filed under: Love & Other Glitches by Lux Nightmare | 13 Comments
I was fourteen the first time I saw Chasing Amy.
Fourteen, a sophomore in high school, living in Buffalo.
I don’t think I fully appreciated the movie at the time. I liked it, sure, but a whole lot of it went over my head. A lot of it didn’t really resonate: couldn’t really resonate, because I didn’t have any experiences to compare the movie to. It was a fantasy, a (sad) love story, a movie.
It’s been almost ten years since I saw Chasing Amy. Not surprisingly, a great deal has changed about my life in those ten years: at twenty-four, I’m an accomplished sex educator and former altporn star with more than a few sexual experiences under my belt. And every time I launch myself into the world of dating, every time I meet someone I really like, I find my thoughts turning back to the tale of Chasing Amy.
For those who haven’t seen the movie, the plot line is relatively simple: straight boy meets lesbian. Straight boy falls for lesbian. After some drama and negotiation, straight boy dates lesbian… and eventually learns that, in spite of her lesbian identity, she’s got an extensive history of heterosexual sex, including some group sex experience. Straight boy freaks out, relationship goes down the tubes. The end.
Years ago, at a family function, I found myself chatting up my cousin’s cousin. We’d bonded as teenagers, and I felt as though I had some kind of connection with him: this may have been why I told him that I was in an open relationship.
I immediately regretted revealing that piece of information. His face changed, and I could tell he was reevaluating his opinion of me. “You know,” he said, “Guys don’t like girls who are too experienced.”
So I’ve been told.
I’m of two minds about discussing my sexual history with potential partners. On the one hand, I believe in honesty: and the idealistic part of me wants to say that anyone who would judge me based on my past is not worth dating. The idealistic part of me wants to say that “the one” will be able to accept me, regardless of what I’ve done, regardless of the places I’ve been.
On the other hand: I’m terrified that I’ll meet “the one”… and “the one” won’t be able to handle the number of notches on my bedpost, “the one” will think I’ve taken it one kink too far, “the one” will be all sorts of hung up on things I did when I was eighteen and self-destructive, things I haven’t even thought about in years.
filed under: We Are The Sex Media by Lux Nightmare | 2 Comments
I’ve noticed, as I’ve gotten older, that sex has gotten better for me: I’m more comfortable with myself, more aware of how my body works, better able to communicate with my partners. And I fully expect that this trend will continue for some time: as I get older, as I approach my “sexual peak” and start experiencing increased desire and (well, hopefully) even better sex.
But what happens after that? We so rarely talk about sex in the later years of life, acting as though we suddenly forget about our genitals once we pass the age of fifty (a thought that, quite frankly, terrifies me). Does aging really necessitate slipping into a sexless state? Does the libido have to die as we get up in years?
Thankfully, no (at least if you believe Jane Brody’s New York Times piece on sex and aging). As Brody puts it,
In fact, it is rarely age per se that accounts for declines in libido among those in the second half-century of life. Rather, it can be any of a dozen or more factors more common in older people that account for the changes. Many of these factors are subject to modification that can restore, if not the sexual energy of youth, at least the desire to seek and the ability to enjoy sex.
And what are these factors? Pretty much the same things that have an effect on libido throughout one’s entire life span: staying fit, keeping your sex life fresh and exciting, and making sure your hormone levels are in good shape.
While some of Brody’s assumptions could be debated (hormone therapy, which she cautiously suggests for older women, is a somewhat controversial practice), it’s refreshing to hear someone come out and say that, yes, sex can be a part of our lives even after we’ve slipped off the “young and hip” radar.
In other words: I’m looking forward to a lifetime of good sex, even after I’ve become too senile to snark on web 2.0 (or even remember what Twitter is). Sexuality is a part of all of us — not just the young and hot — and for that we should all be grateful.
filed under: State of Sex Ed, We Are The Sex Media by Melissa Gira | 1 Comment
Circulating today: Alexyss Tylor, host of this Atlanta cable access show, illuminates how “not all penises are created equal,” why women use vibrators as an expression of submission to the penis, what it’s like for men to “ejaculate all over your brain,” and other non-sex advice. Oh, do we need to be keeping an eye on local cable sexpertise! Tips, tips!
filed under: Strange Bedfellows, State of Sex Ed by Lux Nightmare | Leave a Comment
It should come as no surprise that we at Sexerati aren’t big fans of abstinence only education (it’s hard to fit statements like ‘touching another person’s genitals “can result in pregnancy”‘ and “half the gay male teenagers in the United States have tested positive for the AIDS virus” under the banner of smart sex) — so it was nice to see the Associated Press reporting that a new study has shown that abstinence-only education doesn’t work.
Which is to say: students who attended abstinence-only education classes were just as likely to have sex as their peers who didn’t attend the classes. And have about the same number of partners. And lose their virginity at about the same age.
Not surprisingly, supporters of abstinence-only education (like, say, the Bush administration) aren’t willing to abandon ship in the face of this study, pointing out that the four programs involved in the study were early, unrefined examples of abstinence-only education, and that later programs have perfected the strategy of, uh, scaring kids out of having sex by lying to them.
Well, maybe. Or maybe we should just throw our money to programs that have actually been scientifically proven to work.
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