Tag: Sex

• La Petite Mort[sel]

  November 15, 2022 5:13 pm Comments Off on La Petite Mort[sel]

  Aphrodite’s body, born of foam, and risen from a scallop shell, speaks in echoes of sea-salted flesh, sensuality, fertility, desire. She is the namesake of aphrodisiacs, those foods professing to be of sexually stimulant quality. 
   
  Bridging the most basic of instincts – food and fornication – aphrodisiacs have long played an important part in the continuation of our species. And thanks to the miracle that is modern agriculture and refrigeration, ambergris aside, these remedies are readily available year-round. 
   
  But do these foods stand up to their potential? Have we diluted their potency with GMOs and factory farming? Were the Ancient Greeks really onto something, or were they simply horned up from poppy juice and legalised sex work?
   
  A requisite Adonis appointed as my lab partner, I committed an afternoon and an evening to investigate these pressing concerns. To intuitively eat my way through the aphrodisiac almanac. For science, of course.
   
  OYSTERS
  An eyebrow-raisingly suggestive offering on any menu, there is a covenant formed in the ritual of ordering oysters. A pact unspoken but known by all. 
   
  Oh-so-casually, it is thrown in as an apparent afterthought – “Oh, and a dozen oysters as well. Yep, the natural ones, thanks.”
  You pretend not to nervously sweat, and the waiter pretends not to knowingly glance at your companion. Everyone else in earshot, or joining you at the table, smiles wanly and pretends they aren’t being assaulted by depraved intrusive thoughts. 
   
  Faced with open pools of slippery seawater, even the physical act strikes a nerve. Tipping your head back, pushing past a choking spasm, maintaining coy composure. 
  An oyster requires you to take it whole, to devour an entire life in one greedy swallow. For optimal freshness, it is still alive when you suck it from the shell. 
  It’s the obvious choice, but obvious for a reason. An oyster is voyeuristic.
   
  FIGS
  More than flavour, there are aesthetic, textural elements to the fig. It is more about the mythology, the build-up, than the finish. Downy and supple, the skin gives way to insides like burst capillaries, rosy and blooming.
   
  Some say that Eve’s forbidden fruit was actually a fig. Does that alone not tempt you – to taste that which destroyed the innocence of man? 
   
  Which is to say: it tastes okay. Kind of a combination of honey and dirt.
   
  PISTACHIOS
  This one is more about edging than anything else. It’s thinking that you’ve just about got the damn shell open, but in reality, you’re far from it. 
   
  Maybe you’ll never quite get that teasing seam to open. Maybe you’ll never feel that sweet release. But the thought keeps you going at it for a good long while.
   
  POMEGRANATE
  Everyone seems to have a trick to harvesting the seeds from one of these things until it gets down to the doing. And then it’s just you and the pomegranate and the kitchen tools are discarded in favour of fingers and there’s claret and pith everywhere and it’s dramatic and frenzied and savage. An exercise in delayed gratification. 
   
  A lot of these foods lend themselves more to being eaten with our hands, without barrier, skin on skin. Seeds leaking from the pomegranate beg to be plucked, and pushed into a breathless mouth. The juice, known only to the onlooker, aches to be brushed away. Hands guiding hands, towards satiation, towards satisfaction.
   
  DARK CHOCOLATE
  Like sex, this is a flavour that gets better with age. The cheap, saccharine stuff that you binged on when you were younger just doesn’t taste as good. Eating dark chocolate feels adult. It feels like needs being met, like dessert with a side benefit of antioxidants, like missionary with a side benefit of orgasm. 
   
  STRAWBERRIES
  When up against the heavies, like oysters, pomegranates, or wine, strawberries come off a bit cliche. Why be Serena van der Woodsen and Dan Humprey when you could be Persephone and Hades? 
   
  STRAWBERRIES IN WINE
  Now we’re talking.
   
  STRAWBERRIES AND POMEGRANATE SEEDS IN WINE
  The night has unravelled. It’s started to become more Dionysian than Aphrodisiac. 
  STRAWBERRIES AND POMEGRANATE SEEDS AND BITS OF FIG SEED IN INCREASINGLY CLOUDY WINE
  Don’t be foul.
   
  ASPARAGUS
  If you’ve resorted to asparagus as a turn-on, you should probably be looking for a more serious solution to your problem.
  Acceptable only as a sex-related foodstuff when served alongside toast and poached eggs the morning after. 
   
   
  Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
  Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.

  Elizabeth Walker

• How to Seduce the Nonbinary in Your Class

  November 9, 2022 5:18 pm Comments Off on How to Seduce the Nonbinary in Your Class

   
  It’s a new semester, you’re taking An Introduction to the Wage Gap in Child Labour, sitting bored in the cramped tutorial room. You didn’t do the reading, and a white man just walked into the room. A tote bag flops onto the table next to you. A hand, covered in rings and chipped nail polish, reaches down past the bubble-gum vape and pulls out a laptop. A laptop covered in stickers, from the Greens to BLM to one that just has a picture of Mitski captioned “I love my wife.” And nestled amongst a feat of signaling that would make Barthes proud, is a blue, white and pink flag. You’ve encountered, for the first time and up-close, a nonbinary person. 
  To perform a public good for this small, almost pointless-to-write about niche, here is my guide on how to seduce, and sleep with the non-binary person in your class. Take this both in reverence and with an immensely large grain of salt. 
  Seduction begins, as it always does, by establishing yourself in relation to them. You want to differentiate yourself from the other tote-wearing, oat milk drinking queers who normally swing their way. In seducing your nonbinary target, imagine you are the siren atop the rocks, offering to fix their relationship with their parents. 
  If you’re wondering, at this point, if the first step is surely to get their pronouns right, I’m sorry, but this isn’t for you.
  Start with subtle but smart phrases. Compliment their niche tattoos that either have a paragraph long history or mean fuck all. Even their crustiest stick’n’pokes deserve your adoration (and perhaps later a gentle kiss to the scabbed and flaking ink). Make fun of the straight men in your class. Refer endlessly to the latest TikTok trends or your family traumas and how they led you to reading fanfiction. Make a point to overshare on something sexual, but don’t go too far. Tell them about a fetish, or your most recent hook-up and change the conversation immediately. Be casual and non-confrontational about your repertoire. 
  The next step in seduction is to convince them that sex with you will not induce a month-long gender crisis requiring two more trips to the therapist. (The formula for a nonbinary person’s therapy attendance per month is 1 + n where n is the number of years they lived at home.) This is probably the most crucial part of the entire process and the key is to highlight your expertise and previous experience in nonbinary forays. 
  Phrases to use include telling them that everyone else you’ve slept with also wears Docs, or that you liked Keith Haring before he was commercialised. Casually mention how you’re getting into crocheting, and how your pink strap-on is hot pink, not just pink, and that the silicone is ethically sourced and recyclable. Try buying your own carabiner to incite a Pavlovian response from them. Be sure to be seen reading Sylvia Plath with cum or lipstick smudges on some of the pages. 
  When you move from the sussing out period to the downright flirting stage, there are two strategies. Going high or going low. Going high consists of things like giving them your favourite book to read, bonding over your mutual stupol friends, lending them your overalls, and casually touching hands in the oat milk aisle at the supermarket. Going low is the more sensual avenue, such as making them a playlist, getting your septum pierced, or offering to touch up their shag mullet. Go high for the nonbinaries who were radicalised by Judith Butler and go low for the nonbinaries enlightened by jungle juice. 
  After you’ve successfully and metaphorically (or literally) put a leash on them comes the more immediate seduction: getting them back to your salt-lamp lit room to do it in a way my parents nor the straggot Peter Dutton could ever begin to imagine.  
  Inviting them over for tea, for instance, elicits an immediate response, but be sure you’re well stocked with herbal options. Offer to crochet with the more sapphic ones. Or suggest attending an erotic haiku reading at Sideway on a Friday night. 
  When trying to move things back to their apartment / decolonised sharehouse / the nearest bathroom, someone has to be direct. This is either you or them, and you’ll know who’s who based on who says slay more. 
  Now, you have them somewhere private, and it’s time to ask for consent. This can start as simply as putting on a Studio Ghibli film, discussing your most toxic ex, or sharing a cigarette. 
  More complex techniques include studying the number of authors of colour they have on their bookshelf, or, conversely, showing off the diversity of your own. A word of warning though. If your bookshelf is not majority second-hand or Penguin, make sure it is organised aesthetically to distract them from this failing. 
  If you’ve gotten this far and are wondering at which point to pull out your Lana Del Rey vinyl, stop reading.
  At some point here, you’ve sneaked a first kiss and realise that you don’t actually mind the smell of their septum piercing. Assuming you have down pat the rudiments of sex, let’s talk about that holiest of holy words: climax. (No, I thought you were bringing the strap-on). 
  Crucial here, is the playlist you put on. Unless you’re experienced, or sleeping with them regularly, you need to have some good tunes to make them forget that their mum still mispronouns them. Personal favourites include Simon & Garfunkel’s 1981 live concert in Central Park, or a mix of Mitski/Azaelia Banks/ Hozier. 
  Good sex, I’ve heard, begins with foreplay. Acknowledgement of country is a good opener, as is listening to their 3-hour interactive lectorial on exactly what kind of nonbinary person they are with a supplementary reading on the infinite iterations of their pronouns or the moments and queer relationships they had through their childhood. Alternatively, if you’re looking to top, try giving head while introducing your stuffed animals.
  Phrases like “oh that’s so they/them of you” are a must, and if whispered at just the right moment, can induce orgasm. So too can offering them an ointment for their infected nipple piercing and complementing the boldness of their pubic hair styling. If these fail, fuck them tenderly, so that three weeks later they’ll be convinced that you’re going to cure them of their borderline personality disorder and they’ll cure you of your cisgenderness. 
  Having followed these steps closely you will find yourself well-endeared to your nonbinary lover, as well as their nonbinary friends, and exes. All of these individuals will be potential candidates for bedding, but proceed with caution as you may find yourself itching for a pronoun change.
   
   
  Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
  Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.

  Alexander Lane

• ANU’s Favourite Sex Positions

  October 31, 2022 10:08 am Comments Off on ANU’s Favourite Sex Positions

  After a long, girthy and hard semester of experimentation and research, the eager and easily excitable team at Woroni is coming to you with the findings of the most ambitious initiative of student journalism in human history. We met the ANU student body on our hands and knees, begging for them to allow our survey to penetrate the campus. They accepted our sexual inquisition with open hearts and mouths and explorative fingers and toes. 
   
  Five hundred of you dirty little freaks got vulnerable with us and answered the survey. Having processed all your loads (aka responses), we come to you now, months later, anticipating the birth of the single most important fact about our cohort:
   
  ANU’s favourite sex position is Doggy…. woof 😉
   
  26.4 percent of respondents listed doggy style (inclusive of variations) as their naughty time fave. Missionary (inclusive of variations) took the silver strap-on with 23.4 percent of votes. The third, or the unicorn to the formers, is cowgirl/boy/person (inclusive of variations), having earned a respectable 18.8 percent of the loads submitted. 
   
  The majority of the depraved individuals who took place in this intellectual orgy hail from off-campus origins (45.6 percent). The libertines of UniLodge came next, representing 13.5 percent of the total pervert pool. Finally Burton & Garran was the nexxxt most eager participant – contributing 9.7 percent of the fluids shared.

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  The naughty little freaks came from all year groups, but second years were the most vocal in their thrusts into the research yoni (32.7 percent). Then followed an even squirt across third years, first years and fourth years with 17.1 percent, 16.7 percent and 14.9 percent survey fingerings respectively.
   
  That concludes the most significant research initiative of our time. The questions we had going into this survey were provocative and arousing. Some cavity within the Woroni team was thoroughly filled by this survey and we would like to thank the ANU student body for their helpful participation in such a satisfying climax. ANU students are generous lovers and data-sharers. Shall we share a cigarette and reflect on the good bits now?

  Rose Dixon-Campbell

• Policy-driven Porn Norms: A Deep Dive into the Australian Labiaplasty Industry

  October 22, 2022 6:59 pm Comments Off on Policy-driven Porn Norms: A Deep Dive into the Australian Labiaplasty Industry

   
  Authors’ note: Not all women have vulvas and not all vulva owners are women. Where gendered language has been used in this article, it refers to direct quotes from sources, and does not express the views of Woroni or the author.  
   
  A few months ago, I learned that the growth of the labia minora (the inner folds of the vulva closest to the clitoris) happens during puberty. Don’t laugh, but I had simply assumed that like belly buttons, people born with vulvas were born with a labia minora that either protruded beyond the labia majora (the outer folds), or one that doesn’t. Much earlier than the discovery of my anatomical ignorance, however, did I become aware of the societally held tenet that it was desirable to have an ‘innie’ vulva and embarrassing if not. I can’t remember when I first became aware of this belief, but the fact that the number of labiaplasty procedures performed worldwide increased by 73.3 percent between 2015 and 2019 affirms its grip on vulva-owners around the world.    
   
  ‘Labiaplasty’ is a cosmetic surgery that alters the appearance of the vulva. According to Dr Sofia Din, labiaplasty is most commonly performed on the labia minora “to create a ‘tucked in’ appearance.” While some people have labiaplasty for functional reasons, such as discomfort during physical activity or when wearing tight clothes, most vulva-owners who have surgery (over 68 percent in Australia)  are motivated by embarrassment or unhappiness with the way their vulva looks. But where do these sentiments come from? I think you’ll find most fingers pointing toward our dear friend, the porn industry. 
   
  “With pornography,” body positivity activist Taryn Brumfitt expressed in an interview with Triple J, “there’s only one type of body”, and by extension only one type of vulva. This is to say that it must mirror the ‘tucked in’ appearance that most labiaplasty patients seek to replicate. Melinda Tankard-Reist, Co-editor of Big Porn Inc; Exposing the Harms of the Global Porn Industry, claims that a “significant” factor contributing to anxiety and unhappiness over labia appearance is the influence of pornography, coupled with the increased popularity of Brazilian waxing. “Now that the labia have become more visible, women think there is something wrong with them, because they don’t look like the women in porn,” Tankard-Reist told Farrago Magazine. There have been numerous studies exploring how watching pornography can negatively impact people’s body image, but I wasn’t quite prepared to let all of the blame rest on porn. Sure, the industry is guilty of perpetuating these norms, but where do they come from?  
   
  My recent epiphany about how the labia grows throughout puberty was, (paired with the discovery that labiaplasty is also commonly referred to as “vaginal rejuvenation,” yikes), contextually disturbing. I tried not to meditate too hard on how the standard of the “tucked in” vulva has probably both contributed to and derived from the sexualisation of children. There must be something else, I told myself. I desperately didn’t want to land on the conclusion that the main driver of the labiaplasty industries’ success was society’s underlying paedophilic perversions.  
   
  Besides, according to my research, something wasn’t adding up. I braved the depths of Reddit and AskMen.com, sifting through anonymous submissions seeking to know whether people with larger labia could ever be considered sexually desirable, and I found an outpouring of responses affirming that larger labia are, get this, still sexy! Some commenters actually expressed a preference for larger labia, but most merely affirmed an overall sentiment of indifference. I also considered a study from the Department of Obstetrics and Gynaecology at the Good Samaritan Hospital, Cincinnati, on the desirability of different types of Vulvas (note: this research concerns male perceptions of desirability only). While a slight preference for smaller labia was recorded, the majority of respondents in this study also remained largely indifferent.  
   
  Why, then, given this variety and indifference of preference, are so many people embarrassed by the appearance of their vulva? People form opinions on what they expect the average vulva to look like based on what they see depicted in pornography, as this is often the only exposure we have to naked bodies before we become sexually active. Subsequently, when we see genitals in real life that differ from the homogenised depictions we saw growing up – be it our own or someone else’s for the first time- we feel confused and become convinced that something is wrong with them. So, it all comes back to how vulvas are depicted in the media.  
   
  Australia has always had an extremely contentious and complicated history of censuring the vulva and the female body in general. In an age of digitalised everything, a magazine from the corner store is no longer the way most people access porn. However, to this day, if you want to produce a pornographic magazine, the vulva must only appear as a single “healed crease” in order to comply with Australian censorship laws. The actual clause in the Australian Classification guidelines is as follows: 
   
  “Realistic depictions [of naked bodies] may contain discreet genital detail but there should be no genital emphasis.” 
   
  Which was somehow interpreted to mean that while the outer labia were fine, showing someone’s inner labia in porn was simply going too far. To comply with these guidelines, many magazines began using editing software to perform ‘digital labiaplasty’ on their models, and hence the expectation of a “tucked in” vulva as the norm was born.  
   
  In a review of the Publications Classifications Guidelines in 1999, a spokeswoman for the Anti-Censorship Program, Kylie Potter, raised a pressing double standard. While the Australian Classification Board (then known as OFLC), maintains that the labia minora is “too explicit” to be allowed in soft porn publications, the board has been “unable” to explain why it is therefore okay to show an unadulterated image of a penis. Could this strict regulation of the vulva-bearing body, where the cis-male body is free to go unchecked, have anything to do with a desire to restrict only certain people’s bodily autonomy? At the very least, I’m calling j’accuse for the board’s role in perpetuating censorship practices whose double standards carry harmful implications for bodily regulation. 
   
  So, there we have it. One day, someone simply decided that it was offensive to show a person’s inner labia in pornographic media publications, and managed to convince entire generations of impressionable, porn-consuming youngsters that a discreet “tucked in” vulva is the norm. In reality, studies suggest that around 56 percent of adult vulvas actually have inner labia that protrude beyond the labia majora; but if porn is the only exposure most people have to the naked human body until we become sexually active, how could anyone know?  Perhaps, then, the lack of representation of different body types in mainstream pornography is not a standalone issue, but one fuelled by porn’s status as our youth’s primary source of sexual education.  
   
  These days there are many resources seeking to normalise and celebrate different types of vulvas, including Australian photographer Ellie Sedgwick’s Comfortable in My Skin and Netflix’s Sex Education campaign All Vulvas are Beautiful. As the show’s beloved character Aimee expresses, “Every vulva is unique and beautiful and deserves to be cherished.” So, from a policy level, it’s time to get rid of these archaic censorship laws which do nothing but prop up a multi-million-dollar cosmetic surgery industry and perpetuate double standards of bodily regulation. 
   
   
  Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
  Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
    

  Aish

• Anaïs Nin and Sexual Awakenings

  October 13, 2022 6:44 pm Comments Off on Anaïs Nin and Sexual Awakenings

  Anaïs Nin (b.1903) was a French-born Cuban bohemian and erotic writer. Her journals and short stories are part-truths, part-fictionalisations of her experiences in early 20th century New York. Her works Delta of Venus (1977),  Little Birds (1979) and Auletris (2016) have become cornerstones of the feminist and female-erotic movements. 
  In her autobiographical short story, A Model (1979), Anaïs Nin retells the story of her sexual awakening. After moving to New York with her mother, Nin dropped out of high school and began working as a model for illustrators and artists. Spending her days posing for strangers, Nin explored the messy and fluid New York bohemian scene. All the while Nin privately lamented her virginity, longing to shed her ‘sheltered’ life and ‘over-delicate’ appearance.
  Young and horny, Anaïs contemplates the collected fragments of her limited sexual experience. Experiences whirl around in her head: wetness between her legs after dry-humping on the beach with a boy her own age, passionate make-outs following dances. We are invited to witness, as if sitting with a classmate in the bathrooms at recess, her hormonal giggles and pops as she anticipates the excitement of finally doing it. 
  All the time, the shadow of her sexual fears dwells at eye line. Night-time run-ins with survivors of sexual assault haunt her daytime visits alone with male artists. Men that jovially jab at her boundaries, comment on her sexual experience – “you’re a virgin, aren’t you?” – and impose idealisations of her youth upon her. Not to mention bombarding her with unsolicited kisses, touches and flirtations. Nin’s anger at these intrusions swirls into a confused longing for them. She is not passive, not really, but she nevertheless feels the gravitational pull of this idealised self, still too young to distinguish between being conquered and desired. 
  It’s unnervingly relatable as a closeted boy growing up in the era of Grindr. Like Nin, I hated my baby face, inexperience, and sheltered life. I too, sought to overcorrect these shortcomings in the rooms of strangers, men who played upon a false belief of my own maturity, who I thought would show me how to be my authentic self. Men, who as I approach their age, I now strangle with angry words in the corners of my mind. But, in reading Nin, we can develop another story. 
  The beauty of Anaïs Nin is that, despite men’s best efforts, she is the hero of her awakening. She delights in the positive aspects of her encounters, relishes her pleasure, and then unsentimentally sheds the men she uses to achieve it, that “they now seemed like children to me.” In the end, A Model is not a story of a victim, but an adventurer. She becomes like Homer’s Odysseus, a hero enlightened by her experiences, emboldened by her survival, with the heads of her monsters left to rot in her wake. As fellow survivors of our sexual awakenings, we can smile and walk with her. Survivors of our hormones, fears and monsters.
   
  Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
  Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
    

  Anonymous

• How To Have Sex With a Trans Person

  October 12, 2022 5:45 pm Comments Off on How To Have Sex With a Trans Person

  The first time I had sex with my partner, my chest was bound with kinesiology tape. It was an inelegant process: I cut the tape to size, covered my nipples with bandaids, layered it across each breast, pulling the flesh sideways and sticking it to my ribcage. I didn’t even notice it was on till we were getting intimate. Then I looked down.
   
  I should take it off. She probably wants to see my boobs. She probably thinks it’s weird. 
   
  But I couldn’t. Not without getting into a very unsexy pose and ripping my skin off. So I left it and accepted that I was having sex with a bound chest. 
   
  And I loved it. It made me feel really comfortable. The following day I felt a glow of pride – someone had made me feel sexy the way I wanted to be sexy. 
   
  When I’d had sex before, I had stripped completely naked. Sure, seeing my breasts and having them be seen freaked me out. I didn’t think I had any other option but to get used to being uncomfortable during sex. 
   
  My partner showed me that this wasn’t true. 
  If you’re cis (not trans), I want you to read this article because maybe, one day, you’ll want to have sex with a trans person. And it can be daunting. It requires communication and understanding of each other. Thankfully, the requirement of an open mind and forgoing of sexual conventions allows an opportunity for really great sex.
   
  FOR CIS PEOPLE
  Before the Bedroom

  It’s essential to take note of things that may make your partner feel feminine versus masculine. The kind of touch and the type of words you use while intimate can be quite powerful.
  For a transmasculine person, this might be holding their arm while walking, sitting on their lap, or using compliments like ‘hot’ or ‘handsome.’ For a transfeminine person, touching their waist, putting your arm around them, and using compliments like ‘pretty’ or ‘beautiful.’ This doesn’t mean you are limited to these behaviours – they’re just things that can affirm your partner’s gender.

  Using Toys

  Whether you’ve used toys during sex before, it’s worth considering what they might mean to your partner. For cis, straight couples, sex toys can be a type of foreplay or a once-in-a-while thing. For trans people, they might mean a lot more. If this is the case, reevaluate your perception of toys. They don’t need to take away from the intimacy of sex, and they don’t mean that either of you are incapable of manually pleasing the other. Try to keep an open mind, and if neither of you is experienced, head to Fyshwick and take a look through the sex shops. You’re bound to find something that makes both of you feel good.
   

  Understanding dysphoria

  Dysphoria is the discomfort trans people feel with their assigned gender at birth, ranging from mild unease to extreme distress. It can be a big part of someone’s life or not present at all. Either way, it’s often exacerbated during sex, so it’s vital that you understand the basics of how it works and talk to your partner about their specific experience.

  Dysphoria is not static, and levels of dysphoria will fluctuate naturally and in response to triggers. The things that trigger dysphoria may be being misgendered, having certain parts of their body touched, or seeing themselves naked.
  Having sex is a vulnerable act. Be kind to your trans partner by being aware that they could feel dysphoric during sex and respecting their boundaries, even if they may seem odd to you.

   
  FOR TRANS PEOPLE
  Your trans body is sexy!

  I spent so long feeling unsexy. I didn’t want to be sexy as a woman, and I could never be sexy in the way a cis man is. But what makes someone sexy isn’t how well they look like the ideal of a man or a woman. If your partner wants to have sex with you, they find you sexy. Be proud and secure in that.

  Unpack your feelings during sex

  Investigate why something makes you feel weird or bad during sex. This way, you can learn what your boundaries are. Ask yourself: What precisely is making me uncomfortable? Is it dysphoria, do I not like it, or is it just new? Is this pleasurable for me?

  Be specific

  Your cis partner may not know what questions to ask or won’t want to ask in case they make you uncomfortable. Before sex, try telling your partner your boundaries, what you like, and what language you are comfortable with using.

  Trust yourself & your partner

  Don’t keep going along with sex just because you don’t want to offend your partner. Sometimes you get a random wave of dysphoria – you’re always better off stopping rather than pushing through. Doing so strengthens your own self-awareness and the trust you place in your partner.

  Be mindful of your partner’s experience

  When I didn’t like the way my partner was touching me, I used to just pull away. Feeling dysphoric, I would be too ashamed to say much to her. I didn’t realise that this was making her uncomfortable.
  It’s painful to feel like you have triggered someone’s dysphoria during sex – like you’ve failed as a partner. Be mindful of this experience. Explain what you’re feeling, and clarify what you want to do next. If you need a specific touch to stop, a simple; 

  “Could you not ——, I’m feeling a bit dysphoric” does the trick. 
  It’s also okay to be urgent and brief. Try;
  “Can we take a break” or “we need to stop”
   

  Once you’ve calmed down, explain what happened to your partner and do something together that makes you feel closer – watch a movie or cuddle. Aftercare is important after sex, but it’s even more important after ‘failed’ sex. 

   
  This may seem like a lot to remember. But all of these things will develop over time. It may take a little more consideration than ‘traditional’ sex; but I promise, it’s worth it.
   
  Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 5 ‘Cum As You Are’
  Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
   

  Anonymous

• Astrology and the Dating World

  August 16, 2022 2:12 pm Comments Off on Astrology and the Dating World

  It doesn’t take a statistician to notice that belief in astrology, or the study of celestial objects and their impact on human life, is rising in popularity.
   
  Evidence suggests that when societies are undergoing existential threats or stress, like pandemics, natural disasters, or conflict, they are more likely to turn to scientifically unfounded belief systems. Given the state of the world, this probably isn’t surprising.
   
  This concept is corroborated by Dr Victor Grech, whose studies uncovered a surge of interest towards astrology in the wake of the 2016 American election. Additionally, the rise of astrological predilection is, perhaps as expected, highest amongst women.
   
  As I am just like the other girls, I have a casual interest in astrology. But I have a much greater interest in asking men about astrology. What is even better than that, for me anyway, is going on a date and correctly ‘guessing’ their star sign. Little do they know, it is already listed on their Hinge profile. I have an Aries Venus and a Taurus Mercury, if that explains anything.
   
  Whatever you believe, I don’t ask men their zodiac sign as a means of examining basic compatibility. It isn’t that I am searching for a common interest, nor do I use it as a way to mildly aggravate, however tempting that may be. It is definitely a method of finding out more about my date, but the outcome is not solely based on their reported sign.
   
  I find it to be a useful tool in gauging potential worst qualities.
  If interrogations result in a disdainful response, let alone a lecture, I can reasonably rule them out as a love match, or even a casual lover. I’m not searching for someone who is also interested in astrology. However, I am looking for someone who is relaxed enough to indulge all sorts of questions, and open-minded enough not to be immediately judgemental.
  It also cannot be left unsaid – the primary reason I ask men about their star sign is to decipher if they are a misogynist or not.
   
  Astrology has been, and remains, an interest that is predominantly enjoyed by women. Often, it is a safe and empowering space for us. It allows individuals to dig deep into areas of their life they may need to work on, work out. Through this, many women use their signs to find their own power. Writing off an interest in astrology as an irrational belief in the paranormal, immediately excludes the aspect of self-development sought after amongst committed believers.
   
  While I couldn’t describe myself like that, it fills a practical function. It is dangerous being a young woman going on dates, even with people I already know. Unfortunately, many women like myself also must rely on surreptitious methods of vetting potential romantic partners.
  When I polled women aged between 16 and 25 via Instagram, almost all respondents expressed that they also had negative experiences with men, after discussing astrology. 
   
  This isn’t breaking news, with respondents to previous surveys echoing the stories supplied through my Instagram study. In a 2018 Vice article, a male respondent stated that “If you bring that shit up with me, I’ll think you’re a mindless bimbo.” Delightful.
   
  Another 2018 study by I. Andersson, entitled Even the Stars Think That I Am Superior: Personality, Intelligence and Belief in Astrology proposes a link between belief and psyche. Findings divulged a negative correlation between belief in astrology and intelligence, and positively correlated narcissism with belief in astrology [in men]. For me, what is attractive isn’t about disbelief or belief, but rather about acceptance of one another’s beliefs, so long as they are not harmful.
  My ideal date isn’t necessarily someone who has even a casual interest in astrology. In fact, I think it is someone relatively apathetic about it, but lets me enjoy my silly little stars while they enjoy their silly little sports. Or whatever it is that they like, that I myself take no interest in.
  On the lighter side, in the youth hostel I stayed in while writing this, I quizzed some of my male roommates on their thoughts. Was it a red flag for them, if women ask about their star sign? My Canadian, American and Australian hostel mates all had the same response. Basically, “If you had asked me five years ago, I would have thought you were intellectually inferior, and even lectured you about it, but now I just answer and wait for the analysis”.
  Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to ask the men in the room next door to us, who catcalled us on the way back from the showers, what they might have thought about it all. Something tells me I don’t need their star sign to work out if I want to date them or not. 
   
  Originally published in Woroni Vol. 72 Issue 4 ‘Alien’
   
  Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
   
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  Letters to the Editor

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  Alex Bekier

• A Second-Wave Feminist Take on Family Planning

  July 26, 2019 1:03 pm Comments Off on A Second-Wave Feminist Take on Family Planning

   
  CONTENT WARNINGS: Abortion, Sex, Transphobia, Cisnormative Language
  Feminist writer Germaine Greer published her second edition of Sex and Destiny in 1986. She says in the book that in the modern world (that is to say, the Westernised and global present) that we have lost touch with our senses of self. According to Greer, women who become pregnant and have children become isolated because society does not value children. Thus, a woman’s sexual identity has changed since the past when the whole community would help to raise children, and a woman’s ability to reproduce was valued.
  In this volume, Greer discusses gender roles in many different cultures around the world, but she focuses on Western culture. She mentions that in traditional European societies, a relationship would arise from a prolonged courtship that would have been sanctioned by the community to which they belonged. Men would feel that they had to control women’s reproduction due to their usage of the withdrawal method and abstinence. On the other hand, women would have a long period of time to familiarise themselves with their respective sexual partners. This way, the two people in the relationship would be able to start their own family with the support of the community around them and the resources to bring up their children.
  I think that in the modern context we can adapt this way of doing things. However, this should depend upon: how long it takes to decide whether or not two people are suitable for each other long term, both parties’ networks of friends to draw on as their ‘community’ and both parties’ practices of safe sexual health and family planning. After reading about this, I became convinced that this would be possible in today’s society if both parties in a relationship were part of a supportive community and were to take charge of their own reproduction.
  According to Greer, people in a relationship in which cisgender male-female intercourse is the main form of sexual activity are able to practice coitus interruptus (‘pulling out’). Because of this, they effectively have no need for chemical contraception or even condoms (or, as Greer cheekily calls it, ‘rubber hardware’). Coitus interruptus is a risky form of birth control which may result in unwanted pregnancies, and therefore, abortions. However, Greer also makes a point regarding this: An abortion could be chemically induced at extremely early stages of conception without any harm to a baby or foetus. Additionally, avoiding the pill would allow women to avoid the side effects that artificial hormones could have on their bodies. However, Greer argues that this is not possible unless the couple have a ‘tenderness’ for one another, ‘creativity’ and probably the sense of intimacy and oneness required to be aware of the moment when they have reached the climax. Nonetheless, she focuses heavily on traditional roles in cisgender, heterosexual relationships.
  Regardless of culture, ethnic background or definitions of relationships, the quality of the relationship is generally determined by the amount of energy that each party is willing to put in. People have different ways of showing care. They can show care through physical affection, acts of service, gift-giving, taking each other out for meals and so on. In pursuit of what she feels would be best for society in general, Greer seems to have glossed over what is important for people individually.
  Another point that Greer raises is that when people in contemporary Western countries form relationships, they can have the pressure of what their parents and grandparents have told them they should do. This may have been handed down from cultural traditions, which conflicts with the possibilities that modern technology has enabled. For instance, in some traditional cultures, such as the Italians of Tuscany, a lack of reproductive responsibility was frowned upon amongst men and not required of women. There was a certain kind of Italian man who felt that women’s usage of oral contraceptives could expose themselves to selfish men who would take advantage of them. Thus, they would figure out for themselves how to refrain from impregnating their female partners. However, as Greer argues, this kind of attitude was centred on ensuring that men felt they had complete control over their reproductive capacity, rather than fostering cooperation between the genders.
  I think that if we can understand this issue in terms of biology, in any relationship in which reproduction is an issue, then there is a constant state of change between those who do the fertilisation and who receives it. In humans, there is a stereotype in cisgender relationships that a man can plant the seed in a woman, and that women can get her eggs fertilised and have children. This stereotype is of course highly variable. However, the ability to do something does not mean that either of those things should be done without the complete and explicit consent of both parties.
  Greer’s take on the issue of family planning seems to be connected to her take on the adoption of the ‘nuclear family.’ She argues that we have sacrificed the sense of community that is conducive to raising well-rounded, social children and releasing the pressure, poverty and isolation that parents of these children suffer. She thinks that we should subscribe to the pre-Western traditional roles of the Tuscan, Kenyan or Indian villages, with their ‘wise women,’ ‘shamans’ and group birthing. Incidentally, the kind of community for which Greer advocates bears a striking resemblance to that shown in The Handmaid’s Tale. In this fictional world, the top priority is the health and wellbeing of pregnant mothers and young children. It is also assumed that it is (or should be) the destiny of women to be closely involved with the process of bringing children into the world.
  While it would be considered anti-feminist now, that outlook, if it is modified to suit the needs of people today, is not without its merits. People who have a wider ‘support network’ are undoubtedly better off in relationships. In our modern culture, instead of the traditional village, we have networks of friends and acquaintances from work, school or family. We may keep in touch with these networks in person, by text message or social media. Those who are better connected to their networks will have more opportunities to learn from the mistakes of others, as well as pass on what they have learned. In support networks such as these, it is possible to get any kind of personalised information about family planning you could ever want without fear or embarrassment, and in a familiar environment surrounded by close friends.
  While the ideas that Greer discusses are interesting, there are reasons why her way of looking at these topics could be considered outmoded by feminists today. She looks at these issues from a solely binary perspective, when in fact people’s identities around sexuality are more complex than this. Nonetheless, Sex and Destiny raises some salient issues for relationships, family planning and sex.

  Zena Mason

• We Need to Argue First

  October 3, 2018 3:06 pm Comments Off on We Need to Argue First

  ‘We need to have an argument.’
  ‘Hmm?’
  ‘An argument.’ She does that thing where she sighs at herself, blinks a few times towards the distance, searches, decides, yes, those are the words that she will say: ‘A fundamental disagreement. A difference of opinion. I say something, you say something else, we raise our voices, and then there’s a difference of opinion and then maybe we agree to disagree.’
  ‘Oh. Okay.’ He chews on nothing.
  ‘I’m serious. Before tomorrow. Before midnight, hopefully. That is tomorrow. Okay, well the sun’s already set. How about before ten? No, that’s too close. Eleven. We’ll aim for before eleven.’
  ‘Oh, I agree.’
  ‘Good.’
  ‘Before eleven. That’s good. Then we can get eight hours of sleep if we sleep at eleven-thirty.’
  ‘Yes, but at the same time I need you to stop doing that.’
  ‘Doing what? Eight hours is recommended by the majority of medical professionals. Maybe seven, now that we’re getting older-‘
  ‘Yes, dear.’
  ‘Can you call me that yet?’
  ‘I like calling you that. Makes me feel prepared. So it’s not too strange when I have to formally start doing it tomorrow. Take it as practice.’ She runs her hand along his arm. Her fingers feel brittle, delicate, like shards of melting ice. He feels strong.
  ‘Okay.’
  ‘But I need you to stop agreeing. Just, before eleven. We need to have an argument.’
  ‘But what are we going to argue about?’
  ‘I don’t know. I was hoping you’d think of something.’
  ‘What about, what about…’ He isn’t going to think of something, and she knows it. Maybe this is what they should argue about. She settles for something else.
  ‘Politics. People always disagree about politics.’
  ‘Okay, okay. Well um, I voted yes. Yes, that’s what I did. Of course. How did you vote?’
  ‘I said yes too.’
  ‘What do you think of the current Prime Minister?’
  ‘Margarine.’
  ‘What?’
  ‘Well, he kind of looks like butter, but you know it’s not when you taste it.’
  ‘Oh. That makes sense. Did you know that margarine is actually black without colouring?’ He used to work in a margarine factory.
  ‘Yes. You’ve told me, dear.’ She called him dear again. Practice, that was what it was, he reminded himself.
   ‘But so is the other one. The opposition leader.’
  ‘Oh, of course. I guess there’s nothing worth disagreeing about. It’s all the same whichever way you take it.’
  ‘Okay, okay. What if we – like a debate.’ He had done debating in high school. They had lost the regional semi-finals. He remembers the feeling of wanting to intensely squeeze something in his hand that he got when the adjudicator told his team they’d lost, and the acrylic smell of the table. ‘Like, I take one side, you take another.’
  ‘This could work. So I can be Weet-Bix. And you can be muesli.’
  ‘Do you want to start?’
  ‘No, after you.’
  ‘Okay. I am far, far more varied. You’re a brick of wheat and your most interesting flavour is the milk you’re paired with. Sometimes people pour Milo over you because they’ve realised how bland you are and they’ve had enough. Sometimes honey. They poured milk and honey over people as torture in Ancient Egypt until their victims drowned in their own vomit and faeces and they do the same to you, this is because you are so bland that they should do the same as you. Now you go.’ She had studied Archaeology in university, which he thought was very attractive.
  ‘Wow. Okay well let me first communicate my respect and congratulations to you. There was a formal way of doing this in high school, but I’ve forgotten so I’ll move on. You are muesli. I am Weet-Bix. Now, you have said many things that I am. Let me continue. I am utilitarian. I am simple. Above all I am Australian, and I am the breakfast of champions. There are many types of muesli and many ways of eating those many types. But I am simply Weet-Bix. Milo, honey, yes, but underneath, I am the same. I am singular, I am unified, I have direction and I am purposeful. Everyone knows who I am. Those who do not subscribe to me only reinforce my dominance as they confirm that they are the exceptions to the rule. I am the rule. Now, to you. You are many, you are multiplicity, you are legion. Barley connected. Your diversity will tear you apart. Soon there will be in-fighting from your multi-polarity. Nuts, no nuts. Sultanas, no sultanas. Bran, no bran. Each one of your components is merely waiting, biding their time to establish their superiority. But I am one. I am, and always have been. This is why you are inferior. Thank you.’
  ‘Okay. Do you want to have a rebuttal round?’
  ‘No. Formally, I think we’re a bit messy. It’s okay.’
  ‘I don’t think that was an argument.’
  ‘You’re right.’
  ‘It’s almost ten thirty.’
  ‘We’re running out of time.’
  ‘Tomorrow we’ll be married.’
   ‘Yes, but we need to argue first, dear.’
  ‘See, it’s good practice, isn’t it? Soon it will feel normal. If we let it seep into our vocabulary now it will only make the transition easier.’
  ‘Yes, but you’re still right. We need to argue first. We’ve never done it before.’ He drums his fingers against his thigh. They are like the rapid presses of a stamping machine. It is no longer almost ten thirty because it is now ten thirty.
  ‘I am worried though.’
  ‘You suggested it.’
  ‘And I hold by it. But now that I’ve thought about it for a bit – what if we start something? Something that sits away, but then boils, grows, comes up again in a few months, something we can’t just share, and it puts itself there, every day, in, and out, whenever I see you, I see it, there walking on its own two legs, forming a mind of its own, babbling and speaking, this disagreement, placing itself in the middle of the house and marking it like it’s all its own and, oh… maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe we should wait until afterwards. Until it comes organically. I was talking to Linda before, and couples are having disagreements later and later in their lives. Maybe it’s just best for it to happen, maybe when we’re not even trying.’
  ‘It’s okay. We still have more than twenty minutes. We can do it now. I won’t let that happen.’ He looks at her, expecting her eyes.
  ‘I know. I think I know. I guess what I’m trying to say is… did you bring protection?’
  He sees the clock flash as it changes to ten thirty-three.
   

  Jeremy Tsuei

• Love Me Tinder

  April 17, 2018 3:17 pm Comments Off on Love Me Tinder

  The recently-released Netflix series “Hot Girls Wanted” makes for some fascinating viewing. Originally a standalone documentary film directed by Rashida Jones (of Parks and Recreation fame), it has now been extended into a full series. The original documentary focused on the pornography industry from the perspective of women involved in it. Perhaps “ensnared” is a better word than “involved” for the specific situations it spotlights – it was some dark stuff at times. This series, by contrast, is exploring a much broader range of themes related to sexuality, gender and how these topics play out in modern society.
  Technological progress, in the form of Tinder and other apps, appears to have changed the dating game dramatically. The episode “Love me Tinder” focused on a 40-year-old guy who is pretty much addicted to Tinder (and its ilk) and casual relationships with girls much younger than him. From one perspective, he is perhaps the quintessential fuckboi – a guy who seems incapable of seeing women as anything more than objects of pleasure, and importantly, objects to be discarded when they stop being “fun”. Whether justified or not, this guy seems to believe he now has an effectively endless supply of new partners, and this makes it easy for him to move on to the next one at the first signs of “trouble” (that is, having to actually work on a relationship).
  A profound moment in the episode is set against the backdrop of one of his developing relationships with a girl who – unlike many others – challenges him and asserts herself in ways he’s not used to. At one point, he invites her to a party that she can’t attend because she has work. When she asks if he’s drunk, the texts quickly escalate into an argument:
  Are you drunk?
  It’s not weird to get drunk at a BBQ with friends.
  It’s weird when I’m 25, and I’m getting texts from a 40-year-old I’m dating while he’s partying on a Monday. Not trying to sound like a bitch, but does that make sense?
  I’m sorry that you feel 40 is too old to have a great time with friends. Hopefully when you reach that age you will still enjoy life like I do.
  Whoah, I wasn’t going that route. I’m sorry if I upset you. I like you.
  Great to meet you. Wish you the best.
  And just like that, the relationship is over. It’s eye-popping how quickly and casually he decides to end it, but in the context of how this guy operates, and in the context of what technology makes possible for him, it makes sense. He can find a new girl to date with ease, so why bother with the ones that talk back? What’s profound about it to me is that he doesn’t seem either willing, or capable (perhaps both) to work through a fight with someone, even just a little one.
  But that’s what lasting relationships demand. Whether it’s a three-month thing, a long-term relationship or a lifelong commitment like marriage, relationships inevitably bring conflict. Even the happiest of couples will fight somewhere along the way. How people resolve that tension – how they communicate, how they see their partners, how committed they are to making it past that moment and learning/growing together from it – is a huge determinant of the long term success of that relationship.
  What this episode makes me wonder is the following: If a guy never engages in that process, how the hell does he ever learn the difficult work of building a stable, healthy relationship? As the episode suggests, he doesn’t. He remains locked in hollow, permanent adolescence. In this way, the episode serves as a powerful insight into modern masculinity and how it can be shaped by larger structural forces.
  In this case, one obvious force is that of technology, which has evidently impacted this individual’s approach to relationships. Yet also, part of how he behaves is arguably driven by structural forces far older than Tinder. For the longest time, men have been socialized, especially by the media, to believe that success as a man can be determined by how many different beautiful women you sleep with, or how many “babes” you have draped on your shoulder. Part of what makes James Bond an icon of masculinity and success is that he has a different, new, and beautiful woman to bed each film.
  Such ideas are seemingly on their way out, groaning under the weight of their age and a broad social movement pushing for better representations of both men and women in the media. Yet also, we can see that this old idea has had new life breathed into it, perhaps, by technology that makes it far easier to turn that broken fantasy into a reality.
  The episode is a rollercoaster of a story: you pretty much loathe the guy to begin with, and later (perhaps) come to pity him a little. At some point I stopped seeing just a fuckboi, and started seeing a broken man instead. An individual shaped by larger, structural forces that socialized him to believe and value the things he did, and in doing so, offered him the means to create his own gilded prison. That side of the story unsettles me and makes me concerned for this generation’s men. They not only face the same pressures of socialization I did a generation ago, but also the emergence of technology that normalizes it in ways the media never could. They face challenges we should all be mindful of.
  Equally, it makes me concerned for this generation’s women. Often posited as the asymmetrically dominant power in the domain of online dating, the episode suggests that they remain vulnerable to mistreatment and that, despite its newness, apps like Tinder can still act as vehicle that lets antiquated, misogynistic ideas about women reappear once again into the modern world.

  Nick Blood