I’m Bringing Sexy Back.

From the Writer’s Desk #6

Upon a very serious rewatch of “Friends”, I stumbled across an episode where Chandler Bing’s mom absolutely steals the show. Many people don’t give her credit for it because they have ‘second-hand embarrassment’, but Nora Bing is a fucking genius.

She’s a genius not only for coming up with 300 different ways of saying penis, but for being so open about her writing genre: Sex.

And it being seen as a laughing matter and a cause of embarrassment on the show actually reflects what some of us feel about women writers that talk about sex and sexuality to this day.

We’ve seen “Bring back the vulnerable male” and “In defense of the yearning sexy male” and what about us? What about us still being shamed for writing about our *real* experiences and about our *real* bodies?

The woman in contemporary (mainly heterosexual) romance stories is written to be strong and nonchalant, she needs to only ‘act’ as if she puts her own desires first, to only succumb to whatever the male protagonist’s plans are in the ending. So why are you still expecting the writer to have a regard for that woman’s sexual desires?

And most importantly, why am I still expecting women writers to be more open about their (or their characters’s) sexualities when we aren’t given the space to do so?

We’re still giving attention to books and stories about women’s desires and their sexualities in a male centered narrative. That’s why.

In the male centered narrative, sex is performative. An act in which he has to completely dominate the scene, as an ode to his own masculinity, as if he’s almost trying to have sex with himself because he thinks he’s “oh so hot” and desirable. In his narrative, women aren’t allowed to be vocal about themselves or their sexuality. In the end, it’s all about him.

Even if she’s ‘cool’, even if she has feminist pins on her jacket, even if she’s part of the LGBTQIA+ community, even if she’s not, she’ll still have to bend over to whatever the male writer thinks her narrative should be. We’re given these modern characteristics , a sense of choice about our sexuality and a modern ‘look’ to cover up the fact that we’re still being misrepresented. Our wants and needs are still not regarded. It’s as performative as the act of having sex itself. Being a female writer trying to talk about sex feels like watching “500 days of Summer” on a fucking loop. We need to be that girl, the modern girl, but on the fucking minute we stop serving the manic pixie dream girl fantasy, we’re over.

As a woman writer and freelancer, I was totally caught in the trap of the cautionary tale that short stories regarding sex and sexuality written by women are immediately cut off and don’t sell. Short story and poem? No way. An entire book? Ha, prepare to get banned across a multitude of states ( that one is actually true, unfortunately). There are so many concerns about how writing openly about sex could impact our careers, including potential challenges in finding publishers or readers, which makes me think we’re actually regressing as a society, despite being ‘as modern as ever’.

That’s why writing about sex feels so terrifying. That’s why the ‘contemporary’ woman seems so inhibited and unresponsive when it comes to it. When women are immediately put on the ‘Smut’ literature shelves by doing it ( Not everything is smut literature) and getting backlash for adding ‘unnecessary’ sex scenes (It’s only unnecessary when written by a woman’s perspective) , writing about our own visions of sex and our sexuality feels like a new thing, when it shouldn’t be. Female writers who write about sexuality are being stereotyped constantly, and are often dismissed as focusing on sensationalism content rather than serious literature.

Hearing women’s own perspective of sex and sexuality in literature is something long overdue and I’m more than happy to say that I’ve found some amazing female writers on Substack that make me feel so proud and represented. Not everything is lost. They’re bringing sexy back.

And they’re doing it our way.

PART ONE: THE TWO SARAHS

Sarah Ward

is a legend. She calls herself a *Certified* Somatic Sex Coach and Stylist, or, your sexy fairy godmother. (She really is.)

In her newsletter, ‘Sex and Style’, she sets herself on a path: She wants you to reclaim your wild body and erotic nature and understand women's sexual health. And she does it in the most engaging way ever, making us excited to follow this path with her.

“Here’s the thing. I suffered for decades thinking I was the only one. No one I knew was talking about these kinds of things. So I’m providing the very content that I didn’t know I needed all those years ago. May this be medicine for you too.”

Sarah Trudeau

is a human, woman, mother, wife and simply one of the best writers on this platform.

Her newsletter, ‘The Sensually Embodied Woman’, talks about the eros, spirituality and sexuality. Her voice is so unique and refreshing, and she reminds us that it’s never too late to free ourselves from the societal pressures and conventions.

“Let yourself feel. Allow your sex to be for you. It is an expression of your soul through your body.”

Of course I had to chat with both Sarahs to hear their thoughts on this, and of course I had to ask them a really important question:

" What do you think is stopping women from being more open to write about sex?"

WARD: “I can count on one hand how many times I talked to my girlfriends about sex when I was a Mormon woman. When I was preparing for my wedding night, I had a handful of girlfriends share their stories about their first time.

What about in your life? When you’re with your girlfriends, how often do you talk about sex openly? Do you speak about sex in hushed tones? Or is it as natural as any other topic?

Fast forward to present time, where most days, sex is a daily topic of conversation. (It’s not just my line of work as a Sex Coach and Educator — it’s my favorite topic. My girlfriends can attest.)

Here’s the rub: If we aren’t talking about sex openly, we certainly aren’t writing about it.

There’s a sea change underway. I know women who write erotica about their kinky lived experiences. Others who create audio erotica about their deep-held fantasies. There are more women still who have devoted their careers to the research and education of women’s sexuality.

Research has shown that women are have the capacity to be turned on by more erotic stimuli than men. Women have long since been type-cast as the gentler, demurring sex. I don’t believe this to be true. Women are erotic and thirsty for transcendent sex.

I love hearing and reading about women’s experiences with sex. Women’s bodies and desire are nuanced and sophisticated, and none of us got an owner’s manual at birth. Many of us are unfamiliar with our anatomy and what is possible.

Reading what other women write about sex is the kind of thing that will wake you up. That will inspire you to explore your erotic potential.

When sex is shrouded in secrecy, it does a disservice for people, especially those who aren’t enjoying it. It could lead them to believe that this is all there is. This is how we learn to have bed sex: by not talking about what we’re experiencing.

In the church I grew up in, we read holy texts that were always written by men. Women’s voices made up less than 1%.

Just like scripture is a written record, the words we write become our own sacred text. What could be more sacred — or potentially profane — than writing about sex.”

TRUDEAU: “So many things.

If we’re speaking specifically about female writers, this is what comes to mind:

Not every woman has a conscious, positive relationship to her sexuality. Many women are disembodied due to trauma, religious conditioning, body shame, and other factors. This can make it difficult for her to acknowledge her sexuality, much less talk or write about it.

The culture at large does not celebrate sovereign sexual power when it resides in a woman. A woman who owns and celebrates her sexuality (particularly when it is independent of a man) is often demonized or ridiculed. Culture doesn’t know what to do with her. She is an anomaly.

Women take a big risk when they express their sexuality through any means, including writing. Doing so changes people’s perceptions of you. It challenges readers. It makes people uncomfortable. So a woman has to have a certain level of clarity and embodiment before she can express herself this way. Public reaction (and often judgment) is real.

Porn depicts sex as a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am event. A man with a huge cock walks in the door, and the woman throws down whatever she’s doing and spreads her legs. Her yips and poorly-acted moans are supposed to convince us that she has come within two minutes of being pounded.

I don’t watch porn anymore, but when I did, I often saw women who weren’t even wet. OUCH! This type of acting is so destructive if we are using it as a manual for how we should be having sex.

If women believe that this disconnected, performative act is the truth of how two humans relate erotically, she may feel like something is wrong with her because she does not come in an instant. Shame inhibits expression of all kinds, including writing.

In fact, alongside ignorance and disembodiment, I think shame is the biggest player in our unwillingness to talk about (or write about) sex.

If women believe that this disconnected, performative act is the truth of how two humans relate erotically, she may feel like something is wrong with her because she does not come in an instant. Shame inhibits expression of all kinds, including writing.

In fact, alongside ignorance and disembodiment, I think shame is the biggest player in our unwillingness to talk about (or write about) sex.

Shame because our bodies are too big, too small, too old, not attractive enough.

Shame due to sexual trauma.

Shame that stems from a belief that it is sinful or wrong to enjoy our bodies.

Many women don’t even know how to enjoy their bodies! Plenty of women have never touched their bodies for pleasure. They don’t know where to begin. These women are certainly not going to talk about or write about sex- they have no authentic experience of it except perhaps having it done to them.

And finally, I think erotic energy is terrifying to many women. It has the power to reorder our lives. It requires deep honesty and trust if we are to liberate it. Humans sense the inherent power of our sexuality, but are not ready to hold it responsibly. It is easier to pretend it doesn’t exist. A woman in denial of her sexual power isn’t going to talk about it or write about it. How could she? She has a lid tightly on it.”

PART TWO: SEXUALITY AND QUEER REPRESENTATION

Seeing women write openly (and beautifully) about their sexuality makes me so happy.

Mostly because I understand how important it is.

Not only writing about sexuality is a powerful tool to use for building your own self-expression, it allows us, as women, to connect with each other by sharing our personal experiences, desires and identities.

I’m always overjoyed to see female writers all over Substack dismantling taboos and misconceptions surrounding female sexuality because, as I’ve said, it’s long overdue and it is as important as ever.

We’re reclaiming our control over our own narratives, creating a safe space for ourselves, our bodies and our experiences, and also creating a safe learning space for everyone around us. Writers like the ones I’m about to introduce to you right now, are contributing to a more inclusive and empathetic future, one where we are respected, valued and validated. One where our experiences and needs are understood.

cait (soppy girl)

is the proud owner of the “Soppy Girl Club”. As she navigates what being gay/queer means to her, she welcomes us to her journey by providing us with beautiful writing. Although Cait is a romantic, always seeing the emotional side of things, she never ceases to amaze me with her capacity to bring awareness to important matters by sharing her own experiences. Perspectives like hers are the ones we absolutely need right now.

Saying Yes to Heaven

I needed Cait’s voice on this piece. So I asked her:

“What role do you believe your literary work about your experience as a queer woman plays in shaping a new understanding of sexuality for you?”

CAIT: “I’ve been writing diaries since i was a kid. My favourite was a hot pink book with plastic jewels embedded in the cover that I kept for most of my young life. I must have been eleven or twelve when I let my best friend flip through it, forgetting i had scrawled ‘i think i like girls!’ in the corner of a page. I was outed by my own diary. I denied the accusations. I laughed it off. I guess writing has always been central to my coming out journey.

Fast forward some years, at twenty-three, a locked page in my notes app was my new form of release. No chance of an accidental outing from a password protected place! I was still in the closet and had met a man at eighteen whom I stayed with for five years. I believed my deep, yearning desire for validation from men (forced upon me by a world designed for the male gaze) was love, and it took me a long time to realise that my attraction to women wasn’t just going to vanish into the air. I wrote furiously in my notes on the bus, in quiet moments behind the bar at work, in club bathrooms, at parties, sat next to him on the sofa. Trying desperately to understand why I was so unhappy, why I felt so deeply, fundamentally wrong.

Eventually, those notes became conversations. And those conversations became arguments. And those arguments became a break-up. 

“All of a sudden I’m at the tube station waiting for the next ride to crash on a friend’s sofa. I have to change my emergency contact now. I am scared and I am free” - Sept ‘22 (notes app entry from the day after my break-up)

“What a strange feeling - to discover that maybe you’ve spent your whole life trying to be one thing, only to find that you might be another. I feel like I’ve wasted time. I feel like I’m mourning my whole romantic and sexual life so far, and it’s so lonely.” - Dec ‘22

When I met my girlfriend (now my fiancé) last year, I bought myself a new diary. Spiral bound with red checkers. I bought a matching blue one for her and filled it with pictures and writings and mementos from every date we went on. No more hiding what I write. No more shameful scribbles in the corner of a page. 

Too broke for therapy, writing has played a grand role in recovering from years of denying myself love. In rediscovering my sexual and romantic identity. In the winter, when the evenings are longer, I set aside time to shadow work, to pull the regret and sadness from my brain and stick them to a page. It heals me, to see them there, outside my mind. To know that those swirling thoughts are just words, and can’t do me any harm.

And even though I still wish with all my soul that the teenage girl scribbling “I think I like girls!” in her pink notebook was the height of my coming out struggle, I’m forever grateful to the words that have kept me company throughout the years, and finally allowed me to speak my truth.”

 

PART 3: (MORE THAN) SPECIAL MENTIONS!

       

Amber J. Phillips

is a storyteller.

        She asks you to think of her body of work as Black Femme Lesbian Folklore through the gaze of a Midwestern raised churchy lover girl with an atitude problem. Her writing style is so unique and she has such a distinct voice. It’s honestly such an honor to me to write a piece that includes Amber because I’ve honestly been a fan of hers for so long. Check her newsletter, ‘Toxic Femininity’ and be in awe of her writing as well.

Black Capitali$t C00chie

Magdalene J. Taylor

is one of my favorite writers to ever grace this platform with her writing.

Her newsletter, ‘Many Such Cases’ is a dissection of sexuality and culture in the absence of much of either. She was the main inspiration for me to write this piece and I’m so grateful for her and everything that she does. She’s my definition of a super woman.

Thank you, Magdalene.

*If you haven’t already heard about it, i have a book club. You can check it out now. We’re talking about Joan Didion’s ‘The White Album’. It’s super cool.

Joan Didion’s “The White Album” for dummies