How to Do It is Slate’s sex advice column. Have a question? Send it to Stoya and Rich here. It’s anonymous!
Dear How to Do It,
It turns out my friend with benefits is married. Am I morally obligated to end it?
We met on a dating app, and he said he wanted something casual. I said that was fine with me as long as he understood I’d continue dating and end it if I found someone else I was really interested in.
We have sex about once a week, we message casually (on the app), and I tell him about my dates. Besides that, it’s not very personal. I first got suspicious when he wouldn’t meet me at his place. Some intense Googling produced his wife’s Facebook page, and I discovered that they have two kids.
I’m torn. The sex is really good, I’m not cheating on anyone, and I feel as if I have done nothing wrong up to this point. Honestly, it’s his life he’s messing with, not mine. Still, I don’t want to destroy someone’s family. Now that I know that they exist, is it wrong of me to continue seeing him?
—Accidental Mistress
Dear Accidental Mistress,
Do you have any information to suggest that this guy is, in fact, cheating and not in an open arrangement? Or are you just assuming? If you don’t know for sure, a clarifying conversation is in order. If your suspicions turn out to be correct, you have to ask yourself if you want to be an accessory to cheating. Many people, guided by similar logic (“It’s not my life that’s affected, and my intentions were good”), reason that they simply don’t care about the other person’s situation and in fact do want to be that accessory.
Morality is like Monopoly house rules—it changes depending on where you live. The prosocial thing to do, though, upon learning that your partner is being unfaithful to his spouse, is to refrain from taking part in a situation that could cause someone harm. We’re all connected, and your behavior can, however indirectly and self-absorbed in nature, contribute to someone’s pain.
You mentioned it’s not very personal to begin with. Why not just find a guy who is free—either single or in an open arrangement? There are plenty of them out there, and trust me, they’re plenty horny.
Dear How to Do It,
I’ve recently started going to a sex club every weekend to get railed by an average of six to 10 men. I have protected PIV but not protected oral sex. Is this something I have to disclose as part of the discussion around safe sex with new partners?
—Better by the Dozen
Dear Better by the Dozen,
Reasonable expectations here depend on context. If you’re meeting other sex-club regulars or otherwise are aware that your partner has a similarly active sex life, you can just assume that slut’s the word and everyone’s on board—no sex-club disclosure needed. (I mean slut as kindly as possible.) It’s generally safer to infer that what goes on between you and a stranger is going on between that stranger and other strangers—that’s how I approach app culture, at least. It’s a communal pot, not a personal pan pizza.
But if you find yourself with someone whose sexual practices are a bit more ambiguous or less active than yours, and they seem as if they have the potential to be more than just a hookup, you probably will want to at least gently mention your predilection for sex clubs and mode of condom use, especially if you plan on continuing your patronage. This is a question of lifestyle, and a conversation upfront would be as much for you as it would be for your potential partner. You don’t want someone putting the kibosh on your fun, right?
I typically don’t think just anybody is entitled to your bio or sexual history—that’s your life, and you can share it how you see fit. This is especially so when certain benign details could be used against you. You don’t have to offer yourself up for stigmatization.
Of course, you could always, upon meeting a new partner, wait a few weeks, get tested, get treated if necessary, and, once you’re in the clear, you can confidently have sex however you want with them. A cleanse, if you will, and are so concerned. Then you’d be even less compelled to disclose your sexual history.
Help us keep giving the advice you crave every week. Sign up for Slate Plus now.
Dear How to Do It,
I am a 27-year-old cis woman who’s historically been heterosexual, but I’ve been hooking up with a trans woman (25) for around a month now. I have very much been enjoying my time with her. She wants to move into penetrative sex, and has signaled she’s open to both giving and receiving. This a big deal for me, so I want to make sure I go into it sensitively.
My concern is that I’m attracted to the parts of her that are biologically more “masculine,” mainly the equipment “down there.” PIV would make this fact front and center. I’m not sure if I would be as attracted to her if she were a cis woman with a cis woman’s anatomy, and that thought bothers me and makes me wonder if I’m fully respecting her gender identity. (By the way, she has no intention of undergoing gender-affirming surgery and seems to embrace her body as it is.)
I don’t want to fetishize her or undermine her gender identity by being overly into the anatomically masculine aspects of her. This is my first foray into queer sex, and I want to make sure I’m not doing her any harm.
I’m a racial minority and have been fetishized for it, and often discovered it only in the heat of sex, when a partner says something alarming that they probably keep to themselves when not high on endorphins. It’s very hurtful and confusing, especially when it comes out at a time of utmost vulnerability, when your partner is literally inside of you or you’re inside them. I don’t want that to happen to her—and I certainly don’t want to fetishize her in the first place! I’m just concerned that my attraction to her biological endowments might unintentionally hurt her if I mutter something dumb in the heat of the moment.
Am I overthinking this? If not, how do I have a sensitive discussion with her about avoiding triggering any sort of dysphoria? Or is that a burden she shouldn’t be responsible for teaching me? I don’t want to end our sexual relationship over this uncertainty, but I’m fully aware that you can carry a lot of trauma from one bad encounter, and I don’t want to be that encounter.
—Aspiring Affirming Partner
Dear Aspiring Affirming Partner,
Your heart is in the right place, and so is your head. Your fear of being inconsiderate bespeaks consideration, so keep at it. You aren’t overthinking this, but you are making a few assumptions that could use clarification.
First, this woman may not experience dysphoria (not all trans people do), and she may have no issue with you appreciating her body as is. (As you point out, she seems to have embraced it herself.) Everyone has their sensitivities, and it’s good to be mindful of that, but generally speaking, it’s totally ethical to enjoy aspects of your partner’s anatomical makeup as long as you respect the person it’s attached to. That is, treat your partner like a person, not a life-support system for a penis. (You can ignore that advice, of course, if she asks you to do so as part of your play.)
It’s true that in the event of dysphoria, these matters could be sensitive and should be handled with care. But you’re not going to wrap your head around that without a conversation. Even someone with trauma—even someone with dysphoria—needs to be able to have said conversation in order to be a responsible sex partner. Simply put: If you can’t talk about sex, you shouldn’t be having it.
So, gently ask her if there’s anything she’d like you to know about penetrative sex—what terms to use to refer to her genitalia, and if anything in particular will trigger dysphoria. Trust her to tell you the full story, and have faith in yourself to honor her sensitivities. Yeah, people let go during sex. Entering that flow state is, for many of us, ideal, but you can do that while remaining somewhat conscious of lines that we don’t cross. (You can be in that flow state, for example, while also remaining vigilant about consent.) Understanding her frame of mind should be all you need to remain on the right side of the situation.
Dear How to Do It,
My husband suggested that we open up our relationship a year ago, and we did. I didn’t push back. Our sex life hadn’t been the best. We had talked about that, and it had improved, but it has never been as good as it has been with other partners (who, full disclosure, tended to be more well endowed). And he seemed on board, so why not?
Recently, my husband broke down and confessed that he hated the idea when he suggested it. He was worried that one day I’d prefer to be with someone who could give me more pleasure. So, he thought that if we opened things up, the odds would go down of losing me entirely. It didn’t feel great to hear that he “loves me so much” that he’d sacrifice his own needs for me.
I’m not sure what comes next now. I never planned on leaving him, even though he is right that I did crave better sex. He is the love of my life. At the same time, having had better sex for the past year, I’m struggling with the idea of giving that up. Apparently he hasn’t been with others, because being with me has been the best sex of his life.
On the one hand, I feel angry that he’d pull the rug out on me. But on the other, I get that he was scared and wanted me to be happy and that he didn’t want to lose me. I wish he had told me that back then. I tried to tell him that I don’t want to give up this open relationship and that we can still make it work. After all, he and I do still have sex. Doesn’t that show just how in love I am with him? I still want to have sex with him, even knowing I could have better sex elsewhere, because having sex with someone I love is an intangible that I value more than the strongest orgasm.
—Closing an Opened Door
Dear Closing an Opened Door,
I feel left hanging, in a way. Your husband told you that he hated the idea of being open when he suggested it … but what does he think now? Has he changed his mind in the past year? Is he willing to let things stand after seeing that, while not strictly ideal to him, non-monogamy has not destroyed your marriage?
In other words, was his comment just a comment or a bid at a referendum? If it’s unclear, assume the former. Let him be conflicted—this stuff isn’t easy, and despite misgivings about certain aspects of our open relationships, we may nonetheless consent to them because we understand that no way is strictly perfect. That is, he could conceivably hate the idea of being monogamous with you even more than being non-monogamous, for it could block you from the pleasure that you’re experiencing and perhaps guide you to choose a life that doesn’t involve him.
In my experience, open relationships call for flexibility. You should be willing to hear your partner out and modify your arrangement as needed. But if the request becomes a demand that you just can’t abide by—say, he declares the need to close the relationship and you know, in your heart of hearts, that this is not a relationship you can maintain monogamously—then you’re coming up against incompatibility.
For now, you should stand firm and tell him that you want to remain open. Be sure to remind him that you’re still very much in love with him, and you still want to be with him too—it sounds as if he may just need some reassurance. After all, you haven’t left him for the better sex yet—if that’s the only issue in your marriage, why would you in the future?
See where that conversation takes you, but be prepared to choose between sex with others and keeping your current marriage. I hope for you that it doesn’t come to that, but it just might.
—Rich
Help us keep giving the advice you crave every week. Sign up for Slate Plus now.
More Advice From Slate
I am an 18-year-old female high school senior living with my mother and stepfather. My biggest problem is boys. I can’t seem to connect with one. I got an idea that I know will sound totally crazy, which was to have my stepfather teach me. We started about a year ago when he taught me how to kiss, but now he wants to slow things down. What should I do?
