Tag: sexuality

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Books Reviews

Sex in Canada

Sex in Canada
$19 from Amazon

I first came across Sex in Canada when another Sexual Health Alliance student was looking for recent research to incorporate into a class they were teaching. While Indiana University and The Kinsey Institute research how people identify and what they do in the bedroom here in the United States with their National Survey of Sexual Health and Behavior, the most recent information in this study focuses on condom use and young people. More generalized findings about American sexuality are less recent. I know that there’s a thriving sexuality research culture in Canada and thought that by the nature of being Western countries, there might be enough overlap that American sex educators or therapists could rely on Canadian data to fill in the gaps. This led me to Sex In Canada, a book published earlier this year by Tina Fetner of McMaster University.

Fetner’s book is the culmination of years of sexuality research, essentially Canada’s sexual census. Like Justin Lehmiller, who laid out his research about sexual fantasies in a book rather than a paper, Fetner opted to publish a more accessible overview of her studies. I appreciate this approach because it’s the first time Canadian researchers have attempted such a comprehensive survey of the country’s citizens, and they asked some questions that have been left out of American sex research. 

Sex in Canada is still relatively short while remaining more accessible to most than an academic paper. Fetner dedicates a chapter each to sexual identity, frequency, relationships in which sex happens, sexual activities, pain–both wanted and not–and the social organization of sex before wrapping up. She also includes inline graphs for each finding she discusses in these pages. These choices make it easy to follow the research from basic to more advanced concepts. It also contributed to my quick realization that there are more differences between American and Canadian bedrooms than I initially thought. This latter fact is bolstered by Fetner referencing existing research, which sometimes focused on American participants.

Admittedly, it was a little challenging to get into Sex in Canada at first. It can be dry, and while Fetner provides some background research in each chapter, she writes like an academic and isn’t trying to create a narrative like a novelist. I don’t think a book like this needs to do that, but I’ve seen a review that touches on it. That said, the graphs and sections in each chapter make this book fairly scannable, and it’s easy to put it down and pick it back up again.

My interest was especially piqued by learning how Canadians go about sex differently than Americans. They generally seem to be a bit more conservative than Americans. I was particularly taken by the legality of common-law marriage after just one year in Canada, which has never really been a thing anywhere I’ve lived in the States. This approach means marriage rates are lower overall than their neighbors to the south, although they’re falling in both countries.

There are also specific demographics within Canada that differ from the U.S., starting with French Canadians. However, the differences aren’t as easily described as more or less sexually permissive. Canada’s government and academic institutions also have a specific relationship with First Nations people than their American counterparts due to our native population. Fetnet addresses this sensitively when she touches on First Nations’ sexuality and encourages readers to learn about the oppression they’ve experienced directly from the community. However, I could see how someone who wants to use this book as a primer might be annoyed with this approach.

For some, Sex in Canada may not offer enough to chow down on, but they’re likely expecting beyond the scope of a book explaining research findings. Fetner’s words are straightforward, lending to the book’s brevity. Her prose ultimately repeats the graphs, and someone could rely on the visuals alone if they want. The conclusion also sums up the previous research, and readers could flip to this final section for a high-level overview of what’s going on in Canada’s bedrooms instead of reading the entire book. But Fetner can only write about what she and her team revealed by their research.

Because Sex in Canada is relatively short and well organized, it would make a great reference book on the shelves or in the curriculum of many educators, and therapists might benefit from it, too. It would be especially helpful for those practicing in Canada or who want to discuss sexuality on a global scale, although I think some things do generalize. Casual readers may not find it overly engaging, and some academics may prefer a paper in PDF form to a book like this, but for those who need a book like this, I’m glad it exists.

Categories
Articles internet

What Spam Says About Society’s Problems with Sexuality

I’ve received a few scammy spam messages identical to the one above this week. It’s not the first time I’ve opened my inbox to such messages, and I’m sure it won’t be the last, either. In fact, I almost missed it because Thunderbird correctly marked it as spam.

What you cannot see is that the sender appears to be me. To the average person, this might lend credence to the threat. Previous versions have included real passwords that became exposed rather than claiming to use some “Remote Administration Tool” malware to record the user and it has not always appeared to come from my email account, but the sentiment remains the same.

Some people know it as a Sextortion Email Scam, although many victims would likely not know if this is a common type of scam or what it’s called. Ignoring the fact that people may fall for the messages because they do not understand how easily scammers can spoof any email address, including their own, and how their efforts become untraceable by using Bitcoin, I find these scam messages to be an interesting lens through which we can understand society.

The scammers make several assumptions about their victims:

  • They have masturbated
  • Kinkily
  • While at their computers
  • Which have working cameras
  • That are connected to the Internet

Several of these assumptions are likely to be true. After all, many people masturbate, and most devices have integrated cameras.

Perhaps most interesting is the assumption that anyone would pay to prevent their loved ones from accessing evidence of their sexuality, so much so that their worry would prevent them from checking whether the message is a scam. I am sure this is occasionally true. I’ve received similar messages for years, and scammers only need to trick one unsuspecting recipient for their effort to pay off.

Yet I cannot help but think about how the threat wouldn’t be effective if we did not live in a culture that shames and censors sexuality. If we recognized our inherent sexual natures in all their variety, messages like this would have little power. Sure, it might be uncomfortable if someone in our address books saw us in a sexually precarious position, just like it can be awkward to walk in on our parents having sex, but it shouldn’t be the end-of-the-world scenario as this spam suggests.

Greater than 99% of all people exist because someone else had sex, and we all recognize that sex can be pleasurable. The time and effort people spend pretending otherwise isn’t just unnecessary, it’s entirely misguided. And the attempts to deny others their sexuality is harmful in more ways than one. From slut shaming to barring comprehensive and inclusive sex education, we live in a world where sex doesn’t get the respect it deserves.

So, it’s no surprise that spammers might use sexuality as an angle to scam people out of money. But it is incredibly frustrating that sexuality is still so powerfully attached to shame in 2023.

Categories
media recommendations

Adriana Currently Enjoys [July 2018 Sex Media Recommendations]

My media consumption has been pretty sex-heavy lately.

Reading

The three books that I am reading, at least two of which will show up in the near future as reviews, about. The first two have been released in the past month or so while the third is a little older. Thus far, I am loving Lehmiller’s tone in Tell Me What You Want.

Watching

Hulu just released the second season of Harlots, a period drama about an English brothel and the sex workers who are attempting to survive, avoid run-ins with the law, and win a rivalry with another brothel. It’s nice to see a show that stars so many women, and it’s not just the cast that dominated by women: the staff is, too. You might enjoy Harlots for the drama and costumes. The seasons are only a few episodes long, so you can catch up by the time the third episode of season 2 is released next week.

Harlots

Listening

I am more than a little sad that the Science of Sex podcast is over for the season, so I’ve been trying to fill the hole in my heart with other sex-related podcasts. So far this week I’ve listened to Sex Out loud, American Sex, and Sex with Emily. I’d listened to a few episodes of the first two before, and they tend to focus on sex culture. American Sex is hosted by Sunny Megatron and her husband, so if you’re familiar with Sunny, then you won’t be surprised at her upfront tone and commitment to sex education. The most recent episode was about sex after trauma, and it was full of resources

Of course, this is just what I am into this week. I’ll finish books and catch up on podcasts and have a little time to enjoy more. I want to hear your recommendations in this comments, and it doesn’t have to be limited to books, podcasts, and TV. If it’s about sex and it’s worth paying attention to, I want to know!

Categories
Everything Else

My Sex Life Can Legally Vote

And marry. And it can drink in Japan.

That is, to say, I’ve been a consciously sexual being since I was around 8 years old. Give or take.

I don’t remember the first time I masturbated exactly. I remember simply grinding against balled up blankets — never pillows — until I became sweaty and hot and felt finished. In hindsight, that must have been an orgasm. But either I didn’t know the word or maybe it really wasn’t. Perhaps I felt some sort of other closure. And I would stop for the night.

Some twenty years later, I occasionally find myself getting off in the same way. I almost-but-not-quite wake up in the middle of the night, reach down for a corner of my blanket and grind against it for dear life. I’ve always been a fan of grinding.

Of course, it’s not the only routine in my repertoire now, but that’s how this all got started. I was still in the single digits, and I was humping blankets when I was supposed to be sleeping. I suppose I became bolder, sometimes doing it during the day time. I recall masturbating in my best friend’s bed one night while she talked in the other room. I couldn’t quite remember where her brother was. I was relieved to know he wasn’t in the room.

I remember, in high school, masturbating with the door to my room not quite closed. Could someone in the living room see the movement of my feet and legs and guess what was happening even though I wasn’t making a noise?

It wasn’t that I was a voyeur. I was just a horny teenager, and I couldn’t resist if the mood strike. And strike it did — hard and often.

During my teen years, I spent countless hours in chatrooms talking to boys, men, women. Cyber sex, they called it. Back then, it was simply erotic roleplaying. There were no photos and videos, not really. People would try to encourage them, but I wasn’t comfortable in my skin in any way shape or form. During those times, the blood would rush to my clit and my G-spot, making me feel like I had to pee. I read plenty of articles about G-spot stimulation, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t impending orgasm. I just mistook the equivalent of blue balls as a different sort of bodily fluid.

I experimented with technique during these times. I once read that you could use the handle of a Venus razor as an impromptu dildo. I tried. It wasn’t necessarily pleasurable and I freaked out when I realized I was bleeding. I was never entirely sure if it was a cut from vigorous thrusting of a first-time penetrator or if that was my hymen. It didn’t hurt, and neither did sex for the first time. I didn’t give it much thought. I was happy to be masturbating and having sex.

I guess there must have been other household objects, but nothing stuck. It was that blanket or nothing. At some point, I added in fingers to rub my clit, which afforded me the opportunity to jack off wherever the hell I wanted. Eventually, the feeling-like-I-needed-to-pee sensation would fade away, and I’d forget about it.

It wasn’t until 10 years after I started masturbating that I bought my first sex toy, a purple jelly beast. In hindsight, it might have been a bit large. But I used it for a couple years, and it worked for several years after that without the purple glitter jelly leaking. I was surprised. I enjoyed this toy internally and externally, but it wasn’t doing me any favors. I can now recognize that my body just wasn’t used to masturbating in different ways.

I decided that I need clitoral stimulation, too, and plopped down money on another purple beast: the Rabbit Habit. In less than a month’s time, I had broken it because my tendency was to pull the base upward, forcing the shaft to bend. I bought another, not realizing the dubious construction or materials were something that should prevent me from doing so. I hadn’t ever thought about silicone, even though the original Form 6 had already been added to my wishlist.

The second rabbit eventually broke, too, but because loose beads are simply a terrible idea. But between the two bunnies, I had managed to have a toy-induced orgasm. Except, I had no fucking idea what it was. The quick contractions of my vagina felt like an alien, and that’s literally how I described it to a Livejournal group I was part of. Some women replied with “Yes! That’s an orgasm.” Others thought I should see a doctor.

I spend a lot of time researching whether or not a person, especially a woman, could have an orgasm and not realize it. Weren’t they all supposed to be toe-curling and earth-shattering? Mine surely weren’t. In fact, to this day, I’d still describe them as somewhat perfunctory. There have certainly been some pleasurable orgasms, but they’re notable, not frequent.

A few more shitty toys, including pocket rockets, would call my makeshift converted shoebox home before I would finally upgrade to something better, mostly thanks to this blog.  I still focus on clitoral stimulation, and I often use nothing more than my fingers despite my growing collection.

Rabbit after rabbit followed. An interesting night with k-balls and the Miracle Massager led to me squirting for the first time, awakening my G-spot. Or perhaps re-awakening it and reminding me of sensations I had experienced but learned to fight years before.

The years following would include more clitoral and G-spot vibrators, glass, wood, stainless steel and various ceramic toys. Several of those years were spent with my ex-husband.

5 years ago, my marriage started to crumble. Although masturbation was much the same, my sex life would change forever when the divroce was finalized a little over 4 years ago. For months, I would struggled to be aroused and masturbate without fantasizing about my ex, an issue I still face when dealing with heartbreak.

For three years, I would remain sexually celibate. It wasn’t necessarily on purpose, but I also didn’t want to deal with the hassle that came with romance and/or sex. I was sick of terrible first dates. And for nearly two of those years, the hot geek was unintentionally breaking my heart.

2 years ago, I finally left my celibacy behind. I was glad to have broken the fast, but it didn’t enhance my sex life. My drive might have been kicked alive once more, but the very act that was the catalyst for this change also opened my eyes to the fact that there would be no coming back for seconds with this person.

Just under 2 years ago, I would begin a haphazard romantic and sexual relationship with the bartender. There were as many highs as there were lows, but the sex was some of the best in my life. It brought out parts of me that I hadn’t understood or perhaps had even hidden from light for years. I felt whole and I finally understood that my sexuality can never be quite complete without a partner.

1 day, 1 week, 1 month from now, I don’t know how my sex life might look. I can imagine. I can hope that the next time I have sex, it will satiate me in every way. But if there’s anything that the past two decades have taught me, it’s that the life my sexuality takes on is bigger, bolder and better than I can imagine.

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Everything Else

Learning Along the Way

One of the things that I have learned about since starting this blog is sex positivity. I make active strides not to slut shame and to help people enjoy their sex lives. I make a point to become more understanding, more accepting and less judgmental. So, the idea of things such as casual sex and the various sex therapies that exist.  Sex surrogacy, for example, was one thing that was alien to me. I don’t have any personal experience with it, but it was difficult for me to understand the process at first. I imagine this is so with other people.

Orgasmic meditation, like the kind they teach about and practice at OneTaste, is another of those practices. I’m definitely less familiar with this concept, but it’s amazing how much you realize you don’t know once you open up your mind. Blogging about sex toys and relationships and exploring my own sexuality has made that possible for me, and I hope that my vocalizations on the subject can bring the same “enlightenment” to other people.

And, you know, it’s interesting when I discover a new concept and I’m open to it or I realize that I’ve been open to something the whole time. I’m certainly learning as much about myself.

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Everything Else internet

I think, therefore I am.. bisexual

There’s a topic going on at the EdenFantasys forum about whether or not a person needs experience to “qualify” as being bisexual. Logically, I asked how people can think experience is a must when I’ve yet to hear someone say the same about being heterosexual and rarely about being homosexual. After all, if someone says they are attracted to people of the opposite gender but have no experience, people do not immediately scoff at them.

Logic aside, this is a topic which affects me personally as I have known for years that I am attracted to both sexes, perhaps leaning toward females. Yet I’ve never had sex with, made love to or fucked another woman. Does this disqualify me from being bisexual? And, if so, why is my opinion about my own sexuality less important than that of the rest of the world? Quite frankly, it isn’t nor should it be.

Some might say I can only be “bi-curious” without any experience but experience wouldn’t change the type of people to whom I am attracted; it would only confirm what I’ve known all along. I don’t need to experience to figure it out. I’ve already figured it out.

Although, it doesn’t much matter currently, I’m not planning to experiment or confirm. It’s just hard not to have an opinion.

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Articles

“Help! I Can’t Orgasm”

I remember a time when I was a girl talking to a boy and I thrived on our sexually charged interactions but, when the time for us to actually have sex loomed on the horizon, I felt as though I needed to clear the air between us. I felt like a liar even though I’d never explicitly said it, I’d given him the impression that I was capable of orgasm and, because I was incapable of having an orgasm, I felt like a failure. It was almost traumatic, telling that boy my deep, dark secret and, even though that boy now teases me as the girl who used to think she would never orgasm, those same fears of failure, disappointment and even the guilt over lying are commonplace among women who are not able to achieve orgasm (yet).

You’re Not Alone

It’s frustrating to feel that way, certainly, but it’s not uncommon. The women who are in that situation vary. One common denominator is that these women often feel their age has something to do with it. Forums and chatrooms and inboxes and talk radio are full of “I’m X years old and I’ve never had an orgasm!” with X ranging from 18 – 80. There’s a certain sense of living life unfulfilled, especially the older they are. The younger women often seem to feel that, because they are apart of a generation which considers sex a given and information is so freely available via the internet, that they must be broken if they have not been able to orgasm.

Either way, women of all ages (and elasticities and locations and sexual orientations, so on and so forth) are no stranger to lack of orgasm. It’s neither a young woman’s problem or an old woman’s problem or a white woman’s problem or a straight woman’s problem. It’s not even a problem that affects only those who do not masturbate or only those who are lacking proper sex education or only those who have selfish partners.

And advice which assumes any of those things tends to come off as too general to be helpful. They tell you “practice makes perfect” so get to masturbating and, that’s true, unless you’re practicing incorrectly. They tell you communication is key and that’s also true, unless you don’t know what to communicate or your partner doesn’t care. They tell you it’s easier with a caring partner but that doesn’t make it easy. They tell you to be comfortable with your own skin but they don’t tell you how. I think you get the picture.

You’re Not a Freak

What they don’t often tell you is that it’s okay not to orgasm. The fact is, that some women and, yes, even some men cannot and will not no matter how much time they spend at it. Of course, it’s hard to believe that when everywhere we turn, we’re told that the goal (maybe even the point of sexuality) is orgasm. That’s what movies tell us when beautiful stars erotically explode – and simultaneously, no less! – on screen. It’s even reflected when sex ends as our male partners orgasm. If their end-game is orgasm, shouldn’t ours be? It’s a belief deeply steeped in tradition.

I’d like to challenge that belief. If you stare to fixedly on that goal, you’ll miss the other pleasures – both physical and emotional – sex has to offer. Does oral sex feel any less good if I don’t orgasm? No. Does orgasm necessarily make intercourse more worth the while? No. Does lack of orgasm detract from emotional intimacy? Again, no. I’d like to stress that sex can still be highly rewarding for all parties despite a lack of orgasm. In fact, many people consistently enjoy having sex without having orgasm, without even thinking that something is lacking from their sex lives.

Because it’s not.

Orgasm is bonus and even though I’ve had my fair share, it’s not something I rely on. Even if I feel frustration, and it’s certainly human, I’ve learned to let it go. Maybe next time, maybe not. Either way it’s okay. And it’s that letting go which is essential. More than one woman has been able to experience orgasm only after she stops trying for it. Orgasms have surprised the unexpecting during long and luxurious sexual sessions with no goal in sight just as they have come upon women who are doing no more than the laundry or reading a book. And a welcome surprise it is but it’s only the cherry on top of the sundae.

Not only is it normal to have difficult achieving orgasm or to not be able to but it’s okay if that doesn’t change. It’s okay if that’s not your goal. It’s okay if it is, too, but you shouldn’t spend so much time working toward it that sex actually becomes a negative, unpleasant experience. It’s okay to be however you are.

Experimentation is Key

Sometimes it’s the case that women who are struggling with orgasm have masturbated and just haven’t gotten much from it. They may not have experimented with different styles or focuses of masturbation, which I have touched on before. The same can be said for sex.

  • If you have previously focused on internal, vaginal stimulation, try clitoral stimulation or even stimulation of other areas of the body like the nipples.
  • If you’re focused on fingers or a penis, try a sex toy.
  • If you’re tried vibration to no luck, try stroking or tapping or twisting.
  • If you normally masturbate lying, try sitting, leaning, squatting, or on all fours.
  • If missionary sex is your repertoire, expand it to include doggie style, girl on top, spooning, or side by side sex.
  • If you only participate in PIV, try oral, manual stimulation, anal or a combination of several.
  • Try stimulating the back wall of the vagina, instead of the front, or the areas around the clitoris instead of the clitoris itself.

But don’t do anything if it’s uncomfortable, stressful or otherwise unpleasurable. Remember to enjoy yourself.

Check Your Head Space

Unfortunately, orgasm is that much more likely to happen if you do experiment so reluctance to engage on sexual activity is not very conducive to achieving your goal. If you have mental hang ups regarding your body, your relationship or your sexuality, you will need to work through them and some of them may even be bigger than you alone can handle.

I highly recommend talking to your partner about the feelings and thoughts you have; our partners can be our greatest resources (especially when it comes to feeling good about ourselves) when it comes to sexual frustration and often desire no more than to make us happy but don’t always know how. On the other hand, if you are unwilling or unable to talk with your partner (or they are), then your inability to orgasm could easily be linked to unhappiness stemming from your relationship. Especially for women, happiness inside the bedroom starts outside of it.

Sometimes simply discussion with family or friends can relieve what has plagued us for years. Connecting with others who share your concerns may be key to unlocking the issue and you may be able to find a support group either locally or online – like these on WebMD. Just browsing the internet or reading a magazine which is sex positive can help you realize that sexuality and exploration are both normal and healthy, and by association, so is exploration of those facets of your life.

Whatever your issue, a self help book, which enables you to delve deeper into the root of the problem instead of simply the symptom (inability to orgasm), may do the trick; they can be especially helpful with tips to help improve self image. However, sometimes problems are so large that we need to seek outside, professional help. Although taking that step can be frightening and finding a professional who is right for you can be frustrating in itself, and involve its own trial and error, it can open to doors to being a more fulfilling satisfaction in your sex life and other areas.

Of course, in today’s world where information is freely available online, many of these resources from books to support groups to professionals can be had from the comfort of ones own home (and without the apprehension one may feel at reaching out). You might try Googling “Sex Positive Professional in [Your Location]”, “sexuality support groups”, “improving self image” or “communication about sex with your partner” for starters. There are absolutely no limits to finding information just as there should be no limits when it comes to expressing your sexuality in a healthy and pleasurable manner, whether or not orgasm is included.