The first time I tried to date after experiencing trauma, I was terrified, far more terrified than I was when I went on my first date at 19 years old. I feel everything in my body: the good, the bad, the uncertainty. Was I ready to be seen again? To be touched? To want?

It had been years since the word dating meant anything to me. The word itself tasted like poison and felt like fear. As a survivor, even casual flirtation has felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. As a queer survivor, that cliff feels like Mount Everest layered with paradox: I’ve learned what I need, want, deserve, and I am seeking is softness in a world that often eroticizes my pain, community in spaces that claim to be safe but rarely know how to enshrine that.

For a long time, I thought I had to simply “heal” and that the healing would necessitate rejecting my own desire. I told myself the most “empowered” thing I could do was focus on work — to build my career, to pour everything into helping other survivors. I founded my organization The Gold Star Society — a survivor-led community organization dedicated to safety, healing, and economic justice for women, queer, nonbinary, and BIPOC survivors — so people like me could feel safe, seen, and supported again.

I thought I had to choose between being a survivor and being sensual. As I have been actively healing, I’ve learned it doesn’t require cutting off the parts of me that still ache for touch. It means learning how to listen to my body and learning my body’s different languages, slowly translating it back into something tender for myself and then something I am able to give to others.

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My Body Remembers Everything

When someone’s fingers brush against mine, even in passing, my body reacts before my brain does. There’s a flinch, a pause, a quiet scanning of the moment for danger. I have never forgotten a single touch.

Trauma has rewired my sense of time,  trapping me in moments that no longer exist. Dating after trauma means constantly negotiating between past and present. I can love someone deeply and still feel my pulse race when they reach for me too quickly. I can crave touch and still freeze when it arrives, and those are all things I have had to learn to navigate and embrace.

I used to think that made me broken. But the truth is, it makes me honest. My body is simply telling the truth: Safety takes time to relearn, and desire, like healing, is a process, not a state.

Queer Love, Complicated Love

Dating as a queer survivor adds layers most people don’t talk about. The language we use to describe harm — “gender-based violence,” “domestic violence,” “sexual assault” — wasn’t built for us. These terms were created to fit a heteronormative mold: man as abuser, woman as victim. But what happens when the person who harms you shares your pronouns, your politics, your community space?

In queer culture, we talk a lot about radical love, chosen family, accountability. But we rarely talk about what it means to experience harm within that same radical ecosystem, how queerness doesn’t make us immune to replicating power, control, or silence. When I was harmed by another queer person, the hardest part wasn’t the betrayal; it was the erasure. The way people whispered, “that’s not really assault,” or “but she’s queer, she wouldn’t do that.” Literally no one believed me and kept insisting it couldn’t happen because we’re queer.

Relearning intimacy meant reclaiming not just my sensuality but my truth. It meant refusing to let queerness be used as a shield for harm, while also refusing to let harm steal queerness from me.

There’s a myth that queer love is automatically safer, gentler, more evolved. While this can be  true, it is not always a given. Queer survivors have to fight to even name what happened — and then to rebuild the possibility of touch without fear and without support.

Dating With Soft Armor

Since I have finally started dating again, I made a rule for myself: honesty over performance. If I need to pause mid-kiss, I will and I do. If I need to check in before being touched, I will and I do. Having conversations around this as early as possible has been crucial. The first person who didn’t flinch when I said “I’m a survivor, and sometimes my body shuts down when it remembers” taught me something about what safety can look like — not absence of fear, but presence of care, patience, support, and understanding.

Softness has become my armor, but not in a bad way. In the most authentically human way possible.

Sometimes that softness looks like swiping on a dating app and saying upfront “I move slow”, unafraid of the rejections since they aren’t personal. Sometimes it’s telling a partner “I need the lights on” or “can we breathe together first?” It’s using safewords that aren’t about kink but about grounding and consent. It’s letting myself have boundaries that evolve by the hour and not being ashamed of them.

In queer spaces, sensuality is often framed as liberation, as reclaiming the body from shame, as proof that we’ve survived. Which is beautiful. But for me, sensuality after trauma isn’t about performing confidence or the pressure to be confident in myself right away. It’s about presence. It’s about learning how to inhabit my body again, not just in the moments that are pleasurable, but in the moments that are uncertain, even in the moments that sometimes hurt.

I’m still figuring it all out. I’m still learning how to tell lovers what I need without apologizing for it. I’m still unlearning the reflex to shrink when someone calls me beautiful, as it’s hard for me to take compliments. I’m still practicing how to trust a body that once betrayed me by surviving and extending grace to myself.

The Politics of Pleasure

There’s something deeply political about being a sensual survivor — especially as a queer, Afro-Boricua, Neurodivergent, Indigenous Nonbinary individual. We live in a world that commodifies both our pain and our pleasure, manipulatively  separating them completely or making them into just one thing. Our trauma gets turned into hashtags, our bodies into symbols of resilience, with no in between. But the private, messy, ongoing work of learning to feel safe inside our own skin? That rarely fits the narrative.

Every time I choose to date again, to flirt, to feel desire without shame, it’s an act of resistance. Pleasure is protest. Slowness is rebellion. Safety is revolution. This is what I have been embracing.

When I design survivor tech, I’m not just thinking about crises. I’m thinking about pleasure as safety. About what it means for survivors to have agency over desire, over boundaries, over joy. Looking at us as whole humans who deserve to not just survive, but thrive.

I want survivors to have access to tools that honor not just their pain, but their curiosity — the right to want again, without fear that wanting will lead to harm. We are all humans.

Love as a Slow Rebellion

Sometimes people ask me if I’m “ready” for love again, as if healing has a finish line. It does not. The truth is, readiness is fluid, and I learned that right away on this journey. Some days, I can’t stand to be touched — like, at all. Other days, I crave closeness so much it hurts.

What I’ve learned is that love — the kind that’s real, the kind that’s worth staying for — doesn’t rush you. It moves at the pace of mutual consent, respect, and understanding. It honors silence as much as sound; grace and patience go hand and hand. It asks, gently, “What do you need to feel safe?” and actually listens when you answer.

Queer love taught me safety isn’t sterile — it can still be wild, electric, messy, full of heat and contradiction. The goal isn’t to erase fear but to learn how to dance with it. To know that you can tremble and still reach out and have all the human experiences we’re meant to have.

To touch after trauma is not to forget what happened — it’s to remember who you are beyond it and embrace that.

Relearning Desire

There’s a moment, every once in a while, when someone touches me and I don’t flinch. It’s rare, but it does happen. It’s quiet, almost unremarkable — a hand resting on my thigh, a kiss at the corner of my mouth — but in that moment, I feel something I hadn’t felt in years: possibility.

Not because I’m “healed,” but because I’m here. I’m present. I’m choosing softness again, even when it is scary.

For us survivors, desire isn’t just about pleasure. It’s about return — returning to the body, to the world, to the possibility of being loved not in spite of what happened, but because we are still capable of loving and giving and trusting again.

Dating after trauma isn’t linear. It’s not pretty. But it’s real. And in a world that taught me survival was the ceiling, I’m finally learning that tenderness can be the floor, the place where I start again.

I’m In Agony Over a Failed Hookup

Q

I had a super weird almost-sexual encounter with a human I’ll call “Bryce” believe it or not, many months ago, and I think I fucked up and I can’t stop thinking about it!! Everyone was drunk, they were flirting with me so hard, y’all they were playing with my hair? Twirling it around their hot fingers?? Asking me inappropriate questions about if I was a top or a bottom or a switch? Like, all the signs were there!! My friends were clocking, asking if we were gonna hook up. They bought me a drink, they were next to me in the corner of a booth and put their arm up in a way that separated us from the rest of the group! Then they suddenly had to go, and I was surprised because I thought maybe we’d be going home together, so I (drunk, remember!) went outside with them thinking maybe that’s what they want and then we’ll leave together? Somehow, okay, well, I kissed them. On the mouth! They kissed me back but just a LITTLE tiny bit and kinda lightly stepped away from the kiss and said they’d “see me around” and then left to go get the train? I felt so stupid! And I STILL DO feel SO STUPID. I see them here and there. Like should I apologize? Maybe they weren’t attracted to me and I misread it? We didn’t talk much before this night so it’s not weird that we don’t talk much now, but it is a little bit weird. Probably it literally doesn’t matter but I get worried what if they told people about me, this girl who had no actual shot with them, trying to kiss them? Am I pathetic? Should I just break the seal and talk to them about it the next time I see them? I don’t know why I feel so unresolved about something that doesn’t matter. Also they are really hot. Any help you can offer, thank you.

A

Summer: Whoa goodness, just breathe there okay?

I may not be the High Councilor of Interpreting Social Cues, but from what I can tell, you flirted a lot with someone on a night out. There was a drink flowing. You got along. Then shared a small kiss. That’s completely ordinary after vibing with someone on a night out. Since it didn’t go anywhere else, they were not ready to take it further. If there’s been no contact from their side since, they probably don’t want to pursue things further. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you reaching out to ask for a date or talk about what happened and gauge any further interest, but approach it lightly.

You’re not pathetic. They’re not out of your league. You didn’t ‘try’ to kiss them, you did. Their feelings are unclear and that doesn’t mean something bad has happened. Just breathe.

Ashni: I don’t think you fucked up at all! I hope this brings you some relief. Bryce gave you multiple cues that they were interested. Sure, I’ve had the top/bottom thing come up in casual conversation with gay friend groups, but coupled with the playing with hair, buying you a drink, the physical separation from the rest of the group? That’s flirting. I do agree with Summer that Bryce probably didn’t want to go further, which would explain why they haven’t brought it up since, but I don’t think this means you had no shot! They flirted for a reason, probably because they find you just as hot. Maybe they just got in their head or realized they didn’t want to do anything more after the kiss. I wonder if you feel unresolved because they never communicated what they were looking for that night. Honestly, though, I wouldn’t talk to them about it now. Y’all don’t talk much, and it’s also been at least a few months since the single kiss. If you’re still interested in them, sure, talk to them, but maybe not about that night – at least not with the limited interactions you have right now.

Nico: If you were interested in them — actually hooking up, a date, what-have-you, as Ashni said, that would be the reason to talk to Bryce again. And if you do reach out, just accept their first “no” or kind of signal that they’re not interested if they give you one. Otherwise, flirting happens. Drunk flirting, especially, can happen. If you were both flirting, and you went for a kiss, I don’t think that’s pathetic or creepy. It WOULD be pathetic or annoying or invasive if when you saw them again at another social function, you followed them around expecting more, if you messaged them insisting that you hang out, or if you otherwise pushed boundaries. I think if you are in a group setting again, since you got the vibe that they sort of pulled away and shut things down, I’d let them be the one to approach you for anything beyond a simple hello.

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Dating In My Mid-30s Is Not Going Well — What Am I Doing Wrong?

Q

I’m fairly recently back in the dating pool after ending a 5 year relationship and taking a full year after the breakup to focus on myself. I am in my mid 30s, live in a large metropolitan city with a fulfilling career, meaningful friendships, and I am ready to share it with someone… but it’s not as easy as I had hoped.

My self-esteem in my 20s was pretty low, and I would go on dates with basically anyone, which often led to disappointment or hurt, but I was meeting a lot of new people and going on a lot of dates. I feel really good about myself now, and I am better at recognizing red flags & people I am not compatible with, being careful to not over-determine these and say no to “maybes.” But dating is a numbers game, and I am pickier, plus there seem to be significantly fewer single monogamous queers in their 30s & 40s than in their 20s. I’m rarely matching with people on apps and have gone on very few dates – I think I went on 1 date all summer. The apps feel torturous at this point, I’ve done speed dating a few times with zero matches, and I’ve gone to IRL social gatherings and activities with no luck. I’ve asked friends if they know anyone, and every monogamous, sapphically-oriented mutual is in a relationship.

Of course I’m trying to see if I’m doing something “wrong,” but I can’t pinpoint anything that’s calling me out as a red flag. I’ve worked really hard in therapy and beyond to become who I am today, and I’m really proud of me and think I’m a catch, so the lack of success hits even harder.. I would have rejected myself in my 20s. I know I need to stop comparing dating in my 20s to dating in my 30s, but it’s hard not to.

To add additional ugh, I want to have kids, and Queer Time doesn’t change my biological clock. For many personal reasons, I don’t want to be a single mother; though I refuse to jump into a relationship for the purpose of co-parenting… but my fertility clock is ticking, and I don’t need that added pressure.

How do I meet another human for long-term monogamous sapphic domesticity? What changes can I make in my approach, because my current one isn’t working? Or do I stick with it and hope for what feels like a miracle?

A

Summer: Hello from a fellow person who would have rejected their twenty year-old self!

Like you, I’m surprised that someone so put-together as yourself would have trouble in a major city. I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that app-dating is an algorithmically mediated cesspool designed to keep people on the apps for as long as possible to generate revenue. You know, the Tinder paradox. Where if Tinder were actually good at matching people up, they’d have no revenue because they’re dependent on people staying on the app as long as possible for revenue.

If you haven’t tried dating apps oriented to queer women, like Her, then that would be my next guess. In my mind, Tinder and Bumble have gone downhill a lot and are more a reflection of ‘dead average’ than the quality of person I actually want to meet. But that could also be geographical.

Another alternative is… hear me out… kink events. If you’re in a major city, they’ll exist. Various kink events will tend to have their own frequent flyer communities that are a good place for queer-friendly networking. You don’t have to go for sex. You don’t even have to go to the sex-oriented events. But maybe a munch or casual event to meet some new people and scope out the vibes? But not walking in with the intention of finding a permanent partner. I think that’s putting the cart way ahead of the horse. More like… meeting friends and entering a new queer circle to see what’s up. It could go somewhere.

Riese: I just want to validate to you that it’s extremely true that the dating pool DOES dwindle as you get older and it really sucks! Most lesbians do couple up by a certain age, and apps can feel really discouraging because of that, especially when you compare your experience to dating in your twenties when the world was your oyster. (Also I’m not sure what apps you’re using, but all the single thirtysomethings I know use Hinge? Get off Tinder, is what I’m saying.) But also sometimes you can catch someone in your age bracket  on the other side of a divorce! 

I think, honestly, you should quit the apps for a few months and just focus on yourself —doing what you love, making social connections, and seeing what happens. Is there a queer sports league you could join? That’s how so many people I know in LA met their significant others.

Nico: I agree with both Riese and Summer that slowing down instead of trying to immediately find your one and only partner forever is a good move. I’m not saying you shouldn’t date, but I do think that being less commitment-forward might help. There’s a chance your goal-oriented approach is scaring away potential partners. Can you get a few friends to review your dating app profiles? Maybe try deleting them and making new ones from scratch and being perhaps more open with your swiping (you mentioned pickiness). You can also try putting the apps down for a couple weeks. People get on them and leave all the time so if you do that, there will be some different people on there later.

Regarding having a kid, do you have the means to freeze some of your eggs? If you’re determined to have a biological kid in the future and you’re concerned about time, it might be a good way to alleviate some of the stress you’re dealing with.

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I know, I know — you had a partner who was friends with an ex and their friendship was a tornado of toxicity and trauma and it literally ruined your life. I get it. The frustrating plotline of someone hovering around your relationship praying on its downfall objectively fucking sucks. It’s exhausting; it weighs on you and sows seeds of distrust in partners and any relationship they have outside of your own. And, depending on what shorty did, it may have led to some hands thrown, too.

It makes sense that these experiences have led various people to the belief exes should never be friends, that one should never date someone who is too close with an ex, and that it can only be a sign of a toxic connection that must be released.

Nonetheless, I’m asking that we look beyond our own negative personal experiences, beyond our disingenuous past partners and their bullshit “friendships” and think more broadly about what friendships with exes mean overall. I’m asking that we challenge our own insecurities and fears, our own preconceived notions about how relationships ought to function, fed to us by a heteronormative society. Instead of relegating these friendships to punchlines about queer stereotypes or labeling them as an innately concerning aspect of queer culture, I’m asking that we dissect it more deeply and leave space for a reflection on how unique and transformative queer love can be. The tendency to build friendships following a break up is, personally, one of my favorite aspects of queer culture.

Engaging with the world as a queer person means many of the roadmaps we learn at a young age in a heteronormative society are useless. We are often creating anew, carving out original methods of relating entirely from scratch in hopes of building something that fits us more accurately.

It makes sense, then, that many of the unspoken and unquestioned relationship rules don’t fly under the radar here: We notice and interrogate. A desire to challenge what it means for a relationship to “end”, to preserve the care and connection present regardless of what form the relationship takes, and to subvert common practices of disposability around breakups actually seems rather fitting for queer relationships.

The assumption that, absent romantic partnership, someone can no longer provide value to our lives or continue to be important to us is arguably rather strange. Presuming a relationship ended amicably and a friendship was part of its foundation, why shouldn’t we have the space to allow that friendship to continue? People are special and important in their own right before they begin to embody a specific role in our lives, before they become our partners or friends or anything else. There is something beautiful about wanting to acknowledge that specialness as innate to them. It does not dissipate simply because their role in our lives has shifted.

What does it mean to see our lovers as people before we see them as our partners? To love them for who they are and not what they provide us? Does that allow us to see value in them even when our relationship must change? While it may not be articulated as clearly, I think these questions underlie the attempts queer folks make at building relationships with former lovers. To acknowledge that relationships can continue to be wonderful in various forms is indicative of how we rethink relationships constantly.

To no one’s surprise, an ex of mine is one of my best friends. We dated so long ago it’s hard to remember the details. Nonetheless, what has always lingered was how gentle of a love it was. It was young and innocent, my first queer lover. Most importantly, it was my first time learning that love could be healing. My early forays into love were nothing short of traumatic. Years after our initial breakup, a chance conversation brought us back into each other’s lives. Our decision to rekindle a friendship, as opposed to a relationship, was a reflection of a desire to show up for each other as best as possible. Our romantic desires just didn’t align any longer, and yet the love had in no way dissipated. To many, this would seem like a perfect place to end our interactions, a clear sign that our time shared ought to come to an end. And yet, I couldn’t shake the idea that this couldn’t be the end of the road for someone that had held my heart so tenderly, that held the threads as I sewed it back together. In choosing to stay friends, I’ve learned that friendship is a love story in its own right. Having such an intimate history makes us surprisingly equipped to help each other grow, to notice relational patterns and challenge them and, without the complexity that sex can add, we’re often better able to call each other in. Their presence in my life and the growth it’s enabled has only opened the possibility for even sweeter love to enter my life, it has only made me better prepared to love new partners. Ultimately, the depth of love between us has never wavered, all that has changed is where it fits and how it’s expressed.

Love is the commitment, the connection. Romantic partnership, in the way we often think of it, is only a vessel. Like water, love can move from one vessel to another and take its shape — from vast oceans to neighborhood lakes, from partnerships to friendships. When we allow it to move freely, it is at its happiest, ebbing and flowing, constructing cliff sides and kissing shores. To take something so free and demand that it only occupy one space or cease to exist, to tell the water it can never leave the ocean, to prevent it from ever creating lakes or rivers, feels unreasonable. To strip it of this power is to refuse one of its greatest strengths: love’s endurance.

The attempt many queer folks make at seeing love in this way is an important effort that should be celebrated…even though, sure, it may sometimes be poorly executed. This poor execution often comes from the fact that we aren’t given a script in our society for transitioning relationships in this way. Even if we know we want to do so, we may lack the tools. If there’s anything building a long-term relationship with an ex has taught me, it’s that complete and utter honesty and creating boundaries accordingly goes a long way. (Every partner I’ve had has loved my ex, sometimes even more than me, so I can solidly say I’m an expert.)

Queer love, in itself, challenges a homophobic world’s narrative that we are disposable and undeserving. Allowing this love to endure, staying connected and in community with each other, then becomes even more important for us. The very thought of tossing aside the queer folks that have watered me even in droughts never sat right with me. The idea that I must toss away this person that, in every role and iteration, had only ever made my life more beautiful felt like nothing short of a homophobic lie. To remain friends is a direct rejection and subversion of that narrative to choose to see each other as more than what we provide, to refuse to discard each other on a moment’s notice. We attempt to see each other as full humans worthy of connection, even in change. Prioritizing our desire to stay in community comes with its challenges, but it also fortifies a necessary structure in an oppressive world. We need each other.

These friendships aren’t always easy, and keeping them healthy takes work; they require honesty and strong communication, vulnerability and intentionality. But difficult things can still be worthwhile.

Q:

I am a femme bisexual/pansexual woman back out in the single world after a 4.5 year relationship with a bisexual cishet man. I’ve been wanting to date women for a while, and I have only been with one woman sexually before. Last week, I went on an ambiguous date/not date with a woman who caught my eye at work before I was out of my relationship. She’s hot, smart, funny, goofy, adventurous. We had been orbiting around each other and meaning to hang out because we have a lot of shared interests, and we finally made it happen. We ended up hanging out and talking for 6 hours, about everything from being late in life bisexuals to ways we were scared to die. It was magical. About halfway through our hang, she tells me she’s in a long-distance relationship with a woman. Her partner is her first relationship with a woman, so there is a lot of history there. However, she mentioned a couple of times on our ride how “it probably won’t work out” for a couple of big logistical reasons. She also talked about all the things we should do together, ostensibly as friends.

Since this hang, I’ve realized I am down bad for and crushing way too hard on this unavailable person. I guess my question is, should I distract myself by pursuing a queer hoe phase so I don’t fall too hard for someone who is not single? Do I tell this person how I feel because I don’t find genuine emotional connections/attraction like this very often? As a baby queer, do I pursue friendship with this person even though I very much want her mouth on my mouth and unfortunately could see myself wanting to U-Haul with her? Help me, Autostraddle, you’re my only hope.

A:

Welcome back to the dating pool. Glad you already found someone to join you in the deep end.

The (good?) news about your new flame is that if she’s telling you partway through your maybe-date that she’s not that connected to her partner anymore, she’s probably emotionally checked out of that relationship already. Unless she has a major case of not caging her thoughts, people don’t usually talk about how they’re not into their relationship with their not-dates on the first not-date. Plus, the overt discussion of ways you two could keep hanging out? That all signals some kind of interest from her side.

I won’t mark that as unambiguously good news because I kiiinda doubt what she’s doing with you is entirely above-board in the context of her current relationship. It could be borderline infidelity and you’d have no way to verify without getting in touch with her partner. So just be aware of the possibility that you might be seeing the kind of person who’s willing to entertain Infidelity Lite once they’re emotionally checked out of a relationship, even if that relationship hasn’t technically ended.

But okay, you get home and learn the love bug’s got you. What next?

I’d just follow your needs and morals. Easy for me to say, but I do think you have options.

For one, given how she’s already talking to you about her current partner, she may not be as unavailable as you think. But that may speak highly of her if it approaches cheating. Where do your beliefs stand on potentially igniting something with a person who’s okay with doing this? Do you have enough info about her current relationship to confirm your not-dates are okay? How would you feel if she checked out of your relationship after a while and her eyes began to drift?

The idea of a queer hoe phase sounds great. Especially if it gives you more opportunities to find your footing with other women. My questions to you are then: Do you feel the need for a queer hoe phase? Is your goal to explore your sexuality? Build sexual experience? Reboot your brain after a long-term relationship? If you’ve got a strong personal stake in it, I’d say go for it. However, it’s only something you should do if it benefits you. You needn’t buy into the marketing that any foray into dating after a long relationship must first involve a hoe phase. Do it for you.

The only thing in your list of questions I’d try to hold off on is telling her how you feel right now. It’s been one hangout. Your head is swimming in a lot of emotions. Her status is ambiguous. You’re fresh out of a big relationship. Your situation is already complex, and you’re already asking the internet for help (hi!). Disclosing your feelings and letting it all fall out will probably make things more complicated before it improves your life. I know the urge to tell people how I feel. I live the urge to tell people how I feel after a minimal number of dates. It is rarely beneficial to put that extra pressure on the connection when it’s just starting to form. So if you have the willpower to keep a lid on your feelings while you learn more about her, I suggest doing that.

There are also fourth options like winding down the contact you have with her and looking for escapades elsewhere. Like searching for the company of people who don’t make you want to write into an advice box. I know that when your eyes are set on someone and you feel The Spark, that seems absurd. But it is an option, and your life isn’t permanently tied to this person yet. It’s barely tied at all actually.

If she weren’t already in a relationship, the tone of my advice would have been to go forth and slake your baby queer thirst. But I can’t shake the feeling that her relationship status and how she deals with it will make things harder for you.

Thanks a lot for writing in. I think it was the right call and I hope the questions I’ve posed back at you give you insight into how you should approach your budding situationship <3

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You can chime in with your advice in the comments and submit your own questions any time.

Sex/Life is a series all about the secret sexy business of couples, throuples, exes who still fuck for some reason, LDR darlings, polycules, and any other kind of amorous grouping your perfect heart can fathom. We send them nosey questions, they record themselves answering them, and we transcribe that conversation for all of us to enjoy. All names have been changed and any identifying details removed.

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Violet is 38 and Taylor is 31 – they’ve been together for 3.5 years, married for 1.5, and currently live together in a house in New England. They both work in tech sales and are passionate about television and their dogs.

And this is how they fuck.

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Taylor: Are you nervous?

Violet: Yeah.

Taylor: Don’t be nervous.

Violet: I’m always nervous.

Taylor: I love that about you. Okay.

What was your sex life like when you first started dating, and how was that different from now?

Taylor: Well, I cried a lot.

Violet: You did cry a lot.

Taylor: Yeah.

Violet: It wasn’t because you were hurt or anything like that.

Taylor: No.

Violet: I think that, well— maybe you were internally.

Taylor: No, it was more the trauma, baby, because of my upbringing in the evangelical church, and purity culture, and all of that shit, plus a previous relationship had made it so that I was not… I wasn’t ready to receive it. I felt guilty receiving, and that’s where my crying came from and why you were…

Violet: I’m crying right now! I would stop and hold you every time. I just want that to be clear. I didn’t just keep going.

Taylor: No, you did not. In fact, I was the one that begged you to have sex with me the first time that we had sex, as I was enthusiastically consenting. I don’t cry anymore, unless it’s from joy.

Violet: Yeah, and it’s beautiful. I love that. What else is different? We live in a home that we bought together.

Taylor: We do, so we don’t have to be quiet anymore.

Violet: That’s true.

Taylor: We used a lot of different toys in the beginning, and I think that was because I personally had a lot of toys that I wanted to share with you to be like, “Is this cool?” You had one purple that would—

Violet: It was pink.

Taylor: Oh, and it would die halfway every time.

Violet: She was a trooper.

Taylor: It really depends on your definition of sex too, and in queer spaces we’re always redefining what sex means. The first time that we were intimate with each other was over the phone, because our relationship was long distance for ten days, which was excruciating.

Violet: Well we met each other prior to that—

Taylor: Yeah, we had a first date, and then I immediately got on a plane and went to my parents’ across the country for ten days.

Violet: Yeah.

Taylor: That meant we were already hooked and we were FaceTiming for three hours every day, but we were having FaceTime sex before we had “real” in-person sex, I should say. Do you wanna talk about being demisexual? And what that meant for you at the beginning of our relationship?

Violet: I just need to have to have feelings for a person before I want to have sex with them.

Taylor: I was away for a second so we were able get to know each other. Such a lesbian timeline! Ten days! But it’s Autostraddle, so everyone understands.

If you live together, how long into the relationship did you make this decision, and how has living together impacted your sex life?

Taylor: Immediately, essentially.

Violet: No! Babe, come on.

Taylor: Well, we were spending more time in sleepovers than apart pretty immediately.

Violet: We didn’t live together until we moved into [redacted] together.

Taylor: No, I was full-time living at your apartment in February when we got together in November. I remember making that decision, like, “I don’t want to pack a bag anymore.”

Violet: Then I moved into your place that you lived in. Officially. In June.

Taylor: That’s just like apartment leases.

Violet: Man….

Taylor: We functionally lived together.

Violet: Man, what is wrong with lesbians?

Taylor: [goofy voice] What’s the deal?

Violet & Taylor: [goofy voice, altogether] What’s the deal with lesbians?

Taylor: … Okay so we functionally lived together essentially immediately, which meant we got to have more sex. That’s how it affected our sex life.

Violet: Beautiful!

If you are parents or caretakers, how has this impacted your sex life?

Taylor: We have dogs that love to get up in our business.

Violet: Don’t say that! Don’t say “business” like that ever again! Just say, “we have dogs.”

Taylor: Business.

Violet: Some of them like to snuggle in weird places, and some of them like to just be bosses of us, and it’s pretty bad, actually. One of them’s in between us right now.

Taylor: Yeah, post-coital, like coming to you live post-coital.

Violet: It’s true. It’s true.

Taylor: We used to have three dogs. Our eldest passed away a few months ago, but they’ve always been a big part of our life. They all sleep on the bed with us. That’s why we have a Cal king. It’s just kind of like, we don’t kick them out for sex—

Violet: No, but they know where they should be on the ground.

Taylor: Yeah, they know when something’s going down and they need to give us some space.

Violet: They’re classy.

Taylor: Or horrified. One of those, classy or horrified.

Do you have a top-bottom dynamic? Talk about that.

Violet: Oh, we’re a bunch of switches.

Taylor: We both identify as switches. Yeah.

Violet: I love that about us.

Taylor: I do too, and I think it plays with gender as well, where there’s traditional masculine and feminine roles tied to top and bottom, and we so fluidly go back and forth within the same sexual session. You know what I mean? It’s not, “Okay, you’re the top tonight.”

Violet: In one session we can be two totally different people and that’s beautiful, we understand one another, but I love when I’m able to call you Daddy, and then also in the same session— we don’t call it sessions, but whatever.

Taylor: I don’t know what else to call it.

Violet: Same. Anyhow in the same, whatever, I ask if you like to feel my cock in your mouth.

Taylor: Yeah. I think even tonight, you said, “Is this your pussy or your cock,” or something to that effect.

Violet: I think I asked one of those, and then you responded with, “No, it’s this,” and then I switched it up.

Taylor: Yeah.

Violet: It feels so good doing that.

Taylor: It feels really good.

Violet: I love doing that.

Taylor: I feel really comfortable with you, and exploring all the different facets of our identities together.

Violet: I do too!

Do you feel like your sex drives are well-matched?

Violet: I feel like they are.

Taylor: There are times where one of us is tired and the other is not, but that’s showbiz!

Violet: We have fun.

Taylor: I feel like I am easily turned on when you’re feeling it, unless I’m fucking exhausted, but I feel like that’s pretty rare these days.

Violet: Yeah. If you’re exhausted, you’re done. Yeah, you don’t want it.

Taylor: If I have the energy, if you’re initiating, I am pretty immediately responding. I feel like we’re so in sync.

Are there specific things you like to do during sex and things you don’t like to do?

Violet: I like doing everything with you.

Taylor: Yeah. Nothing’s really off limits.

Violet: I love everything about it.

Taylor: Yeah. We’re always trying, willing to try new things if we found — [pauses, gets serious], Like, OKAY, this sounds crazy — [starts laughing]

Violet: What is it?

Taylor: It’s not bloodletting, but bloodlining…?

Violet: Baby, what!!?

Taylor: My friend was telling me.

Violet: Who?

Taylor: My internet friend.

Violet: Okay. Your internet friend.

Taylor: [Redacted], but don’t say [redacted]’s name, but they got a tattoo gun set and they’re practicing…

Violet: Baby, I don’t want to play this game!

Taylor: What game?

Violet: I don’t know. Something about bloodletting?

Taylor: No, it’s not bloodletting! but let me finish. I think it’d be like — you know, the feeling of getting a tattoo?

Long pause.

Violet: Yes, I do.

Laughter.

Taylor: We could have that at home!

Violet: Keep going.

Taylor: It’s okay.

Violet: Bloodletting!

Taylor: You’re using water!

Violet: All right, let’s keep going. Just keep going.

Taylor: Okay next question is—

What are some things you’d like to try or try again?

Violet: Oh, Jesus Christ.

Taylor: You use water rather than ink! It’s like blood and then it just — it heals because it’s just like —cutting your skin?

Pause

Taylor: Okay, you’re telling me no. Are there other things you’d like to try?

Violet: Wait, why do you want to do that?

Taylor: I think it’s just something crazy that might be of interest. You practice on a little pad first! You don’t just go on somebody’s skin.

Violet: Wait, so you’re saying that you’re going to do this on my skin?

Taylor: Well, no. Maybe you do it on mine.

Violet: With a tattoo gun?

Taylor: Yeah. Then it heals within a couple of days. It’s like a hickey.

Violet: I love you.

Taylor: That’s my best description of it. It’s like a hickey. Just consider it.

Violet: Okay. I absolutely will.

Taylor: Are there other things that you would like to try or try again?

Violet: Just always having sex in public-ish areas, not public, but I wouldn’t want people to discover it, but in areas that are considered public.

Taylor: Can you give an example?

Violet: Yeah, like a vehicle at night, or down a hallway that nobody’s going to be going into. I have no idea.

Taylor: Yeah, no, I was thinking about that this morning, actually, of places where you could potentially get caught. I don’t know, that adrenaline rush is of interest to me. We haven’t done straps in a while, strapping me to the bed, but that’s always a good time.

Violet: Oh, you love that.

Taylor: Blindfolded? Count me the fuck in.

How important are orgasms to your sex life?

Taylor: I feel like I can pretty reliably orgasm and squirt if given the right kind of toy. The Satisfier Pro II, actually, we call her MVP in our home.

Violet: Are you trying to endorse this?

Taylor: I may or may not receive commission from this link.

Violet: You don’t receive any commission from that.

Taylor: It’s true. I don’t even know if they sell it anymore, but anyway, I don’t need to orgasm, but it’s like, if I’m bringing a toy to the equation, then it’s going to happen. Whereas for you, it’s very different, I feel.

Violet: Why?

Taylor: Well, you don’t orgasm or try to orgasm as much as I do.

Violet: Maybe, but I think that whenever you’re orgasming, or not even that, but feeling pleasure, I get so turned on, and that does it for me.

Taylor: You don’t feel the need to orgasm because —

Violet: I do most of the time, by the way.

Taylor: You do?

Violet: Yeah.

Taylor: Wow. Without any assistance?

Violet: Well, I’m thrusting usually.

Taylor: I didn’t know that.

Violet: I’m using my fingers too.

Taylor: Did you come tonight?

Violet: No, I didn’t, because we’re in a small bed tonight. Are they going to listen to all of this, babe?

Taylor: Yeah.

Violet: I don’t think they are.

What role does masturbation play in your sex life?

Taylor: When we were away last week and I got back to the hotel room, and you said like—

Violet: Oh my god, I masturbated so much. Yes, and then I got the flu.

Taylor: Okay. That’s not relevant.

Violet: I’ll never do it again, but yeah.

Taylor: No, but that’s very hot to me. Not the flu, but it’s very hot to me that you were alone in the hotel room, getting off while I was at work.

Violet: Yeah, I was getting off. Well, yeah, I was working too, but from the office. Yeah, I definitely… I don’t know. I went on a binge. I need to come every other hour. It was weird.

Taylor: That’s beautiful.

Violet: Thank you.

Taylor: It’s also, there are probably some people who like to come in other… Well, I feel like our go-to rhythm is sex of whatever it is, and then ending with a side-by-side masturbating.

Violet: Yeah.

Taylor: Sometimes we’ll try and plan it to come together by doing a countdown. That’s a fun time.

Violet: Oh, I love that.

Taylor: Yeah, me too.

Tell us about your favorite or most memorable time you’ve had sex together.

Violet: I have it!

Taylor: What if it’s the same?

Violet: I don’t think it’s the same.

Taylor: No?

Violet: I know what mine is.

Taylor: Okay.

Violet: I can write it down if you’d like.

Taylor: We can just say it.

Violet: Trust me.

Taylor: Mine is Santorini, on our honeymoon, when we had a personal hot tub in our…

Violet: Oh, my God.

Taylor: … area.

Violet: Maybe that is the one, actually.

Taylor: Yeah, that’s where I fucked you in the ass for the first time.

Violet: Oh, my God. Yeah.

Taylor: That is a semi-public place to me, but it was completely secluded.

Violet: Yeah, nobody was out there.

Taylor: Because we were outside.

Violet: We were facing the ocean.

Taylor: That was very hot.

Violet: Oh, my god. Yeah. That’s mine as well.

Taylor: What else were you going to say?

Violet: I was just thinking about the strap-on in the tiny house that we’re in, and your back was right up against me and I was just like, “Oh, my God,” but Santorini. Yeah, Santorini was…

Taylor: That’s good too.

Violet: I know, but you were like, “Oh, my God, this feels so good.” I was like, “Ugh. Finally.”

Taylor: I hadn’t found a dildo that fit me.

Violet: Yeah, you didn’t like any of the ones that we had. Then you were like, “This feels amazing.” The way you were just riding it was, I think about it often, but I also think about Santorini, so I don’t know.

Taylor: Well, that’s the last question.

Violet: Yeah.

Taylor: What have you learned from this activity?

Violet: I like having sex with you. I love it, and I want to have more.

Taylor: Me too. For the rest of our lives.

Violet: Yay.

Taylor: That sounds incredible.

Violet: All right, let’s do it.

Taylor: Let’s do it right now. Okay, bye.

Violet: Bye.

Sex/Lifeis a series all about the secret sexy business of couples, throuples, exes who still fuck for some reason, LDR darlings, polyculites, and any other kind of amorous grouping your perfect heart can fathom. We send them nosey questions, they record themselves answering them, and we transcribe that conversation for all of us to enjoy. All names have been changed and any identifying details removed.

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Midwesterners Hazel (32) and Jourdan (29)  live apart and have been fucking for a little over a year. Hazel’s pansexual, practices solo polyamory and is a plant scientist who liked crafting and basketball. Jourdan is also solo poly but currently only dating Hazel. They’re a project manager who likes reading, DnD, and biking.

And this is how they fuck.

What was your sex life like when you first started dating? How is it different from now?

Jourdan: We’ve been together a year. I feel like it’s still pretty similar — it’s still frequent.

Hazel: There was the time crunch stress of the sex in the beginning, but that is no longer applicable.

Jourdan: That’s eased. It’s not like every time that we see each other, but if we have the time and space for it and no other plans that are getting in the way—

Hazel: Still the same amount of time though, really. I mean, what was it today?

Jourdan: Time spent? Good two hour minimum. 2-4 hours.

Hazel: In the beginning we just didn’t have as much time actually together, so it was crunched and stressful.

Jourdan: It was intense, but in a stressful, scarcity way, whereas now it’s intense in a “we’ve got all day” way.

If you do not live together, talk to us about why you’ve made that decision and how it has impacted your sex life.

Jourdan: We don’t live together currently because we haven’t been dating long enough for that to really be the best option.

Hazel: I bike over to your place.

Jourdan: There’s a bit more planning involved, I guess, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I like the intentionality of it. If you live together, it’s a given, and there’s a risk of bed death or the assumption of fucking because you’re around each other more often. This is more intentional — planning it, but not in a scheduled, clinical way.

Do we have a top-bottom dynamic? Talk about that.

Jourdan: Yes. Yes, we do. Yeah.

Hazel: It’s new to us. We both come from top areas.

Jourdan: Top dominant.

Hazel: Both of us were tops before this relationship. Let’s say that.

Jourdan: Both toppy-leaning switches and very comfortable in those roles —but also —well, it wasn’t like i was tired of it. But it’s nice to be with someone who’s also a switch, leaning dominant, so I can explore being submissive.

Hazel: Right, because it doesn’t feel natural to be submissive for someone who you don’t necessarily trust to be a top.

Jourdan: It’s not a role that comes naturally to me, so there’s a lot of trust and vulnerability built into it, but also I need to really believe it. Right? If you’re going to top me, top me. I don’t wanna have to convince myself, I need to be convinced. So being with someone who tops me is refreshing, fun and hot. Currently I’m in the top role more often, which has been fun.

It’s brought up a lot of good conversations around the balance of that dynamic —aftercare, drop, emotional needs over the week following and vulnerabilities that I never anticipated coming up from these things. We come out with a lot of closeness, from how we lean on each other afterwards.

Hazel: Just exploring in general, getting to know myself through the dynamic —it’s great.

Do you feel like your sex drives are well matched?

Hazel: Yes.

Jourdan: Yes! And when they fluctuate, which naturally they do, there’s conversation around it and adjustment. If you’re really feeling it and I’m not, there’s ways to accommodate for that. I can be a more passive participant in some ways. If I don’t want to be touched, but you do, there are multiple ways to make that happen that’s comfortable.

Hazel: Absolutely.

Jourdan: Or if one of us are on our periods, there’s toys, other options. We’ve never ran into a long stretch of one being more into it than the other.

Hazel: I think also living separate, back to that question—

Jourdan: I was thinking that too.

Hazel: I’ll just choose to stay home !

Jourdan: Right, I just won’t see you. There’s usually a heads up ahead of time. If we have plans and if we’ve kind of been talking a certain way throughout the day or the week, and then it’s day of and one of us isn’t feeling it, we say so before we get together.

Are there specific things you like to do during sex? Things you don’t like to do?

Jourdan: Oh, there’s such a range of things that we like to do.

Hazel: Things we don’t like to do?

Jourdan: That’s a shorter list! I don’t like penetration. It’s painful for me and it’s something that I’ve been more recently wanting to explore, but it’s a very slow, very” vulnerable in a scary way” process, but no rushing there. I don’t like anything that’s too hard. My body’s very sensitive, so I don’t receive rough play, but I like to give it.

Hazel: It’s really hard to think of things that I don’t like at all.

Jourdan: We’ve been not like.. tiptoeing into a DS top-bottom, kinkier, rougher dynamic? We haven’t come up against anything that we don’t enjoy because we have the conversations before. If one of us is interested, the other’s usually down to try it.

As for what I like: a nice combination of sensual and inanimate, but also like —rough and more in the aggressive side of things. Just finding that deep connection of being with someone I love deeply and also causing a bit of pain and suffering and etc.

[laughing]

Hazel: Good kisses. Real good.

Jourdan: I like exploring other types of touch. It’s not just fucking, and it’s not just touching areas that are generally erotic. It’s like —how does fingernails down your shoulder feel? Kisses along your stomach or your hips or the back of your thighs? How does that feel?

Jourdan: That’s usually what I focus on. Like — anyone can fuck, right? Typically.

[laughter]

Hazel: I suppose?

Jourdan: Like anyone can do sex at its base — penetrative or touching or mouths or whatever. But it’s the extra stuff that’s more of my focus, I think? That adds to the very basic act.

Hazel: The soft touches, the in-between.

Jourdan: The in-between!

Hazel: It’s good. It’s important stuff. What do I like? I’ve been enjoying rougher play. That’s been really interesting. Spanked for the first time recently. That was good.

Jourdan: That was goooood.

[more laughter]

Hazel: Very sensual touches are great. Sensual turned into firm. I’ve been really liking the talk that you’ve been doing—

Jourdan: Oooo, okay! Good feedback.

Hazel: You’re good at talking.

Jourdan: Good with my words. Good with my hands.

Hazel: Yes.

Jourdan: That’s what I’m learning!

[laughing]

Hazel: Yeah. Yeah, you’re learning.

Jourdan: I had no idea before this!

What are some things you’d like to try or try again?

Hazel: What didn’t we get to on our spirit week?

Jourdan: E-stim! We did not do e-stim, electrical simulation.

Hazel: Just sitting there.

Jourdan: It’s just sitting there collecting dust! It’s been a couple months.

Hazel: We need to use that.

Jourdan: It’s just such a messy process. All the lube!

Hazel: That’s true.

Jourdan: The towels! You need to plan for it. Definitely interested in exploring some light impact, more spanking, combining that with sensual touches and teasing in between, the play of hard and soft, building tension. More bondage.

Hazel: A third.

Jourdan: A third!

Hazel: A fourth?

Jourdan: Or more, yeah. We’re trying! Passively trying, not putting a whole lot of effort into it.

Hazel: Humiliation is an interesting one we’ve touched on.

Jourdan: Touched on —a whisper.

Hazel: Like, that’s interesting?

Jourdan: We’ve had conversations around humiliation.

Hazel: In different ways.

Jourdan: And how to not go into degradation, which is more intense to me. Talked about water sports —still figuring out how serious that one is! That’s degradation play though, so that’s quite a ways! I think just continuing to explore different kinks, different BDSM power play dynamics. More toys. Different toys or straps. Different straps. Different vibrators. Adding to our split custody collection.

How important are orgasms to your sex life?

Jourdan: It’s like a bonus?

Hazel: It’s important to me. We always aim for it, and it’s pretty infrequent that we have sex and one or both of us don’t orgasm.

Jourdan: It’s not critical or doesn’t count if no one comes, but more —the sex is already so good and the orgasms are so good that for me —I just want the orgasm too.

[laughs]

Hazel: Yeah, greedy!

Jourdan: Depending on what the reason is; if I just can’t do it, I’m frustrated with myself and my own body, and dissipating the built-up tension is hard to ease out of, being irritable or extra sensitive. If it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen. I know the trade-off of calling it early is that it’s fine, doable, but a different night. Using different toys have helped if hands and oral aren’t doing it.

Hazel: You’ve got your toy that will pretty much always—

Jourdan: That toy can make anyone cum.

Hazel: Clit or not.

Jourdan: It doesn’t matter.

Hazel: So we can turn to that just to go to sleep.

Jourdan: What about for you? What are your thoughts on this?

Hazel: I cum so easily that if I’m not coming, something’s wrong.

Jourdan: I could look at you and it’s done.

Hazel: I love when you ask me if I can cum again.

Jourdan: I usually tell you you’re going to.

Hazel: Yes.

Jourdan: No, I ask! I ask. Even if I’m telling you, it’s still an ask. I think if it’s not working, we’re good at adjusting.

Hazel: We try our best not to take it personally.

Jourdan: With queer people —we just have toys. If you have two people with vaginas, there’s more than likely toys, but there’s heteronormative shame around “my partner can’t make me finish,” and it’s feels not good to ask to use a toy, like it’s saying “i’m not capable of doing this.” Which technically, yeah, that’s exactly what it is — but there’s this guilt or negativity around it. We’re trying to remove that stigma, but it’s tricky. That’s what I’m working to get over.

Hazel: I mean you look fantastic cumming.

Jourdan: I want to cum and go to sleep.

Hazel: Yeah. So I mean, my hands, I’m free to look around.

Jourdan: I can touch other things.

Hazel: There’s more new ways to enjoy that moment.

Jourdan: It’s led us to explore other ways that we can use toys— us both touching ourselves. It opens up the door for other play.

What role does masturbation play in your sex life individually?

Hazel: You were just talking about this, how you opened your voice memos and there’s all these ones we sent each other. But we don’t do that as much anymore, masturbating and sending each other—

Jourdan: Evidence of.

Hazel: Yeah.

Jourdan: I think I’m still touching myself the same amount. I’m just not sending you anything. It’s like 10 minutes midday between this thing and another thing, or 11:30 and I’m desperate for sleep. And i tell you about it.

Hazel: Yeah. There’s telling me though.

Jourdan: There is, yeah.

Hazel: It plays that role.

Jourdan: It’s a fun flirty thing. We play with the power dynamic of you telling me if I’m allowed to touch myself or not. But if I feel like it, I will. Sometimes I like to make myself wait until I get to be with you instead.

Hazel: I think I don’t necessarily tell you. I should do it sometimes.

Jourdan: You’ve told me after the fact.

Hazel: Yeah, but like —weeks later.

Jourdan: It’s like a delightful surprise. You’re like, “oh, yeah, I touched myself twice two nights ago,” and I’m like, “you what? Why didn’t you call me?”

Hazel: I like to do it in weird places, and I just forget.

Jourdan: No, no. I love it. I love it. It’s so fun to hear about it later.

Hazel: I think we started taking more videos and different things like that, and that’s been great for masturbating.

Jourdan: More videos, more photos separately and together. The voice memos were older — you’d be on the way to work, in the car. Now we’re more comfortable to send photos or videos, or make them together.

Wait, tell us about your favorite most memorable time you’ve had sex together.

Jourdan: Oh fuck, there’s so many! I have a lot of memories of my old apartment with the sun coming through those orange curtains. This was early days, summer, hot—

Hazel: Very hot. Sweaty, yes.

Jourdan: Sweaty, but honestly just feeling evenly matched in the bedroom for the first time and just being able to explore in a way that didn’t feel performative. It didn’t feel like I had to make up for somebody else’s kind of—

Hazel: Encourage them.

Jourdan: No shade to pillow princesses— it’s just not the dynamic that I prefer, so I wasn’t trying to make up for someone else’s kind of lack of involvement, but just to feel synced up and explore with a new person, but also feeling like it finally fit.

Hazel: I don’t know that I could point to a particular one, but there’s a feeling. We’ve had it I’m sure multiple times where it’s just dizzying and the room is foggy. Right?

Jourdan: Yes, yes.

Hazel: It’s fantastic— just in the ether floating.

Jourdan: Similar to the summer memories it feels like this hazy, golden-hour twilight, an in-between liminal space. Everything’s soft around the edges. Nothing matters besides just what we’re doing and being together. Also, Traverse City.

Hazel: Oh, Traverse City!

Jourdan: Fantastic sex. That was fantastic. It was good conversations—

Hazel: Out of town sex.

Jourdan: Lots of foreplay-type conversations, talking about different kinks and fantasies, having good sex in someone else’s Air BnB bed.

Hazel: I feel like we should mention what spirit week is.

Jourdan: Spirit week came about because we had a lot of things that we wanted to try that would require some planning ahead. We needed a block of time and certain toys and one space or another. One of us — probably me —said “we’ll just have one theme per day, like a spirit week.” Then we did exactly that. We blocked out a week on our calendars, timed it after both our periods were done, and had a different theme every day.

Hazel: Different little kinks.

Jourdan: It was hectic in the best way. Some of them we skipped, ‘cause we were like “I actually don’t have the energy for this today.” Monday was Managed Monday? which is like a very aggressive, managed—

Hazel: Managed Monday. That’s right.

Jourdan: Tuesday was?

Hazel: Tied Tuesday?

Jourdan: Then we shifted it. Tender Tuesday? We only had an hour, hour and a half together, and Monday was so intense that I just needed calm touches and softness. Wicked Wednesday? I think we skipped that one though. I don’t think we fucked that day. So sometimes we skipped them or paused until later. It was just a silly stupid week that made it exciting —nice having something to look forward to, the intentionality around it and exploring things we wanted to do but didn’t have the time or energy or the right toys.

Hazel: The intention really built the excitement.

Jourdan: It’s so fun. Highly recommend it. We need to do an annual spirit week or something.

Hazel: New kinks each time.

Jourdan: Honestly!