How to Do It is Slate’s sex advice column. Have a question? Send it to Jessica and Rich here. It’s anonymous!
Dear How to Do It,
I’ve been with my boyfriend for about two years, I love him dearly, and we recently moved in together. I’ve been struggling with my sex drive since we moved in together and have been reading plenty about the difficulties that often come with that. However, there’s one thing that’s started bothering me that I’m concerned may be more difficult to solve.
I’m bisexual, and sex just never seems to be as good with men as it is with women and nonbinary folks. The majority of my relationships and sexual experiences have been with men (while I’m nonbinary, I’m also assigned female at birth and fairly femme, so this is largely an ease/availability thing). While I do enjoy sex with men, the two more serious relationships I’ve had with women also came with the best sex of my life—things like feeling my partners’ orgasms in my own body, routinely squirting, and just generally fantastic orgasms. While I’m sure there’s some amount of me looking back on this with rose-colored glasses, there are just some things that were objectively better than sleeping with men, and certainly with my current partner, with whom sex ranges from fine to good but is nothing to write home about.
I’ve recently started wondering if this actually means that I’m less bisexual than I thought. I don’t want to tank a good relationship because it isn’t the literal best sex I’ve ever had, and we are poly so it’s not like I can’t ever sleep with or date someone else. But I find myself wondering… is it just that the two women I had consistent sexual relationships with happened to be extremely sexually compatible with me in a way the men I’ve slept with haven’t been? Or is my body telling me something, and the fact that men have never been able to make me squirt is a sign I need to leave them behind?
—Overthinking Bisexual
Jessica Stoya: Our writer is looking at this as bisexual versus heterosexual, as women and nonbinary people versus men. I look at this as queer versus straight. You can teach heterosexual men how to have sex that is more queer in nature. But oftentimes, you have to teach them. Every man that I’ve had great sex with who I have not had to teach, when I start inquiring about their sexual history, there’s someone who taught them.
Rich Juzwiak: What does that look like? Can you be specific about straight sex versus queer sex and how that’s a different sensibility?
Jessica: Straight sex often follows a particular pattern: oral sex, kissing, penetrative sex, and maybe some anal. The woman is expected to orgasm as much as she’s capable of, and the man orgasms at the end. Then, that’s it. Queer sex lends itself to being broad and expansive. You have this huge galaxy of different things that you can do together. It also can involve more connection in the foreplay section. Straight men tend to think foreplay is kissing, playing with your boobs, fingering, or oral sex. But foreplay can start two days before with some text messaging. There can be more of an emphasis on connection than just physically doing it.
Also, if the man orgasms, then there’s this presumption that you can change the condom and keep going after taking a break. I have many men in my sexual history who have been utterly shocked that they can have multiple orgasms in a row. But they sell themselves short by stopping after the first one. I’ve told them: If you keep going, it might happen again, and it feels pretty great from what I hear.
Rich: Yeah, that makes sense. I agree with you. What stuck out to me is the way that the writer frames this as a kind of existential thing or a direct comment on their identity. It could be true that they’re more into women and nonbinary people. I think that you find your sexuality as you go. You don’t necessarily have all of the answers as soon as you start having sex. You’re learning about yourself, and that’s an important thing to do. But I don’t know how necessary it is to frame it in such a way at this point and say, “Oh, well, maybe I’m not into men as much as I thought I was initially, and this is a comment on my overall sexuality.”
It’s more important to look at the partners specifically, which is basically what you’re saying, and to evaluate it that way. There is something that is drawing our writer to these women or non-binary partners. I would look at it more like the data is specific to the circumstances of these people and not necessarily a complete picture of one’s sexuality. It could be the latter but I don’t know that it’s necessary to jump to that immediately. I think that, to your point, again, it’s about figuring out what can be done with your current partner who you’re drawn to for some reason beyond, “Oh, the world wants this for me.”
Jessica: Yes, it’s worth thinking back to those relationships. The question of exactly what is being done is an important component. I’m not saying throw the idea of being born with your sexuality out the window. I’m saying we also need to bring in what exactly was being done when our reader is thinking back on these two other relationships. Rather than looking at it nostalgically, mine them for information about what the sex was like. What was leading up to feeling their partner’s orgasms in their own body? What was leading up to squirting? What was leading up to these amazing experiences? Then, they should see if they can get their boyfriend to consider expanding their sexual toolkit in those directions.
Rich: Yeah. Maybe it is a way to organize one’s life and to understand oneself to say, “Actually, I’ve experimented ultimately, and what I’ve come up with is this is my sexuality. I like this word, and that’s what I am.” But then, don’t be surprised if, in a few years, you meet a guy that you’re into, and then the sex is amazing and your mind is blown all over again. There’s nothing wrong with that either. There’s nothing wrong with changing your label or making the label loose. I think I’ve mentioned this before because Tristan Taormino writes about it in her memoir, A Part of the Heart Can’t Be Eaten. She identifies as a dyke who has sex with men, and she’s had more sex with men through the years, but she keeps that dyke identity. That’s hers to have. I don’t think that there’s anything wrong with whatever label you adopt, as long as you can explain it.
Jessica: Don’t get too hung up on identity in the sense that you start letting it dictate whether you do or don’t do things that you want to try.
Rich: Yes.
Jessica: Sexual identity sometimes shifts over time with experience or simply because it does that. Look back on what was different about sex with those two people in a mechanical or physical practice kind of sense, and see if you can incorporate that with the boyfriend.
Rich: Also, keep in mind that arousal nonconcordance, when a person’s brain and body don’t react to sexual arousal in the same way, is a thing. So yes, listen to your body, but it doesn’t have to be the be-all and end-all. The axiom “the body never lies” is not actually true. Sometimes your body tells you something that your mind doesn’t, and it doesn’t mean that your body’s right, but it could be. This could very well be the letter writer’s act of discovery and deciding what they’re actually interested in. It’s an ongoing conversation with your body.
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I am a mid-30s woman, and I’ve been with my boyfriend for going on a year and a half. Last week, a friend messaged me, saying she had to tell me something about my boyfriend. Well, turns out he was active on Tinder. I was shocked and confronted him almost immediately. At first he denied it, but he eventually came clean … about everything.
Rachel Carter is a health and wellness expert dedicated to helping readers lead healthier lives. With a background in nutrition, she offers evidence-based advice on fitness, nutrition, and mental well-being.
