PQ 8.9 — Do I believe that other people are willing to do sexual things that I’m not willing to do, and therefore my partner will like having sex with them better?

a [photograph of a height chart, topped with a mustachioed bunny
Image by Emily May / CC BY

PQ 8.9 — Do I believe that other people are willing to do sexual things that I’m not willing to do, and therefore my partner will like having sex with them better?

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Not willing?

No, nothing like that.

I know this may be different for a lot of people. But I come at this question as a hype (i.e., hypersexual) kinkster with a nearly bottomless pit of morbid curiosity.

If I’m really into someone and trust them, and everything syncs up well with my other partners and STI/safety/legal assessments, and my values? I’m pretty open-minded and game. Now, there are things that I’m not willing to do. Nearly everyone has limits (it’s just a question of what they are).

But I’m in a different boat than, say, an ace, graysexual, demi, and/or vanilla person. My “willing” is a pretty broad field — again, given mutual compatibility and logistics syncing up.

Things I’m Not Able to Do (Not Things I’m Not Willing to Do)

But able? That’s a different matter.

I peeked ahead at the next few questions to make sure that this isn’t addressed by the next few installments of the PQ Series, and it doesn’t look like it is.

Willing hasn’t been much of a personal problem. But unable to do certain sexual things?

Sure, I’ve wrestled with that. On both sides of it.

I’ve had partners who struggled with that re: me. The biggest brain weasels anxiety from partners I’ve had has come from the fact that I’m bisexual.

And from men and women both, mind you (note: I haven’t dated a nonbinary person to date or someone actively transitioning, although I’m open to it, and a few partners I’ve had did in fact undergo gender reassignment several years after we broke up).

Men worried that I’d leave them for women. Women worried I’d leave them for men (“because you’ll miss dick”).  And I got it. It actually happened to me.

And while there are toys that are stand-ins for genitalia, when you got down to it, yeah, there were some things that a person couldn’t do. At least not in the same way. And that bred a lot of insecurity. I did my best to reassure partners, but a few never felt at ease with my bisexuality, even though I was staunchly monogamous and did my best to be sensitive to their anxieties. It still caused problems.

But on the other side of it? The biggest beast for me re: unable to perform sexually?

Height.

The Mental Height Chart

I noticed as a young woman that depending on the relative heights of me and another sex partner that certain acts could be easily accomplished. And others? Not so much. When I was newly polyamorous, my brain weasel went into overdrive doing height calculations. Divining who was a “better” match than me for my partners (who were typically a bit taller relative to me than they should have been for max Sextris, according to what I could reason out from experience). And feeling significantly threatened or “less than” by them.

I have shared this insecurity only a few times. And it was profoundly painful each time.

Every time, the listener (one of my partners) would laugh and say something like “that’s what they make sex furniture for,” or “sweetheart, you wear heels all the time, why is this even a problem?”

But you know? I never really got it until I sat down to write this essay. And I realized that it wasn’t so different than what partners probably felt it the past. When they felt insecure regarding my bisexuality.

I was so bemused then by it.

And suddenly? Carrying a mental height chart around in my head, framed by fear?

It seems rather ill advised.

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This post is part of a series in which I answer each of the chapter-end questions in More than Two with an essay. For the entire list of questions & answers, please see this indexed list.

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