Who this is for

This article is intended for anyone who wants to be bolder about flirting and hooking up with people but isn't clear on the line between confidently approaching people and being creepy or pushy.

Since #MeToo, people have been sharing their experiences with sexual harassment and assault with unprecedented honesty. In the wake of numerous powerful men being called out for their behavior, many men reacted by proclaiming, “None of us will be able to flirt anymore!”

Heads up: This article talks about sexual assault.

“Your no makes way for your yes. Boundaries create the container within which your yes is authentic. Being able to say no makes your yes a choice.” 
- adrienne maree brown

The word no was not a part of my sexual vocabulary for years. After traumatic experiences during which my no was not respected or I was not given the opportunity to say no before my boundaries were crossed, I didn’t see the point in saying no. Why try to voice a no when it seemed like partners weren’t listening to or caring about my preferences anyways? Always saying yes seemed easier than facing the reality that my nos had not been valued before and could be stifled again.

Recently, ​I was asked some questions about Pleasure Pie and the Sex Letters Project. Here are my answers! - Nicole

​I own very few sex toys.

Historically, I've found sex toys somewhat intimidating. I bought my first sex toy in my late teens ​— a large, cheap purple jelly vibrator from Spencer's Gifts at the mall (the only place I knew to find sex toys). I didn't really enjoy using it. The vibrations made my genitals go numb after a few minutes, and it was too big and rigid to feel good inside my vagina.

​A little under a year ago, I started dating a guy (I’ll call him my “partner”) who was especially adamant about me enthusiastically consenting to every sexual thing we did.

It wasn’t that he was asking for verbal consent more often than my other partners. It was that he pretty much begged me to never do anything sexual with him that I didn’t fully want to be doing.

Look, I’m not trying to romanticize this crap. Pain sucks. Sometimes, when it feels like I’ve been jinxed with the ability to pee sulfuric acid, or my clitoris is in no-chill, angry-like-the-Bride-in-Kill-Bill mode, I curse whatever vengeful deity is messing with my genitals.

But as much as I’d love to completely indulge in hyper-cynicism, I have to admit that dealing with pelvic pain has, in some ways, made my life better. And yes, that includes my sex life.
​
I know. Bear with me.

By anonymous Pleasure Pie contributor

[Content warning]

I regularly see people proclaim that rape is not sex, and should not be called sex. As someone who has experienced rape, this feels unnecessarily limiting.

By anonymous Pleasure Pie contributor

[Content Warning]

I’ve always been a very polyamorous person, long before I knew the word for it. I feel like I tend to be very open-hearted, and very trusting. When I was in high school, I participated in a group trust fall exercise, and was about a thousand times better at trust falling than anyone else in the group, to the point that I sometimes fell before my partner was even ready to catch me (they did catch me though).

By anonymous Pleasure Pie contributor

I recently had sex with a new person, and it was really physically painful. I tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt that much, and we kept having sex until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

By anonymous Pleasure Pie contributor

​[Content warning]

I had a dream last night that I was raped by a neighbor when I visited his house. In the dream I was fifteen years old and he was in his late 30s or early 40s.

We’re making a zine about masturbation! Why?