I am not submissive

What I think about when I touch myself

My BDSM test results, taken in the luteal phase

Last autumn I wrote a guide on how to have sex with me. I was hesitant to write it. Reflecting on desire feels vulnerable. Writing it down is worse. Sharing what I like —what I really like feels like handing someone a syringe with 100 units of insulin. In the right hands, it can be helpful, even essential. In the wrong hands, dangerous to deadly. It’s easy to imagine all the ways it could go wrong. (But also, for someone with my level of anxiety, it’s easy to imagine all the ways that making toast could go wrong).

On a lighter note, I worried that the sex doc might deprive me of the rare beauty of having sex with someone new who inexplicably seems to know exactly what I want. Unfortunately, zero-communication sex has mostly led me to uninspiring thrusting and occasionally getting choked by drunk men in dark corners rather than mind-blowing sex. Men are wonderful, but they are mostly not mind readers (my husband can kind of read my mind now, but it took years). The path that led me from bad sex with questionable strangers to a happy marriage and thriving sex life included a lot of explicit sexual communication.

The real limitation of the sex doc is that it captures desires, preferences, and limitations at a specific moment in time and for a specific audience. I wrote it largely with orgy attendees in mind. I cannot perfectly predict my response to a new fantasy, activity, or vibe from imagining it in a vacuum or with a stranger. Whether something is hot or disgusting emerges from the specifics of the connection I have with the person (or people) involved, my body, and the environment. I think it is a helpful tool, but it feels dishonest to portray it as the defining text of my sexuality. With more trusted partners, there are acts, words, and dynamics that I enjoy that go well beyond what is covered in the sex doc — especially while I’m ovulating.

My BDSM archetype according to Aella (taking while ovulating)

My partners and I have used a variety of approaches to explore sexual fantasies and approaches:

• Taking a structured questionnaire like Mojo Upgrade, the BDSM test or Aella’s Big Kink Survey or BDSM archetype test

  • The BDSM test is popular on social media but has always felt slightly cringe to me. I think this is partially an aesthetic reaction and that I associate it with men who write very forward FetLife messages

• Looking at porn together

  • I prefer to scroll through the best of all time posts on a few different subreddits versus actually watching a whole video — I just want to get a whiff of inspiration and then have sex

• One boyfriend sent me a Google Form that asked questions about my preferences for very specific terms, phrases, and scenarios, like being called a bitch versus being called a whore

• Sharing erotica

• Talking about experiences with other partners, e.g., “I slept with this girl and she said XYZ which I thought was hot. How do you feel about that phrase?”

• Trying new stuff during sex and seeing how it goes!

Most of my sex life involves the same three men on repeat. I have a well-defined sexual dynamic with each of them. While we continue to explore, we’re mostly past the structured approaches I mentioned above. So why am I thinking about fantasy?

My BDSM archetype percentiles according to Aella (taking while ovulating)

Last month I ovulated in a particularly vicious haze of lust. I took advantage of my sex-addled mind to think through some fantasy scenarios. These stories or scenarios aren’t all brand new, but the specifics feel right for me at this period in my life.

I want to share these with you: