Tag Archives: virginity

#MySexPositivity with Abby Rose Dalto

For this sex positive parent, kinky sexuality does not automatically make you progressive….and feminism is not mutually exclusive from the sex positive movement. Part of her sex positivity is turning the term “slut” inside out from it’s negative accusations into an armor of choice. 

Abby Rose Dalto is a freelance writer, editor and social media consultant. She is the author of two books and numerous articles on a variety of subjects. Abby is co-Founder of ESC Forever Media and co-Founder/Executive Editor of the blog Evil Slutopia, where she writes about pop culture, politics, relationships, feminism, sex and more under the pseudonym “Lilith”.

 1) Identify one or two trends, or influential people in the Sex Positive community that you identify with (or are inspired by) and those trends which you relate to not-so-much.

You-can-be-sex-positive-even-ABBEY-Quote (1)A trend I’ve seen lately that I just love is the inclusion of asexuality, “vanilla” sexuality and monogamy into the realm of sex positivity. I don’t think this is something new, but it has definitely been overlooked in the past. So it’s nice whenever I see people who understand that there is a difference between being sex positive and being kink-friendly or polyamorous. It should be common sense, but too often I hear the terms used synonymously and it can be alienating to those who don’t identify as such. We need to stop with the idea that poly relationships are more evolved than monogamous ones or that if you’re not into BDSM or kink it’s because you’re just afraid or too uptight.

There are so many different ways to express your sexuality and they’re all valid as long as everyone involved is consenting.

A trend that frustrates me is the idea that feminism and sex positivity are contradictory or that they’re even ideologically different. Feminism has so many negative connotations that a lot of women are afraid to identify as feminists, but if you believe in gender equality then, in my opinion, you’re a feminist no matter what you call yourself.

I view feminism in the same way that I view sex positivity; it’s about equality, freedom, choice and acceptance. So it annoys me when people act like “sex positive feminist” is an oxymoron.

2) How do you define “sex positivity” for yourself and your work? In other words, what is your primary passion and how do you distinguish your writings and interests from other branches of thought within the sex positive movement?

Follow Abby Rose Dalto @LilithESC

Follow Abby @Lilithabs on Twitter and @Lilithabs on Instagram.

There’s a misconception that if you like sex, then you’re sex positive… or if you have a lot of sex, then you’re sex positive. As I said above, I think it’s more about equality, freedom, choice and acceptance. You can be sex positive even if you’re not having sex at all, as long as you don’t judge others for their sexual choices or try to control their sexual choices. Our society is so obsessed with what everyone else is doing in bed. So to me, sex positivity is about acknowledging that we’re all different, we all like what we like, and that’s okay.

On Evil Slutopia, we’ve written about reclaiming the word “slut” in order to take the power away from those who would use the word against us. I like to think of it as an expression of choice: I’m going to do what I want and as long as I’m not hurting anyone in the process, no one can make me feel bad about that. If being who I am and doing what feels right and sleeping with whomever I want (even if it’s no one) makes me a slut in someone else’s eyes, then that’s fine. The word can’t hurt me if I own it and if I know that I’m living my truth.

I don’t write about specifically sex positivity that much anymore but I find that being sex positive still influences my work and my life every day. Right now, I’m really passionate about sex positive parenting. I have a 13-year-old daughter and I find myself constantly toeing the line between trying to keep her safe and not wanting to attach any shame or stigma to sex. I think that even in the best schools, sex education is seriously lacking. There’s a lot of emphasis on not getting pregnant, not getting a disease – which is really important information – but there’s very little taught about pleasure, about consent, about mutual respect. I don’t want my daughter to have sex before she’s ready, but I don’t want her to wait for the wrong reasons. I don’t want her to buy into some old fashioned construct of virginity  or expect to live “happily ever after” with some guy she meets in high school (nod to Therese Shechter’s “How to Lose Your Virginity”).

(For more about sex positive parenting, Airial Clark aka the Sex-Positive Parent, is an excellent resource).

3) What directions do you think sex positivity will take within the next 5 – 10 years? Or what topics and with what platforms would you like to see sex positivity develop more thoroughly within the next 5 – 10 years?

I hope that within the next 5 to 10 years we will finally see nationwide legalization of same-sex marriage and other strides made in the area of LGBT rights. I think the next logical step is legalization of polygamy or at least wider acceptance of poly relationships (Polyamory Weekly is dedicated to building a socially conscious and healthy non-monogamous community). I don’t think it will happen that soon – because sadly, I don’t think America is ready for it – but to me it’s the obvious next step to marriage equality.

Opinions shared are the author’s own. Want to participate in this interview series? What is your sex positivity?

EXTRA VIRGIN by Sébastian Hell

1993 was a great year. Pearl Jam released Vs., a perfect rock record; Nirvana released In Utero, their best record; the Toronto Maple Leafs couldn’t get to the Cup Finals despite gut-wrenching performances by Doug Gilmour and Félix Potvin; and the Canadiens won the Stanley Cup for the last time so far, a miracle-working Patrick Roy taking a very average team to the highest honours almost all by himself against Wayne Gretzky’s Los Angeles Kings.

In what was probably June of that year, the decisive Cup Finals game between the Kings and our beloved Habs was at home. My family had season tickets, but I opted out of going and instead set my sights to La Ronde, the local Six Flags amusement park, with a bunch of friends and maybe catch a bit of the end of the riot afterwards; I didn’t end up with a free TV, but I lost my virginity to a 19 year-old chick I picked up at La Ronde, so all in all, I must say it was a decent night.

It was a time when I was slimmer, when I would wear two band t-shirts at once and tie a third one around my waist with the logo facing outwards toward those behind me; it looked pretty fucking cool to me, and I was the only one doing it – it was my style, easily identifiable.

It wasn’t rare for me to get hit on in those days, what with a tall athlete’s frame, long straight rocker hair and a shyness I hid behind feigned confidence. Often, I would leave with girls’ telephone numbers. That night, I left with the girl.

Normally, at almost 15 years of age, after a day of walking in the sun and light entertainment, I’d be ready to go to sleep by 1AM – but not that night. That night, in the basement where I often slept (I had an actual room on the second floor, but my little brother and parents also slept there, so I had the basement as additional living quarters where I could sometimes get more privacy, especially at night) it seemed I was going to get a go at it. She was older than me, at least 4 years, and she knew what she was doing. She even interrupted a make-out session to ask, specifically, ”do you know what you’re doing, have you done it before”?

”Yes”, I was quick to reply, ”of course”. It wasn’t really a lie, because I had lived that moment time and time again, millions of times, in my head. And already I knew the gizmo I carried around in my underpants through and through – I’d lived with it my whole life, after all. And I knew ladies’ equipment pretty well, too, having already toyed around that area enough in the couple of years previous to this night on an average of maybe once a week – just not actually been inside there with my machinery.

So the mouths went from the mouth to everywhere our hands had been previously, and came time for the fatal question – one that I’d previously had the answer wrong to, which had cost me an earlier deflowerization: ”do you have a condom?” This time: ”yes”! We had a winner.

So together we struggle to release the condom from its packaging, succeed, and together we put the fucker on.


I ejaculate right then and there.

I had tried condoms on before, even jerked off into them. Never had it had that impact on me. But this time, maybe it was the nerves, the sexual tension, the fact that she was so hot despite wearing way too much make up, the lack of experience on my part, but it happened. I came in the condom before even entering the comfort zone.

I tried getting away with it, too, and lucky for me I’m still pretty well hung even when getting flaccid, so we made do, having soft-cock sex. She did her best to pretend not having noticed, and we still went at it for a few hours.

Believe it or not, that was not the most embarrassing moment of the episode. No, that came the next morning, when we went upstairs for breakfast, with the parents at the dining table.

”So, Sébastian, are you going to introduce your friend?”

Oh, yeah.

Her name was Katia, and I never saw her again. But I did see a few of her friends for a while, including a very short but very hot girl, my age, named Manon – a name usually reserved for people over twenty years older than she was. She was a blast – and she still has a cap of mine that I really loved, corduroy, all black, with an Esso insignia in front – sarcastic branding was all the rage then, and would be even more so the following year.

Monologues are independent stories. Read more of Sébastian Hell at Hell’s Rumblings

Naomi Wolf’s Condom Story

Here is an excerpt from Naomi Wolf’s book Promiscuities (1997), that describes her first experience with contraceptives – her trip to the clinic and then her first time doing the “deed”. It could be argued that she tends to portray the condom as a male responsibility; and also as a very unsexy aspect of sex. Nonetheless her critique of sex education, sexual agency, and youth/adult relations around contraceptive talk is an interesting contribution to condom monologues:

“He and I could have been a poster couple for the liberal idea of responsible teen sexuality – and paradoxically, this was reflected in the lack of drama and meaning I felt crossing the threshold. Conscientious students who were mapping out our college applications and scheduling our after-school jobs to save up for tuition, we were the sort of kids who Planned Ahead. But even the preparations for losing one’s virginity felt barren of larger social significance.
When Martin and I went together to a clinic to arrange for contraception some weeks before the actual deed, no experience could have been flatter. He waited, reading old copies of Scientific American, while I was fitted for a diaphragm (“The method with one of the highest effectiveness levels, if we are careful, and the fewest risks to you,” Martin had explained after looking it up). The offices were full of high school couples. If the management intended the mood to be welcoming to adolescents, they had done an excellent job. Cartoon strips about contraceptives were displayed in several rooms. The staff members were straight-talking, and they did not patronize. The young, bearded doctor who had fitted me treated it as if he were explaining to me a terrific new piece of equipment for some hearty activity such as rock climbing.
In terms of the mechanics of servicing teenage desire safely in a secular, materialistic society, the experience was impeccable. The technology worked and was either cheep or free. But when we walked out, I still felt there was something important missing. It was weird to have these adults just hand you the keys to the kingdom, ask, “Any questions?,” wave, and return to their paperwork. They did not even have us wait until we could show we had learned something concrete – until we could answer some of their questions. It was easier than getting your learner’s permit to drive a car.
Now, giving us a moral context was not their job. They had enough to handle. Their work seems in retrospect like one of the few backstops we encountered to society’s abdication of us within our sexuality. But from visiting the clinic in the absence of any other adults giving us a moral framework in which to learn about sexuality, the message we got was: “You can be an adult without trying. The only meaning this has is the meaning you give it.” There was a sense, I recall, that the adults who were the gatekeepers to society had once again failed to initiate us in any way.
For not at the clinic, at school, in our synagogue, or anywhere in popular culture did this message come through clearly to us: sexual activity comes with responsibilities that are deeper than personal. If our parents did say this, it was scarcely reinforced outside the home. No one said, at the clinic, “You must use this diaphragm or this condom, not only because that is how you will avoid the personal disaster of unwanted pregnancy, but because if you have sex without protection you are doing something antisocial and morally objectionable. If you, boy or girl, initiate a pregnancy out of carelessness, that is dumb, regrettable behavior.” Nothing morally significant about the transfer of power from adults to teenagers was represented in that technology. It was like going to the vet: as if we were being processed not on a social but on an animal level.
Well, the Act itself will take care of that, I thought. How did I decide that day? Civics class drove me over the edge. The thought of plowing through the electoral college – which, in all its stubborn irrationality, seemed to represent all the rigidity and hopelessness of the adult world closing in on me…..At the classroom threshold, before the teacher noticed me, I suddenly turned my heel. Down the hall, I intercepted Martin before he walked into his biology lab. I easily persuaded him, ordinarily a conscientious student, to cut class. “Today’s the day: this is it.” It felt special to be the one whose decision was so attentively awaited. We seized our backpacks from our lockers, he took my hand, and we ran up the lawn to the street car tracks just as the class bell was shrilling….
He was shy and undressed in the bathroom. I, somewhat less so but still nervous, undressed under the sheets. When he returned, I was stunned: he was so beautiful. He shivered but let me look.
This was not the sweet old Martin whose grandmother bought him his shirts. I had been taking art history and had spent many hours memorizing fifth-century statues of male nudes. The walls behind Martin were grimy, but he looked like one of those statues, only alive.
My train of association connecting Martin to Praxiteles and the sublime came to an abrupt end with the production and deployment of the condom. We had the diaphragm, but there was no way I was about to deal with that yet. I was grateful not to have to think about the little rubber disk, but grateful, too, not to be directly involved with the alternative. Putting the condom on looked terribly complex. It seemed to me, watching, that if you were dextrous enough to gift-wrap an independent-minded amphibian, you could just about manage a condom.
When we made love, it hurt, but only a little. It was nice but strange. I realized my relative good luck with every disastrous loss-of-virginity story I hear. For a seventeen-year-old boy, Martin was a rarity – a sensitive, respectful teacher. After we dressed and left, we were very hesitant, even solicitous, with each other. It would take a long time and a great deal of trust to create real exotic love between us” (Wolf, 1997: 119-24).