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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 am a transfeminine nonbinary person (she/they) in my mid-30s, about one and a half years into my transition, and it’s going wonderfully. However, I’m struggling to figure out what I want from intimate interactions with others (and, to some degree, with myself).
I’m primarily interested in femme-presenting people, and I have no problem finding people interested in me, but I tend to reserve hooking up for people I really like. I’m worried that I’ll meet someone really great, we’ll get physical, and it won’t work out because I can’t say with any confidence how I want to give and receive in that situation. I’m also really into sapphic people with vulvas, but I’m intimidated because I don’t have much experience interacting with vulvas, and I fear that inexperience will end up being a dealbreaker.
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So far, the best sex I’ve had did not involve genitals. My favorite thing is patient and intimate touching, face nuzzling, and kissing. However, I don’t want to limit myself or my partners to non-genital sex. I know that I don’t want the focus to be on my genitals for penetration, though I’m OK with my penis playing a role in an interaction. I feel the same about being penetrated (by anything); It’s interesting but not a highlight for me.
With all that in mind, I have a few related questions, and I hope you can give me some tools to work through any or all of them. The main one is: How can I figure out what I want without messing things up with someone I really like? Additionally, how can I communicate this dilemma while maintaining the confident demeanor that attracts people to me in the first place? If I try something new, how can I set the expectation that I might not like it and want to stop early without disappointing my partner or making them feel like it’s them that I’m not into?
P.S. I have been reading your column for years. I so sincerely appreciate the advice you’ve given, and I’m a more open, emotionally intelligent person because of it. I went from being scared of sexuality and avoiding the problems it’s caused throughout my life, to a person totally comfortable with exploring the topic for myself and being a resource for others to confide in. You two have changed my life, thank you!
—Trans and Confused
Dear Trans and Confused,
You know that you’re turned on by reciprocal patience during sexual contact and by feelings of intimacy. That’s wonderful, because the former often shows up when a person is generally patient, or motivated to be patient with you in contexts other than making out. And the latter is usually built on, at minimum, a moderate amount of familiarity and trust. So anyone who fits the criteria is likely to be open to the basic fact that sometimes a sex act isn’t for us, or isn’t for us right now, and needs to stop; welcome a bit of vulnerability from you around the apprehension you’re feeling about more genital involvement in sex; and still appreciate you for the whole person you are if something awkward happens during sex or the two of you give it a try and find out that the chemistry isn’t there in the ways you’d both hoped it would be.
As far as the idea of knowing what we enjoy in sex, and what other people enjoy, it’s kind of slippery. There are some general truisms (orgasms are lovely, for instance) and at least a handful of exceptions for each. Some folks have full-on fetishes or major kinks that may be consistent themes that are either required for sexual gratification or the lifelong difference between a “meh” time and a truly enjoyable one. Mostly, though, our own responses and desires are in flux throughout our lifetimes, and partnered sex is inherently in conversation with our partner to some degree. Everything from differences in anatomy and mannerisms and dynamics to sexual preferences can mean that a specific activity is incredibly fun with one person and lackluster or even off-putting with another.
There is absolutely something to be said for what hands-on practice can provide in terms of confidence and a wider range of tactics to try. But every single sexual encounter with a new person starts from a mystery regarding how your body, mind, and desire will respond to theirs, and what theirs will respond well to. And in sexual relationships that last for extended periods of time, those details usually change. The sturdiest foundation for confidence in this area is built on one’s ability to roll with it, notice signals of pleasure or disengagement from our partners, and communicate our pleasure or desire for a stop to them. You’ve lived over three decades of life, you’re a year and a half into transition, and you have no difficulty finding people who are attracted to you. I feel pretty good about assuming you have some strong skills in rolling with it outside of the bedroom, and those can largely transfer.
Stick to people you’re attracted to, feel patience from and toward, and have a baseline that intimacy can be developed from. In the unlikely event that needing some feedback on what’s working for them, showing them your humanity, or setting a boundary ruins things, there wasn’t actually anything there to ruin. In your own words, let them know that below the belt is rather unexplored territory for you. Make sure you’ve communicated that clearly, confirm that they’ve heard you, and know that whether a person has had sex with hundreds of people, or daily with the same partner for the past 20 years, none of us know for certain how a sexual encounter we’re walking into is going to play out.
—Jessica
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