely more on social norms (such as, for men to be sporty and strong). Spears calls this tendency the “de-individualisation hypothesis”, which might be a reason why “straight” men on Grindr emphasise their commitment to exercise.

The gym and Grindr are both places where men might feel competitive with each other or insecure about their masculinity. Mestel thinks this affects gay men in particular. “I think already at the gym, for gay men, there’s a sense of ‘Am I attracted to this person? Or am I just jealous of them?’,” he says. “Our workout routines are very personal to us and intimate, which makes me think having a ‘gym buddy’ is less about working out and more about connecting in a masculine, sanctioned way.” Boyles thinks that it could also be about lessening the pressure of rejection. “If you just say, ‘Shall we go to the gym together?’ and get rejected, it’s less damaging to your self-esteem,” he says. “And it also allows men to justify their reason for being on a gay hook-up app: ‘I’m on Grindr, but I mainly use it for gym buddies!’”

These types of negotiations remind me of something PhD student Robin Craig observed while discussing why men might make an effort to appear more masculine over text. Speaking to GQ in April, he drew a parallel between how men talk on Grindr and the barbershop, as a nearly male-only space where men are seeking physical intimacy,” he said, remarking on how both spaces see an increase in men saying “man”, “dude”, “bro” and “mate”. “The use of male slang reinforces the speaker’s masculinity in a space where it’s placed in jeopardy, such as a gay male cruising app,” he added. Surely, then, the same parallel can also be drawn between the digital space of Grindr and the physical space of the gym?

At first, the search for gym buddies on Grindr might seem like a bizarre trend that isn’t noteworthy. But actually, it intersects with some big questions about how men (from gay to “straight”) feel like they’re supposed to behave in different spaces. The gym and Grindr actually have a lot in common: they’re both places where there’s an emphasis on self-improvement, where there’s a perception of competition, where masculinity is being flaunted, questioned and, crucially, where sex might be on the cards. So, really, how could men not be looking for “gym buddies” on Grindr? They’re natural bedfellows – pun intended.

Complete Article HERE!

What Are Sperm Telling Us?

Scientists are concerned by falling sperm counts and declining egg quality. Endocrine-disrupting chemicals may be the problem.

By Nicholas Kristof

Something alarming is happening between our legs.

Sperm counts have been dropping; infant boys are developing more genital abnormalities; more girls are experiencing early puberty; and adult women appear to be suffering declining egg quality and more miscarriages.

It’s not just humans. Scientists report genital anomalies in a range of species, including unusually small penises in alligators, otters and minks. In some areas, significant numbers of fish, frogs and turtles have exhibited both male and female organs.

Four years ago, a leading scholar of reproductive health, Shanna H. Swan, calculated that from 1973 to 2011, the sperm count of average men in Western countries had fallen by 59 percent. Inevitably, there were headlines about “Spermageddon” and the risk that humans would disappear, but then we moved on to chase other shiny objects.

Now Swan, an epidemiologist at Mount Sinai Medical Center in New York, has written a book, “Count Down,” that will be published on Tuesday and sounds a warning bell. Her subtitle is blunt: “How our modern world is threatening sperm counts, altering male and female reproductive development, and imperiling the future of the human race.”

Swan and other experts say the problem is a class of chemicals called endocrine disruptors, which mimic the body’s hormones and thus fool our cells. This is a particular problem for fetuses as they sexually differentiate early in pregnancy. Endocrine disruptors can wreak reproductive havoc.

These endocrine disruptors are everywhere: plastics, shampoos, cosmetics, cushions, pesticides, canned foods and A.T.M. receipts. They often aren’t on labels and can be difficult to avoid.

“In some ways, the sperm-count decline is akin to where global warming was 40 years ago,” Swan writes. “The climate crisis has been accepted — at least by most people — as a real threat. My hope is that the same will happen with the reproductive turmoil that’s upon us.”

Chemical companies are as reckless as tobacco companies were a generation ago, or as opioid manufacturers were a decade ago. They lobby against even safety testing of endocrine disruptors, so that we have little idea if products we use each day are damaging our bodies or our children. We’re all guinea pigs.

Aside from the decline in sperm counts, growing numbers of sperm appear defective — there’s a boom in two-headed sperm — while others loll aimlessly in circles, rather than furiously swimming in pursuit of an egg. And infants who have had greater exposures to a kind of endocrine disruptor called phthalates have smaller penises, Swan found.

Uncertainty remains, research sometimes conflicts and biological pathways aren’t always clear. There are competing theories about whether the sperm count decline is real and what might cause it and about why girls appear to be reaching puberty earlier, and it’s sometimes unclear whether an increase in male genital abnormalities reflects actual rising numbers or just better reporting.

Still, the Endocrine Society, the Pediatric Endocrine Society, the President’s Cancer Panel and the World Health Organization have all warned about endocrine disruptors, and Europe and Canada have moved to regulate them. But in the United States, Congress and the Trump administration seemed to listen more to industry lobbyists than to independent scientists.

Patricia Ann Hunt, a reproductive geneticist at Washington State University, has conducted experiments on mice showing that the impact of endocrine disruptors is cumulative, generation after generation. When infant mice were exposed for just a few days to endocrine disrupting chemicals, their testes as adults produced fewer sperm, and this incapacity was transmitted to their offspring. While findings from animal studies can’t necessarily be extended to humans, after three generations of these exposures, one-fifth of the male mice were infertile.

“I find this particularly troubling,” Professor Hunt told me. “From the standpoint of human exposures, you could argue we are hitting the third generation just about now.”

What if anything does all this mean for the future of humanity?

“I do not see humans becoming extinct, but I do see family lines ending for a subset of people who are infertile,” Andrea Gore, a professor of neuroendocrinology at the University of Texas at Austin, told me. “People with impaired sperm or egg quality cannot exercise their right to choose to have a child. That may not devastate our species, but it is certainly devastating to these infertile couples.”

More research is necessary, and government regulation and corporate responsibility are crucial to manage risks, but Swan offers practical suggestions for daily life for those with the resources. Store food in glass containers, not plastic. Above all, don’t microwave foods in plastic or with plastic wrap on top. Avoid pesticides. Buy organic produce if possible. Avoid tobacco or marijuana. Use a cotton or linen shower curtain, not one made of vinyl. Don’t use air fresheners. Prevent dust buildup. Vet consumer products you use with an online guide like that of the Environmental Working Group.

Many issues in headlines today won’t much matter in a decade, let alone in a century. Climate change is one exception, and another may be the risks to our capacity to reproduce.

The epitome of a “low blow” is a kick to the crotch. And that, friends, may be what we as a species are doing to ourselves.

Complete Article HERE!

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.

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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!

Sex, Social Distancing and the Fall Semester

In this global pandemic, adults must get over their squeamishness about young people’s sexuality and talk about how sex figures into campus life, Jennifer S. Hirsch and Shamus Khan contend.

By Jennifer S. Hirsch and Shamus Khan

A recent behind-the-scenes look at the University of Kentucky’s deliberations about the fall semester revealed detailed plans for housing, dining and classes but contained only an oblique reference to students’ social and sexual lives: “Even if administrators could enforce the rules on campus … what about after hours?” The American College Health Association’s recent “Considerations for Reopening” were similarly silent on sex. And discussions of “how to approach occupancy and personal spacing in student housing” miss the point that in college, as elsewhere, beds are not just for sleeping.

In this moment of global pandemic, it’s urgent for adults to get over their squeamishness about young people’s sexuality and talk about how sex figures into campus life.

Colleges and universities are social institutions. Students see this social life — friendships, extracurriculars and networking, and also sex — as fundamental to the college experience. Our book, Sexual Citizens, draws on three semesters of research spending time with and interviewing undergraduates on the Columbia University and Barnard College campuses. In it, we found that students want many things out of their university experience, what we call their “college projects.” These include being introduced to challenging ideas, mastering a discipline, developing new interests and skills, meeting people from a range of backgrounds, and cultivating critical life skills. But one of the most important college projects for students is their “sexual project”: having the kinds of sexual experiences they want and discovering what sex means to them.

The students we interviewed described wide-ranging sexual projects. Sometimes, sex is about pleasure. Other times, intimacy. For many students, especially early on in college, the goals are accruing experience, impressing their friends or figuring out who they are. Sometimes sexual projects entail a lot of sex, but the sexual project can be no sex: one young man, a devout born-again Christian, saw his commitment to abstinence as a fundamental expression of his new self.

One of the reasons students arrive on campus so intent on their sexual projects is that few adults had ever asked the students with whom we spoke what sex meant to them. For many young people, home is an environment of sexual silence and shame, and college offers the promise of a space where they can express themselves. Many American parents convey to their children, “Not under my roof.” The message is clear: sex itself is immoral.

Sex education, even when it’s not abstinence-only, frequently amplifies those familial messages of shame and fear. Many students we spoke with described K-12 sex ed as “the sexual diseases class” — a barrage of messaging about the risks of sex. While STDs are an important health concern, a focus on sex’s adverse consequences absent any discussion of sex in relation to pleasure or connection conveys the message that young people’s sexual desires are unacceptable. This is even more pronounced for queer students, whose very identities are erased by most sex ed curricula, by the unquestioned heteronormativity of high school’s prom kings and queens, and by the all-too-frequent experience of returning home every day to families where they cannot be themselves.

College and sex aren’t just tied together because they provide an escape from the silences of home. There are also developmental reasons: the average age at first intercourse in America is about 17. That means that many 18- or 19-year-olds starting college have not yet had sex, and even those who have often haven’t had much experience. Most students, imagining their own deficit, are eager to “catch up” with their peers.

If, as in Jennifer’s family, these months of social distancing have included some nostalgic parental choices for family movie night, the high school Class of 2020 may have been subjected to oldies like Grease or Risky Business. But whether it is those or other cringey classics like Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Porky’s and American Pie or sleepers like Blockers or films with a more modern sensibility like Ladybird, Booksmart or Love, Simon, American movies about the end of high school have one consistent message: it is an essential time to figure out sex in order to launch into the world, finally, as an adult. Shut indoors for months, without prom, senior trip or even the mild flirting that comes with yearbook signing, the Class of 2020 is likely to feel more acutely what young people long have felt: that they are behind when it comes to sex. While they may not say it to their parents, the disappointment about an online start to the school year is at least as much about the social and sexual as it is about the educational.

Before parents roll their eyes at today’s youth, or imagine that 17 is “way too early,” they need to be honest with themselves. Young Americans today are on average older than their parents were the first time they had sex. It’s not just that they’re having sex later; it also seems likely that they’re having less of it. Even grandparents may want to check their judgement: as far back as 1959, two deans at the University of California, Los Angeles, wrote, “Think of college and you think of flaming youth; think of flaming youth and you think of liquor and sex.”

A Student-Centered Approach

It’s been decades since most institutions of higher education rescinded parietals: rules about when opposite sex visitors could be in a dorm and under what kind of supervision. Those policy changes were an important recognition of students’ “sexual citizenship” — an official, if tacit, acknowledgment of young people’s right to sexual self-determination. Now is not the time to bring those rules back under the guise of protection. Instead, we need a student-centered approach that unflinchingly faces the realities of what young people are going to be doing, and how their recent experiences are motivating those actions.

In Sexual Citizens, we use sexual projects and sexual citizenship to reveal the social roots of campus sexual assault. But the ideas have a broader application, as a framework for understanding sex on campus and as a way of thinking about what it would look like to organize sexual and social lives in relation to the common good. Sexual projects and sexual citizenship are the logical starting point for respectful dialogue between administrators and students, and among students themselves, about sex during a pandemic. We have been here before: in the early years of HIV, gay activists, advised by a virologist, published a pamphlet that “provided some of the earliest guidance on safer sex for gay men.” That approach — acknowledging that people have compelling social reasons for behaviors that entail some health risk and engaging in candid and nonjudgmental conversation about how to make those activities safer — is called harm reduction.

Recently, experts from Planned Parenthood, the American Sexual Health Association and Fenway Health joined the New York City and San Francisco health departments in promoting a harm reduction approach to sex during this pandemic. That entails recognizing sex as a normal part of a healthy life, reminding people that “you are your safest sexual partner” and providing guidance on how to minimize the risk of transmission for those who seek out new partners.

The take-home for institutions of higher education is clear: instead of saying, “Don’t have sex,” acknowledge young people’s sexual projects and encourage them to channel those projects in socially responsible ways. The safest sex is solo or remote. Those who chose in-person sex should use condoms and other barriers and remember to wash up before and after sex. And “if you do have sex with others, have as few partners as possible.”

Higher ed leaders should remember that this is generation that has led, rather than followed, in the name of collective responsibility, with one study showing that 20 percent of millennials had changed their diet because of concerns about climate change, compared to only 8 percent of baby boomers. Conversations that explicitly connect incoming students’ sexual projects to the greater good will resonate with lessons all around them. Whether wearing masks or doing Mother’s Day, birthdays and even funerals online to protect our beloved elders, huge numbers of us, including many members of the Class of 2020, have foregone myriad small pleasures for the collective good.

This is a critical moment for rethinking and reorganizing campus sex. At least some of the students whose stories appear in Sexual Citizens, as well as some whom Lisa Wade interviewed in American Hookup, articulated substantial ambivalence about hookup culture. We think in particular about the young woman who compared getting drunk before hooking up to Novocain at the dentist — the numbing required to get through the discomfort. This is a moment to reimagine welcoming students to college as a long process that offers an appealing range of activities through which students can get to know each other more slowly — before or even perhaps without ever getting naked. Those activities, in combination with the moral cover provided by the need to socially distance, may offer those who want it an opportunity to step back from the notion that “doing college” necessarily means getting drunk and having sex.

Institutions have been slowly building toward a greater recognition of college students’ sexual citizenship: officially sanctioned BDSM clubs, vending-machine availability of emergency contraception, widespread campus condom availability programs and, of course, sexual assault prevention programs themselves are all acknowledgments that for many students, sex is part of campus life. In normal times, institutions need to think about how they can create environments — reimagining everything from furniture to culture — where those who chose to have sex can do so without harm to themselves or others. COVID-19 just amplifies this obligation.

Like professors across the country, we long to see young people back on campuses — queuing up for office hours, lolling in the sun on the lawns, throwing down their book bags before seminar or even meticulously setting up a whole breakfast as class starts. But having spent semesters immersed in their daily lives, we know not to fool ourselves that they are only here to see us. They come for each other, and they can’t do that until and unless higher ed leaders have an honest and respectful conversation with them about how to do that safely.

That means thinking about young people as sexual citizens, talking to them about what sexual projects are valuable and creating geographies of experience that help them have sex in the ways that they want and that respect the choices of those around them. Whether the goal is promoting social distancing or preventing sexual assault, work with young people needs to begin with a recognition of their right to sexual self-determination.

Complete Article HERE!

More Young Americans Are Going Without Sex

By Dennis Thompson

Sex, and lots of it, has long been the primary preoccupation of young adults, but more of them are now going months and years without any intimate encounters.

New research shows that one of three men between the ages of 18 to 24 have not had any sex during the past year, putting to rest all the talk of the “hookup culture.”

Men and women aged 25 to 34 in the United States also reported an increase in sexual inactivity and a decrease in sexual frequency during the past two decades, the researchers found.

“In the age of Tinder, young people are actually having less sex, not more,” said Jean Twenge, a professor of psychology at San Diego State University.

Analyzing national survey data, researchers found that sexual inactivity increased from 19% to 31% among men 18 to 24 between 2000 and 2018. They defined sexual inactivity as no sex at all for a year or more.

Among those aged 25 to 34, sexual inactivity doubled among men (7% to 14%) and nearly doubled among women (7% to 13%) during the same two decades, the researchers reported.

Many who remain sexually active are having sex less often, the findings also showed. Fewer people are having sex at least weekly, particularly those with one sexual partner.

The report was published online June 12 in JAMA Network Open.

“It is important to distinguish between a decrease in sexual frequency among those who are sexually active and an increase in those who do not have sex at all,” said lead researcher Dr. Peter Ueda, a physician-researcher at the Karolinska Institute in Sweden.

“While the mean sexual frequency among those who were sexually active may reflect their priorities and preferences, sexual inactivity may reflect an absence of sexually intimate relationships, with substantially different implications for public health and society,” Ueda said.

Technology and society appear to be colliding in a way that dramatically affects young adults’ interest in sex, said Twenge, who wrote an editorial accompanying the new study.

Even though kids are entering puberty earlier, they are taking longer to grow into adulthood, Twenge said.

It’s not just about sex. These young adults also are taking longer to begin working, start dating, move out of their parents’ home, settle into a career, live with a partner, have kids or buy houses, Twenge said.

The generation coming up after millennials, which Twenge calls “iGen,” aren’t even that motivated to hang out with friends, she said.

“iGen does those things significantly less than previous generations did at the same age,” Twenge said, noting that young adults these days would rather check out social media, play video games or text their pals.

“They’re choosing to spend their leisure time communicating using their phones instead of face-to-face,” Twenge continued. “When people aren’t face-to-face, they’re probably going to have less sex.”

All told, young adults now might decide that bingeing Netflix or posting on Instagram is more enjoyable than seeking a sexual partner, Twenge said.

“There are just more things to do at 10 p.m. than there used to be,” Twenge explained.

Even when people are together, they’re allowing their smartphones to interfere with their chemistry, Twenge added.

Many people on dates are guilty of “phubbing” — pulling out their phone and snubbing the person they’re with, Twenge said.

“What happens to face-to-face interactions when the phones come up? Not surprisingly, it just doesn’t go as well. It’s not as emotionally close,” Twenge said.

Linda De Villers, a sex therapist in El Segundo, Calif., agreed.

“It is really shocking to be in restaurants and see everybody’s nose in their phone,” De Villers said. “That’s bizarre. That’s about, I don’t want to connect.”

De Villers also wondered if the increase in depression among young adults might have something to do with this trend.

“Of course, lack of sexual interest is related to depression,” De Villers said.

The concept of asexuality also has become trendy, and De Villers wondered what role that might play.

“Asexuality has been quite a buzzword in the last five or six years or so. It tends to be worn as a badge of honor, I believe,” De Villers said. “That does raise a curious question about whether a number of people think sex is a hassle that interferes with other life pursuits for them.”

In the end, is a lack of sexual interest necessarily a bad thing for young adults?

According to Twenge, “That is the sexual peak for a lot of people, in terms of their sex drive and enjoyment and energy levels. You could certainly make the argument that it’s not entirely a good thing that young adults are missing out on sex during that time of their lives.”

De Villers said she isn’t so sure, though.

“The people I know in the field of sexuality, we are a group of people who loosely speaking call ourselves sex-positive. There’s a perspective that sex is good and life-affirming. It’s important to be sexual,” De Villers said. “But the bottom line is, if people are content, we really shouldn’t be evaluating whether it’s a good or bad thing.”

Complete Article HERE!

Why Students Need Sex Education That’s Honest About Racism

It is not enough to say that we advocate for “culturally responsive” sex ed. We have to show that our sex education is as honest about racism as it is on any other topic.

Providing high quality sex education that reflects the experiences of Black students, and other students of color, is key.

By Christine Soyong Harley

It is not enough to say that we advocate for “culturally responsive” sex ed. We have to show that our sex education is as honest about racism as it is on any other topic.

Those of us who work in the field of sex education are no strangers to having difficult conversations. We have made great strides in orchestrating effective discussions around topics of sex, sexuality, and gender among parents, policymakers, educators, advocates, and young people. However, there is one topic that we all need to work to better address within sex education: race.

In response to the #MeToo movement, many leaders in the field jumped into action. We worked hard to advance and uplift necessary conversations and share resources on issues of consent and sexual violence. We were vocal in saying that if we could teach more young people, earlier on, about the dynamics of sexual violence, we could shift our country’s culture to better address the epidemic itself.

Today, as nationwide Black Lives Matter protests continue, leaders in the sex education field, including my organization SIECUS: Sex Ed for Social Change, need to respond just as loudly and clearly to racial injustice. We need to do our part to honor George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, and the many other Black lives taken by police violence and white supremacy.

At SIECUS, we believe that sex education can, and should, advance racial justice. We have followed the lead of trailblazing groups and advocates, like the Women of Color Sexual Health Network (WOCSHN), to advocate for sex education to be taught through a racial justice lens. We have joined our partners within the Future of Sex Education Initiative to update and incorporate this approach into national sex education standards. But, still, we have so much more work to do.

This field is committed to ensuring that young people receive the information and skills they need to ensure their own lifelong health and well-being. Many of us regularly demand that sex ed include the experiences of LGBTQ+ youth. It is critical we do the same for Black youth.

“So how can we do better? How do we, as a field, work harder to advance racial justice through sex education?”
-Christine Soyong Harley

White supremacy touches every aspect of our history, culture, and institutions in the United States. Persistent racialized and sexualized stereotypes of Black people and other people of color are often used to justify the most regressive and harmful laws and policies that govern our country—from public assistance program requirements, to our criminal justice system, to our institutions of education.

Our history of racial injustice is intimately connected to longstanding myths that demonize and denigrate Black and other people of color’s sexuality and reproduction. We cannot pretend that these myths aren’t central to white supremacist debates of who is or is not a human being; of who can or cannot be an American; of who does or does not deserve to live.

So how can we do better? How do we, as a field, work harder to advance racial justice through sex education?

Providing high quality sex education that reflects the experiences of Black students, and other students of color, is key. Just as importantly, we must speak out against the harmful abstinence-only programs that our young people continue to receive. Federally funded abstinence-only grants often target low-income school districts, which are more likely to be filled with Black students. These shame-based programs, also called “sexual risk avoidance” are ineffective at achieving their own goals. Recently, these programs have started to center success sequencing, a theory that actively perpetuates racist stereotypes and assumptions.

It is not enough to say that Black people and other people of color are high risk groups for negative sexual health outcomes like HIV and other sexually transmitted infections (STIs). We need to also discuss the racist institutional failures behind such statistics. We must train sex educators to name and discuss how racism has affected our medical and educational institutions. From our country’s awful history of eugenics to present-day Black maternal mortality rates, there are countless examples of the powerful and damaging role that racism plays in Black and other people of color’s access to quality sexual and reproductive health-care services and information.

Our efforts to advance racial justice in sex education must also go beyond the content that students receive. We need to address the racism that exists within our mostly white-led field, too. It is past time we look inward to ask, who is leading sex ed organizations? Who sits on their boards? Who makes the decisions? And we must follow the lead of Black youth. That cannot be overstated. No one knows more about ensuring their health and well-being than Black people themselves.

We know that we have a lot of work to do at SIECUS. And we urge our colleagues and fellow advocates to join us in taking urgent and imperative steps to advance racial justice in sex education. To start, we can all vow to:

  1. Ensure that our advocacy efforts center around providing sex education funding and resources to communities that are predominantly made up of Black students and other students of color—not just white, wealthy communities.
  2. Promote sex education instruction and individual curricula that include the experiences of Black students and other students of color.
  3. Urge sex educators to discuss racism and how it has shaped disparate access to health care and information for Black people and other communities of color.
  4. Make space for Black sex educators, advocates, and experts to hold leadership positions within our movement, our organizations, and our schools.
  5. Continue these efforts to advance racial justice regularly—not just in times of crisis. When protests die down and the headlines fade, this work must continue.

As we mourn for George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, and the many, many other Black lives that have been taken by racism and hate, we commit to working harder to show up for Black people in both our work and in our lives.

It is not enough to say that we advocate for “culturally responsive” sex ed. We have to show that our sex education is as honest, accurate, and complete on racism as it is on any other topic.

Complete Article HERE!

Are We Really Going To Run Out Of Condoms?

by Franki Cookney

At the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, one news story stood out. Amid the fear of the coronavirus and the uncertainty around how best to contain it, it seemed we were also on the brink of running out of condoms.

In March, the world’s biggest condom manufacturer warned of a global shortage after it was forced to close its factories in Malaysia for a week to comply with local lockdown restrictions.

Karex makes one in five condoms worldwide and has operations across the United States, United Kingdom, Malaysia and Thailand. In normal circumstances, it produces five billion condoms a year, and supplies governments, NGOs, brands and retailers in over 130 countries. The factory reopened at the beginning of April but has been operating with only half its staff.

“It will take time to jumpstart factories and we will struggle to keep up with demand at half capacity,” the chief executive, Goh Miah Kiat said at the time. “We are going to see a global shortage of condoms everywhere, which is going to be scary.”

Karex have not yet issued an update on their production levels. At the point the factories reopened they were experiencing a shortfall of 100 million condoms. But how much will this actually impact on our lives right now?

At first brands were expecting a rise in condom use, assuming that social distancing would lead to people staying in and having more sex. In March Trojan Condoms urged retailers not to deprioritize condoms by classifying them as ‘non-essential’.  “More time together spells more sex,” said Bruce Weiss, the vice president of marketing for Trojan Condoms. “Condoms are more important than ever before and should be considered essential products amid the COVID-19 outbreak.”

At the end of March, a YouGov survey of more than 24,000 US adults, one in eight said they’d been having sex with their partner more frequently. Around the same time, adult retailers noted a rise in sex toy sales, including those aimed at couples. But as time has gone on, it’s become clear that for many people quarantine has been a total libido-killer. Being stuck at home with your partner with nothing to do and nowhere to go is not a recipe for excitement, sexual or otherwise. Vogue reported in April that many people were experiencing an “erotic nosedive” as the effects of stress and overfamiliarity took their toll.

With casual sex and hookups also off the table, the demand for condoms has gone down. By the end of April major brands such as Durex were reporting a reduction in sales. Laxman Narasimhan, the chief executive of Reckitt Benckiser, the company that owns Durex, told The Guardian that quarantine restrictions in the UK had led to reduced opportunities for sex as single people and people living in different households to their partners were no longer allowed to meet up. “What you see is this virus is having a toll on the number of intimate occasions in the UK,” he said. He noted that increased anxiety had also led to less sex between established couples. 

While it might be the case people are having less sex, the desire to avoid pregnancy has not decreased. In a survey in Italy published in the Journal of Psychosomatic Obstetrics and Gynecology 81.9% of respondents said they did not intend to conceive during the pandemic. Of the participants who had been planning to have a child before the pandemic, 37.3% said they’d since ditched their plans. Condoms might be in demand after all.

It’s worth remembering, however, that not everybody who uses birth control uses condoms. In the U.S. just 15% of women who use contraception use condoms as their preferred method. A factsheet from the Guttmacher Institute indicates that 25% use the contraceptive pill, 12% use an IUD, and many rely on tubal sterilization (22%) or vasectomy (7%). In the UK 26% of 16–49-year-olds use hormonal contraception as their usual method, according to findings from the NATSAL-3. Furthermore, barrier methods such as condoms were found to be higher in short-term relationships among younger participants—precisely the demographic least likely to be having sex under current social distancing regulations.

A potentially greater concern—both at home and around the world—is the restricted access to sexual health services and family planning. Analysis from the Guttmacher Institute estimated that 49 million women globally would miss out on contraception as a result of the disruption to services caused by COVID-19.

Many sexual health providers in the U.S. and UK have reported a drop-off in the amount of patients they’ve seen, as people stay away from hospitals and clinics. In some cases, this can be viewed as a positive. STI transmission rates are at an all-time low in the UK, and the availability of home-testing means people can get diagnosed without leaving the house. But when it comes to long-acting reversible methods of birth control, the situation is more concerning.

A survey conducted in April by the British Association for Sexual Health and HIV (BASHH) found that in-person services for patients have shrunk dramatically since the COVID-19 pandemic hit in mid-March. Fifty four percent of local clinics have closed altogether, and many of those that remain open are operating with less than half the staff. As a result, BASHH found that 86% of clinics could not offer contraceptive choices such as the coil or implant.

Whether people who cannot access long-acting reversible methods of contraception will turn instead to condoms is debatable, though. With visits to the pharmacy or supermarket far more stressful than usual, it would be easy to put off buying condoms. If the idea of doing without contraception altogether sounds strange, consider this: 60% of women aged between 15 and 44 in the U.S. have relied on withdrawal at some point in their lives. In a recent interview, Dr Anita Mitra, a British gynecologist and author of The Gynae Geek said she’d noticed a big decrease in use of both hormonal contraception and condoms. While official figures from the WHO say 8% of couples prefer to use withdrawal over any other method, she believes the real number to be much higher. “I see a huge number of young women who tell me that they use withdrawal at least occasionally, or as their sole method for preventing pregnancy,” she said.

A global pandemic might seem like a strange time to try the famously unreliable “pull-out” method but if there’s one thing that has characterised this period it’s our sudden and necessary familiarity with everyday risk-assessment. In these circumstances it’s possible a trip to the pharmacy or doctor’s office could seem like the greater risk to take.

Either way it seems safe to conclude that our demand for condoms has diminished in quarantine—at least in Europe and the U.S. But, as Chris Purdy, CEO of family planning and HIV/AIDS prevention charity DKT International, said in April, it isn’t just the manufacture of condoms that’s been affected by the pandemic. Everything from problems sourcing the requisite components to freight, shipping, quarantine requirements and increased oversight on imports has led to delays. In many countries this could lead to shortages even when product availability is high.

Ultimately, though, condoms are only part of this picture. Even if we don’t run out, the myriad knock-on effects the coronavirus pandemic has on sexual health and family planning services around the world will be felt for a long time.

Complete Article HERE!

To end conversion therapy, we must understand what it actually means

By Travis Salway

On Monday, Calgary City Council voted, nearly unanimously, to pass a municipal ban of advertising around conversion therapy, which the city defined as “practice, treatment, or service designed to change, repress, or discourage a person’s sexual orientation, gender identity, or gender expression, or to repress or reduce non-heterosexual attraction or sexual behaviour.” In doing so, Calgary joined cities such as Vancouver, Edmonton and Fort McMurray, along with provinces including Ontario and, recently, Prince Edward Island, in passing legislation banning conversion therapies.

The discourse at the publicly-broadcast citizen debate before the council vote was polarizing, however, with hundreds of speakers passionately arguing on either side of the issue over two days. Those opposed to the ban argued that they do not want to see their fellow citizens subjected to torture – referencing electroshock and other physically severe forms of conversion therapy – but the proposed law unfairly criminalizes practitioners who are merely offering advice to people who are struggling with “unwanted” same-sex attraction or gender dysphoria.

Opponents of the ban claimed that these well-meaning conversations should not be conflated with “true forms” of conversion therapy. They defended this argument by noting that practitioners targeted by the ban do not try to “convert” anyone but, rather, aim to help people live cisgender, heterosexual lives that are compatible with religious doctrine.

This debate had a cardinal flaw: It didn’t centre on a single definition. As with many contentious social issues, language and meanings matter. By clarifying the intent of conversion therapy practices – their defining feature – we will be better prepared to evaluate legislative action at multiple levels of government, as efforts to end this practice continue.

Conversion therapy is a misnomer: Survivors of conversion therapy are not “converted”, and it is not therapeutic. All forms of conversion therapy – whether practiced in a licensed health care clinic, spiritual support group, pastor’s office or other setting – share a common premise, as described by Canadian legal scholar Florence Ashley: They begin with an assumption that some gender identities, gender expressions and sexual orientations are more desirable than others. More specifically, these practices seek to deny and suppress the identities of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer and two-spirit (LGBTQ2) people.

The practices themselves rely upon a variety of methods, including coaching, counseling, therapy, prayer and conversation. Individuals who undergo it are often left with feelings of self-doubt, anxiety and hopelessness, losing years of their lives that would otherwise be spent achieving a positive sense of self.

From national surveys conducted last year, we know that tens of thousands of LGBTQ2 Canadians have experienced conversion therapy. With the support of conversion-therapy survivors, I and other public-health researchers have been interviewing these Canadians. They frequently describe exactly the kind of “talk therapy” that opponents of the ban seek to protect, where a provider attempts to compel an individual to manage and resist expressions of gender or sexuality that differ from mainstream expectations. And these forms of conversion therapy induce psychological distress just as other more obviously traumatic forms of conversion therapy do.

To effectively prevent conversion therapy, legislative bans must adjust their definitions to clearly state that the defining feature of conversion therapy is not an attempt to “convert” or “change” intrinsic feelings of gender identity or expression or sexual orientation. Rather, the defining feature is the goal of avoiding acceptance and acknowledgement of LGBTQ2 lives as compatible with being healthy and happy. This healthy sense of self is something that all Canadians deserve, regardless of sexual orientation, gender identity or gender expression. That sense of self is what is fundamentally at stake in the debates over conversion therapy.

We must also acknowledge that no ban can eradicate all forms of conversion therapy. We need bans at all levels of government – municipal, provincial and federal – and for these legislative bans to share language, so they are all effectively complementary. And bans must be coupled with broader educational efforts.

In Canada, we must promote the affirmation of LGBTQ2 people, particularly to parents and caregivers who may otherwise consider conversion therapy for their children when they are struggling. Continuing legislative debates offer an opportunity for us as Canadians to clarify our position that LGBTQ2 people should be celebrated. Canadians who share these views should make their majority view known – particularly as our politicians continue to consider opportunities to safeguard the well-being of LGBTQ2 citizens.

Calgary’s new bylaw is just one example of an upsurge of proposed and enacted Canadian legislation to prevent conversion therapy. Bill C-8, an amendment to the federal Criminal Code, was tabled by federal government on March 9. While our country has gradually affirmed LGBTQ2 lives through legal and social changes in recent decades – including the addition of sexual orientation in 1995 and gender identity and expression in 2017, as statuses protected by the Charter of Rights and Freedoms – the public debate in Calgary served as a stark reminder: Stigma, fear and hatred of LGBTQ2 people are alive and well. The only way to resist these social biases is by speaking the same language.

Complete Article HERE!

What Does Asexual Mean? Definitions & How To Know If You’re “Ace”

Definitions & How To Know If You’re “Ace”

By Suzannah Weiss

Even as people gain more awareness of LGBTQ+ identities, asexuality remains poorly understood by many. Until recently, lots of people assumed that everyone was sexually attracted to someone or another. But in fact, some people don’t experience sexual attraction. Here’s what you should understand about being asexual, or “ace” for short.

The National LGBTQ Task Force defines asexuality as “a sexual orientation where a person experiences little to no sexual attraction to anyone and/or does not experience desire for sexual contact.” Different people define it differently for themselves, however. For some, it’s more about a lack of sexual desire, while for others, it’s just a lack of desire for anyone. And while some feel neutral about sexual activity, others are put off by the idea of it.

Asexuality exists on a spectrum that ranges from “no sexual interest or feelings at all” to “maybe sex under very specific circumstances,” explains Good Vibrations staff sexologist Carol Queen, Ph.D. Some people may feel more comfortable saying that they’re on the asexual spectrum than classifying themselves as asexual since it leaves wiggle room for different gradations of the identity.

Aromantic, panromantic, and more

An aromantic person is someone who isn’t interested in romantic relationships, though they may still be interested in sexual relationships. “They might be put off by the idea of [romantic partnerships] or just experience little or no desire or interest,” says Queen. A panromantic person, on the flip side, is open to romantic relationships with any gender, though they may or may not experience sexual attraction. So someone could be panromantic asexual, for example, or aromantic asexual. Or somewhere in between!

“Demisexuals still experience sexual attraction but in a way that centers emotions rather than lust,” explains sex and relationship therapist Cyndi Darnell. Often, demisexual people don’t feel sexually attracted to someone until they get to know them.

Some people use the term “graysexual” to refer to being somewhere in between asexual and sexual. “If you’re graysexual, you sometimes feel sexual attraction but not always,” says Queen.

Can asexual people fall in love?

One popular misconception is that asexual people can’t fall in love—but they absolutely can. “Sex does not equal love,” says LGBTQ+ expert and dual-licensed social worker Kryss Shane. Someone who doesn’t tend to fall in love would more likely designate themselves as aromantic, says Queen. Some asexual people get into romantic relationships, and some have sexual relationships with their partners.

Just like it’s not really clear what makes someone heterosexual, we don’t know what makes someone asexual, says Darnell. Some people feel they were always that way, while others may become asexual because they feel that societal conventions around how people have sex don’t work for them, says Queen.

Where you are on the asexual spectrum may change throughout your life. For example, some women begin identifying as asexual due to hormonal shifts around menopause, says Queen. Some young people might begin to identify as asexual after having sex and realizing they don’t enjoy it. “But very often, if someone ‘comes out’ as asexual, it basically acknowledges what they have felt all along,” Queen says.

No sex drive whatsoever: Am I asexual?

You might wonder if you’re asexual if you’ve been experiencing a lower libido than usual or in comparison to others. Even among allosexual people (aka people who are not on the asexual spectrum), it’s normal to not want sex sometimes. The key difference between being asexual and having a lower libido is whether you feel this lack of interest in sex is at the core of who you are or merely a challenge you are facing. Feeling like you can’t get turned on (even though you want to) is often linked to a medical, psychological, or relational problem that people can fix, whereas asexuality is an intrinsic trait that you probably can’t change and wouldn’t necessarily want to, Shane explains.

“A person with low libido likely still feels interest or attraction, but there’s not much fuel in the engine, so to speak—no, or a very limited, sense of urge,” says Queen. “They might be really dissatisfied with this, and very much want to get their ‘oomph’ back. An asexual person, once they are comfortable with themselves as they are, probably won’t feel this way.”

How do I know if I am asexual?

A few signs you might be asexual include:

1. You don’t relate to other people’s sexuality.

Asexual people often feel alienated when the people around them talk about their desire for sex or feelings of sexual attraction, says Queen. “They really don’t get why the people around them seem so motivated by sex.”

2. Other people don’t turn you on.

Some asexual people actually do experience sexual desire and even masturbate. But most asexual people won’t get turned on in response to other people. “You may feel that someone is attractive but not be attracted to them,” Shane explains. You may not have ever had much interest in engaging in sexual activity, or you may have tried to be intimate with someone but not gotten aroused, says Queen.

3. The label resonates with you.

Ultimately, there’s no test that will tell you if you’re asexual—it all comes down to how you feel. “People who are not ace spectrum might still not always enjoy sex or not be super motivated to have it because there is ample variation within sexuality, too,” says Queen. “But when someone discovers asexuality as a potential self-identity and really feels like ‘that’s it, that explains it,’ they’re probably ace.”

“Being asexual is normal, and there is nothing wrong with being asexual,” Shane adds. “Some never feel the need to seek out trying to increase their desire for sexual intimacy. If this is you, awesome! Own it! Just be sure you are clear with any romantic partner so that expectations on all sides are clear.”

Complete Article HERE!

Quarantine Horniness

It’s still a bad idea to sleep with someone new, even if both of you have been social distancing.  

A person walks past a mural of a mask-wearing couple kissing on March 21 in Glasgow, Scotland

By

In 2012, the immortal chanteuse Britney Spears sang about the erotic thrill of the apocalypse.

“I can’t take it, take it, take no more. Never felt like, felt like this before,” she sang, voicing a deep, roiling desire to dance with someone she’d just met. “C’mon get me, get me on the floor. DJ, what you, what you waitin’ for?”

Spears suggested her lust was so enthralling that not even global annihilation could get in her way.

“See the sunlight, we ain’t stopping. Keep on dancin’ ’til the world ends,” Spears continued. “If you feel it, let it happen. Keep on dancin’ ’til the world ends.”

The reality of our current apocalyptic scenario — the coronavirus pandemic — is a lot less sexy than the sweaty, bare-skin-pressing-on-bare-skin circumstances Spears envisioned. Quite the opposite. People living in 42 states (and counting) have been told to stay home, following the leads of countries like Italy and Spain that have gone on full lockdowns. Government officials have begged people to not just remain indoors but also to cut off any physical contact with others.

The aim of this restrictive measure is to reduce the spread of the virus, not letting it jump from person to person. And sacrificing physical contact for the global good means that interactions with people you don’t share a home with now exist primarily online over texts, Zoom calls, direct messages, and social media.

Through social distancing, we’re cut off from most physical contact with our friends and family. We’re also meant to keep away from people we were having sex with or want to have sex with, unless we already live with those people. And all the people who were having or were interested in having sex with us can’t pursue those aims, either

In Spears-speak, everyone you want to dance with ’til the world ends is now off-limits. But that has neither stopped people from irresponsibly hooking up (or claiming to be), nor kept some from pursuing and being pursued

While there are directives from health officials — New York City has a widely circulated memo about how its horny residents should refrain from hooking up and send nudes or video chat instead — I wanted to ask experts about why some people’s sex drives are even more stimulated than normal during a time where we can’t tap into those desires with other people. I also wanted to know: How risky is it to act on those sexual desires with someone, even if they’re also self-quarantining?

Being hornier than usual right now is perfectly normal. So is not wanting to have sex at all.

In the first week of social distancing, I noticed a few more green circles popping up on my Instagram feed than usual. Green circles are the platform’s way of indicating that you’re on someone’s “Close Friends” list, seeing a post made for a specific set of eyes decided on by the user. On my Instagram feed, these Close Friends posts usually come from gay men sharing thirst traps, a particularly randy brand of photo or video — usually shirtless, sometimes featuring underwear — that’s designed to get attention. The goal is to get the viewer to slide into your DMs, usually sending a reply involving the fire or eyeballs emoji

The question became clear: Was the lockdown on physical intimacy driving up the frequency, and thirstiness, of these private posts?

Instagram told me on March 23 that although there have been upticks in use of the platform’s “live” feature since March 16 (when the first US quarantine measures went into effect), it didn’t have specific data on whether there has been a dramatic change in frequency of “Close Friends” posts on the platform during the past month or so of worldwide quarantine measures.

Without a solid answer and nothing more than anecdotal evidence, I asked the Kinsey Institute at Indiana University, which studies human sexuality and relationships, for its take. Kinsey is in the middle of conducting a study on how the pandemic has affected people’s sexual relationships, and its researchers have found that the number of people engaging in sexual behavior online has increased, as well as the number of people who have completely disengaged.

“When you look at the data, you actually see movement at both ends,” social psychologist Justin Lehmiller, a research fellow at Kinsey and author of Tell Me What You Want: The Science of Sexual Desire, told me. You have a higher percentage of people now who are saying [that] they’re masturbating and having more sex. But you also have a higher percentage of people saying they’re not engaging in any sexual behavior at all. And the people at the low end and not having any behavior — that increase is much bigger than the increase at the other end of the spectrum.”

Lehmiller says experiencing a lack of sex drive is tied to the distress of the situation. The death tolls ratchet up constantly, horrific stories come out of hospitals each day, projections talk about hundreds of thousands of deaths, and it seems inevitable that by the end of the pandemic, each one of us will know someone that’s been affected by the disease. Not being in the mood is completely understandable.

But that same apocalyptic scenario can trigger arousal too.

“There’s a whole body of research and the theory is called Terror Management Theory,” or TMT, Lehmiller said. “The idea behind it is that when we face the prospect of our own mortality, it leads us to cope, or it leads us to change our attitudes and behaviors in a way that it’s designed to cope with that existential threat.”

And for some people, TMT manifests itself in sexual interest and desire, or adopting new ways to express themselves sexually. Those expressions could be sexting, sending nudes, or initiating video chats — all of which can spin off from a single thirsty Close Friends post.

“Something we’re seeing in our data is that people are incorporating more online sexual activities that maybe they’ve never done before into their sex life as a way of getting some sexual fulfillment and also connection with other people,” Lehmiller told Vox. “So it definitely does seem to be the case that there is more sexting, for example, going on right now. And more sending of nudes and other things like that.”

Our social etiquette and norms have also changed.

Many people may now have much more privacy to send a sext or DM at any time of day. Nights and weekends — times when Lehmiller says we’re most likely to engage in sex-seeking behavior — are now almost indistinguishable from afternoons and weekdays, blurring the lines of when it’s appropriate for us to start flirting and thirst-trapping. And there are now a lot of people home during the day to receive and reciprocate these messages.

These different factors can really do a number on the way our sex drives respond.

I asked Lehmiller why my circle of gay friends and several gay men I spoke to in particular seemed to notice more thirst traps on Instagram and DMs than they did before. The research that Lehmiller is doing at Kinsey, which surveys more than 1,000 participants, found that gender or sexual orientation wasn’t a determining factor in whether someone was expressing themselves more during the pandemic, he said.

“The people that are most likely to experience that increased in sexual desire are people who already are very comfortable with their bodies and have a positive body image,” Lehmiller told me. “If you’re somebody who was embedded in a network of people that had a level of interest in sex to begin with, you’re probably seeing even higher levels of sexual interest coming out right now.”

Why it’s so risky to sleep with someone right now, even if they’re social distancing

I spoke to a number of people for this article, and found that, although Lehmiller said gender and sexual orientation wasn’t really a factor in sexual behavior, the gay men I interviewed seemed to be the most frank, candid, and innovative when it comes to their online sex lives. A 31-year-old New Yorker whom we’ll call Andrew told me about a 32-person Instagram group DM he participates in where nudes are exchanged.

“It started as a, ‘Can I send you nudes during these trying times?’” he told me, explaining how the massive DM chain began as a poll. “And a ‘yes’ vote was basically consent for receipt and I got a lot of yeses, so I thought, wouldn’t it be fun?”

The group is so popular, Andrew said, that there’s apparently a waitlist to get into the DM chain.

Hunter (whose name has been changed to protect his privacy), a 24-year-old from New York, explained that he too has been sending out more nudes and posting flirty Close Friends Instagram stories because physical intimacy is off the table.

“I started doing it naturally just because of the circumstances, but it’s reinforced by seeing so many of my peers doing the same thing,” Hunter said. “I think we’d all rather spend our time flirting and complimenting each other instead of thinking about sickness and death.”

Hunter and Andrew are actually following the New York City’s public health directive, which encourages “video dates, sexting or chat rooms” as opposed to meeting people online.

And they, like their fellow New Yorkers, have been asked to socially distance themselves for more than three weeks now. Theoretically speaking, that’s longer than the reported incubation period for the disease. But it’s important to keep in mind that just because people have dutifully followed self-quarantine measures and think they might be okay to go out to see someone once in a while, it doesn’t mean that they no longer pose a risk to each other

It’s simple: Sleeping with someone who doesn’t live in your home is still a risk, because at this point, anyone outside of your own home could stand as a health risk to you right now.

“Social distancing reduces your risk greatly, and it reduces the risk that you pose to others greatly, but it’s no guarantee that you didn’t get it when you went to the grocery store three days ago,” Anna Muldoon, a former science policy adviser at the US Department of Health and Human Services and PhD candidate researching infectious disease and social crises at Arizona State University, told me. “Every time you leave your house, there’s some level of risk. When people say they’ve been self-quarantining for two weeks, very few of them actually mean they’ve had zero risk of exposure in two weeks. And the other thing is, on your way to that [sex] date, you’ve got to get there somehow, and that’s another exposure risk.”

Muldoon said perhaps someone living in your neighborhood or even your building could be the least worst choice to sleep with for someone who absolutely can’t hold off. (Muldoon does not recommend sleeping with a neighbor, emotionally speaking.) She said that people who go to the same places that you’re going to are generally exposed to the same level of risk as you.

Humans are going to do human things, and sex is a very human thing,” Muldoon said. “I think that if you’re in a situation where it’s like you’ve talked to the person long enough that you really believe that they’re following all the precautions, and you’re in the same neighborhood having to walk the same streets, or go to the same grocery store anyway, your risk is relatively similar. I don’t love the idea, because you are increasing both of your risk, but you’re probably being exposed to the same things.”

The thing to keep in mind if you do decide to have sex during these troubling times, experts say, is that it’s not just your health you’re going to worry about. You’re making yourself responsible for someone’s health and vice versa. It’s a personal call as to whether that’s a decision you want to make. It’s absolutely fine and even a better decision that’s backed by doctors and health officials, if you don’t want to expose yourself to other people right now — or if you just want to fire up Instagram, send some consensual nudes over DMs. Or even if you just want to keep your love life to text-only for now.

“This is a moment that we’re all learning to develop deeper relationships again. It’s a kind of weird experience,” Muldoon said. “We had all adjusted to sort of a really fast trajectory into sleeping with people and really sped-up forms of dating, and this thing is forcing us to go back to old-school getting-to-know-you things.”

Complete Article HERE!

Why you’re probably having less (or more) sex right now

By Alexandra Ossola & Natasha Frost

Most people in lockdown, as 75% of Americans are at the moment, are probably experiencing big changes to their usual routine. There’s no office commute, no school bus shuttle; there are no parties to attend, no group dinners to plan. It’s unsurprising, then, that for a lot of people, those changes may also be affecting their sex life.

For some, less sex during the pandemic is a given—for those who are self-isolating while single, making their usual sex lives too risky, or those whose partners are away or sickened by the virus. Meanwhile, those with the option of having more sex might well be taking it: Condoms may become the next item to be in short supply worldwide, while some have speculated that maternity wards will see an uptick in mothers giving birth nine months after the lockdowns began.

But if you’re not feeling in the mood, well, you’re not alone. On Twitter, users lamented that “general panic and despair” had led to the sudden disappearance of their libido, as one put it. Others described feeling “unappealing” or wanting to cuddle and eat snacks instead. In a poll of just over 9,000 people from NBC News, only 24% said the coronavirus outbreak had positively affected their sex lives (28% were neutral and 47% said it had affected them negatively).

Online, sex researchers and therapists acknowledge that people could really go either way. “After all, we know from a mountain of psychological research that two people can respond to the same situation in very different ways and that the factors that increase sexual desire in some can drive it down in others,” Justin Lehmiller, a sex researcher at the Kinsey Institute, wrote in a blog post.

Wondering what’s going on? There might be a few reasons why you’re feeling different about getting busy.

Fighting off the blues

“For plenty of people, when they get stressed out, sex is the farthest thing from their mind,” says Heather McPherson, a sex therapist based in Austin, Texas. Between worrying about elderly parents, figuring out how to exercise at home, and managing a new routine, “a lot of things can point toward not doing it, because you’re so focused on surviving,” she says. Meanwhile, “stress and anxiety and potentially losing your job will potentially take a toll on all relationships.”

Still, in such unusual circumstances, it’s hard to know which behaviors are most common, McPherson says. “We don’t really have good measures to go off.”

Some people may see the opposite effect altogether: “For some people, when anxiety and stress goes up, their libido kicks up,” with sex serving as a coping mechanism. This is the phenomenon dubbed the “apocalyptic hornies” by Men’s Health, perhaps contributing to a 17.8% increase in US site traffic to PornHub on March 24, compared to an average day.

Writing in Psychology Today, sex therapist Diane Gleim suggests that it all comes down to a delicate balancing act: “A person’s sex drive needs just enough anxiety/tension/uncertainty to get activated but not too much anxiety/tension/uncertainty or else the person can get overwhelmed, flooded, and then sex drive goes underground,” she writes. “Think of it like the Goldilocks principle: not too much (anxiety), not too little (anxiety), but just (the) right (amount of anxiety).”

One of the few studies into the relationship between trauma and the libido, published in the International Journal of Gynecology and Obstetrics, looked at the effect of the massive 2008 earthquake in Wenchuan, China, on the reproductive health of 170 local women. Researchers found a marked decrease in women’s satisfaction with their sex life: Before the quake, 55% of women surveyed said they were satisfied, falling to 21% afterwards. They had less sex, too: Before the quake, every woman surveyed said they were having sex at least once a week, and in the week immediately after, 89% said they had not had sex at all. Even a month later, 32% said they were still not having sex.

The economy sucks

If US history is anything to go by, a downturn in economic prospects is similarly bad news for the nation’s sex life. That’s according to studies on the nation’s birth rate: During years of prosperity, such as the 1950s, the US birth rate soared. Its greatest nadirs, meanwhile, coincided with times of economic hardship: the Great Depression of 1929, the 1973 oil crisis, and the 2008 recession.

Between 2008 and 2013, for instance, nearly 2.3 million fewer babies were born in the US than would have been expected if pre-recession fertility rates had persisted, according to one study from the University of New Hampshire’s Carsey School of Public Policy.

Some of this may be pragmatic, of course—who wants to have another child when they can barely afford the ones they have? Still, while birth rate isn’t a perfect measure for how much sex people are having (especially after 1960, when the pill went on sale as a contraceptive), it’s one of the better indicators widely available.

Too much togetherness

In long-term relationships, it can be hard to keep the mystery alive at the best of times. That goes double when you’re stuck together in the confined space of your own home, with few opportunities for independent activities or time apart.

Too much closeness, in fact, can actually hinder the kind of intimacy we look for in sex, sex therapist and relationship guru Esther Perel writes in her book Mating in Captivity:

It is too easily assumed that problems with sex are the result of a lack of closeness. But … perhaps the way we construct closeness reduces the sense of freedom and autonomy needed for sexual pleasure. When intimacy collapses into fusion, it is not a lack of closeness but too much closeness that impedes desire.

Love rests on two pillars: surrender and autonomy. Our need for togetherness exists alongside our need for separateness. One does not exist without the other. With too much distance, there can be no connection. But too much merging eradicates the separateness of two distinct individuals. Then there is nothing more to transcend, no bridge to walk on, no one to visit on the other side, no other internal world to enter. When people become fused—when two become one—connection can no longer happen. There is no one to connect with. Thus separateness is a precondition for connection: this is the essential paradox of intimacy and sex.

During this interminable period of intense stress and anxiety, it’s hardly surprising if you find your libido vacillating from one extreme to the other. Sex therapist McPherson said many of her clients had found themselves settling gradually into a new routine after a few weeks in lockdown. As human beings, “generally, we’re pretty resilient,” she says. And when it comes to sex in quarantine, there’s one undeniable upside: “You certainly have enough time to do it.”

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