My strap makes me feel sexy and empowered – and that’s just wearing it, let alone using it with another person. What I share with you here, is a story of discovery, and learning how the strap can be much more than a toy, or an object attached to a body, or even a tool for fucking – it can send its wearer on a path toward healing their relationship between self and sexuality.

The choice can be overwhelming, but I did manage to decide. And deciding was one of the best parts – at last I had chosen for myself what shape I wanted to be. When it arrived, I went straight to my bedroom and shut the door. I tore away the discreet packaging to reveal a hot pink box, about the size of a shoe box. I opened it to reveal a neatly folded leather strap harness with silver buckles at the side. In the middle was a hard leather triangle with a hole in the centre, through which the soft silicone curved purple dildo would slide, and sit against my body. I undressed, eager to get strapped in, and look at myself in the mirror.

This would be a new way of getting ready to fuck. Less shaving my legs, arms and pubic hair, no choosing of the perfect uncomfortable lacy lingerie, no lipstick, no expensive perfume. Or maybe I could have all these things, but differently. I stood in front of the mirror, moving around, watching the purple silicone dildo bob and twang with my movements. I contorted to see how the straps looked criss-crossing my butt. It was like being reborn – no longer did I have to be this or that shape, endure the relentless pressure of performing womanhood and a sexuality that was never mine. I was glad I’d tried it on by myself first – I think I’d have felt self-conscious struggling with the buckles and transforming in front of a partner. This intimate time with myself was important – I was able to take my time to feel comfortable – something so far away from what I was used to feeling about my sexuality.

One of my close friends asked me recently what my favourite part of sex is. I knew what they were expecting, what a sexy lead of a film would say: the licking, the sucking, the way I seize up before cumming and then surrender myself. I answered quickly: ‘smiling, probably’. They tried to conceal a look of slight shock, lowering their brow as quickly as it had started to rise - the unwritten rule being that anything we say about sex to each other goes by unchallenged, because God forbid we seem judgemental about each others sex lives.

It took a long time for anyone to smile at me during sex, or for me to smile at them. It’s a transformative feeling, and I do think it’s the kind of thing that, once you lean into loving it, you can unlock and carry with you. I must be specific about the kind of smiling I’m talking about; I don’t mean a grin that flashes across somebodies face, signifying ‘I’m doing so fucking well right now, I bet you’re loving this’, but rather, lips parting, maybe showing some teeth, a dimple, accompanied by hands brushing against my temples, eyes that don’t break away from mine until they’ve communicated what I’m sure they’re trying to say: I love doing this so much, and I love doing it with you, and I love your pleasure so much I’m willing to wait for it.

I only smile if I really want to. It’s more of a natural thing than something I actively focus on - if I’m totally relaxed, basking in the glow of spit, sweat and curious fingertips. So, when did all of this occur to me? There are two major occasions I can place: the first, when I’d bought a clit suction toy and came so hard I soaked through my sheets - the smile after that taught me just how radical self-pleasure can be - and during a bout of make up sex, where the anger and hurt subsided even if just for a moment, squashed by the power of being really fucking horny for each other, knowing exactly where to touch and what to whisper, cuming faster than you’re sure you ever did before.

To my memory, I learned about sex through older friends in primary school. They would talk about it, I would ask questions, and they would tell me. When I was younger, I was very rigid when it came to my sexuality. I thought I could only be into a certain kind of man. When I left high school, I realised I was drawn to so many different types of people. As I grow older, I stray further away from binaries and labels. My taste and sexual attraction widen year by year, and I find beauty in so many different types of people.  

Rob lives and works on Gadigal Land, Sydney. His recent work can ‘I’m Going to Miss You’ can be found here.

This soft, bean-shaped vibrator was created by Rosewell, an Australian sex care brand that wholeheartedly believes sex, intimacy, and connection are critical to a person’s wellbeing (which is, of course, completely accurate). As soon as you pull the Dip out of its minimalist dust bag, you’ll be glad to have it in your possession. Dip is made from medical-grade silicone and feels exceptionally smooth against the skin. It’s so smooth that it feels like the silicone has had velour injected into it to enhance the finish – but don’t worry, it hasn’t. Dip has a single button embedded into the silicone that lights up when the vibrator is switched on. This button activates the three vibration speeds and five vibration modes with unique patterns that massage the clitoris. 

Vore is an established fetish that centres around the fantasy of being consumed. Often, the vorer is the ‘prey’, the individual intent on being gobbled up, and the predator can assume a variety of forms: be it human, mythical, or animal (like the whale you mentioned). Despite vore being relatively uncharted in the mainstream’s understanding of what kink is, there is often a considerable crossover between vore and the rich, fantasy world of furries, a misunderstood and oft taunted subgroup of kinksters who role-play as fluffy critters.

You ask where this could’ve come from, but vore as a concept… or even a cautionary tale, has sunk its teeth into folklore and popular culture for eons. For Lee, a vorer who spoke to VICE, reading Little Red Riding Hood as a wee lad terrified the hell out of him until it didn’t, his fear of a mendacious wolf donned in elderly clothes as it licked its lips eventually… exciting him. When he reached adolescence, there was comfort—serenity, even—in the idea of being gulped down by some congenial, large whale. Transfixed on the story of James Bartley, a sailor who claimed to have been swallowed whole by a sperm whale and who went on to describe the inside of the whale’s belly as something akin to “velvet walls”, Lee’s ears piqued. 

"Jonah and the Whale" from the Qur'an, found on Eka's Portal.

I’m not going to lie: the stigma surrounding vore is pretty hideous, with the most vanilla of society pairing it with the real-life act of cannibalism. But, if I were you, I’d take these boring suppositions with a pinch of salt, as vore thrives off fantasy, off invention, not the real-life need to consume another person. Many vorers use platforms such asEka’s Portal, a vore-centric website, to unearth their deepest, tastiest reveries through art, discussion and interactive stories. 

If I were you, I’d step into the belly of the beast and find what pocket of vore gets you going. If that means reading James Bartley’s diary, the original sperm whale’s snack, or perusing through the pixelated archives of drawings of humungous My Little Pony ponies eating prey on Eka’s Portal, then go forth. Maybe even give your lover’s toes a little nibble and see how that feels. It’s time to put your finger in every pie of the world wide web. Piece of cake! 

But fisting, which homes a moniker of names—including hand sex, all-finger fingering, hand-balling, vaginal punching (holy shit), fist fucking—doesn’t actually involve a closed hand. Imagine instead all of your fingers and thumb tucked into each other and grouped together for easier access, with the idea being: if one finger ain’t enough, why not try five? As one passionate fister I spoke to described, imagine making a shadow duck with your hand. And then, imagine fucking it. Hot.

So, off the bat, yes… this is something that people do. A lot of people, a lot of the time. From my investigation, good fisting practice involves allowing it to naturally progress during sexy times. Somebody I spoke to found herself trying it with her boyfriend while high on MDMA (we love a bit of powdered courage). As she was being fingered, in the grips of passion, she requested more fingers. And then more. Low and behold, once she asked how many fingers he was using, he said that he was fisting her. “I haven’t experienced it since,” she told me, but admitted that she freakin’ loved it.  

The misconceptions surrounding fisting are in no way unique to just… fisting. Like all things sex, the vagina is an elusive, misunderstood channel of pleasure, pain and prejudice. It’s almost as if we live in a sexist society, folks. One fister said that they’ve had particularly shit male partners assume that if ‘their fist is as big as a babies head, and giving birth makes you ‘loose’, you’re going to be loose if I fist you.’ Gross. And, for those worried, this is absolutely false. The vagina opens up when it wants to, and retreats again when it’s time. It’s not a gaping crevice. 

A non-binary fister I spoke to said that fisting allows them to explore their sexuality in a safe and horny way, given it involves fucking somebody outside of the confines of their penis. Not just this, the hand isn’t at all… penis-adjacent. It is an extension of the body able to offer, or provide, a sense of ‘fullness’, this particular sensation amplified largely by the fact that it can only really go down when the fistee is especially aroused.

When I decided to investigate fisting, I did not anticipate that it would peak my interest. But, after my copious research, and thanks to the amount of generous queers who enlightened me, I’ve decided that it’s something I’m curious to try. As my loyal community of generous fistees—and fisters—have encouraged: be ready, be curious, be lubed up, and be horny. If that isn’t just a wonderful ethos to live by, I don’t know what is.

Fisting has no gender, no sexuality, and… minimal worries. Borrowing the advice of my loyal community of fistees and fisters, perhaps it's time to buy myself a bag of MDMA, belt Prince out on my speaker, and let my lover’s fingers do their thing. High-five.

I came out as queer in my thirties, and even though I’d had queer sex before that point, I didn’t discover my relationship with my strap-on, or ‘strap’, until later. Let me tell you – that  relationship is something extraordinary. My strap makes me feel sexy and empowered – and that’s just wearing it, let alone using it with another person. What I share with you here, is a story of discovery, and learning how the strap can be much more than a toy, or an object attached to a body, or even a tool for fucking – it can send its wearer on a path toward healing their relationship between self and sexuality.

I opened Safari and felt a thrill as I typed in ‘buy strap on.’ I browsed websites and zoomed in on the pictures – wondering at the array of different harnesses – did I want pull-on strap-on briefs, a buckle-up leather one, or maybe a strapless-strap? I lingered on the different dildos – did I want something smooth and small sticking out of my harness, or something ridged, or curved? Which colour did I want? I didn’t want flesh, I wanted something else – I wanted to grow anewappendage never seen before on a human. Maybe gold, maybe sparkling? Then there was the lube. We know ‘the more the better’, but which?

The choice can be overwhelming, but I did manage to decide. And deciding was one of the best parts – at last I had chosen for myself what shape I wanted to be. When it arrived, I went straight to my bedroom and shut the door. I tore away the discreet packaging to reveal a hot pink box, about the size of a shoe box. I opened it to reveal a neatly folded leather strap harness with silver buckles at the side. In the middle was a hard leather triangle with a hole in the centre, through which the soft silicone curved purple dildo would slide, and sit against my body. I undressed, eager to get strapped in, and look at myself in the mirror. 

Once I started to grow into it, not only did I feel overcome with the urge to fuck, to top for the first time in the sack, but crucially, I felt soft power, as well as vulnerability. I felt dominance over my wounds and my shame, watching it fall away as I submitted to healing, to my own strap, and becoming whatever shape I please. The strap brought out my ‘top’ side, which is not simply about penetrating rather than being penetrated, but about reclaiming my desire and creating my own stories, my own adventures, of how and who I fuck from now on. 

Answer: Tako to Ama, more widely known as The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife is a woodcut of the ukiyo-e, translated as ‘pictures of the floating world’, by Hokusai in 1814. The image is widely regarded as the first depiction of tentacle eroticism. It depicts a long-haired ama diver intertwined in sex acts with a pair of octopus ⸺ the larger, moon-eyed sea beast has entangled itself around the diver, performing cunnilingus on her, while the baby octopus offers some sweet mouth-to-mouth and nipple fondling. The sea woman rolls her eyes back in ecstasy, deep in dream in the secret pleasures of the mysterious sea. The text in the woodcut, translated by James Heaton and Toyoshima Mizuho, is an erotic dialogue between the diver and the pair of octopus:

LARGE OCTOPUS: My wish comes true at last, this day of days; finally I have you in my grasp! Your bobo is ripe and full, how wonderful! Superior to all others! To suck and suck and suck some more. After we do it masterfully, I’ll guide you to the Dragon Palace of the Sea God and envelop you. “Zuu sufu sufu chyu chyu chyu tsu
zuu fufufuuu…”

MAIDEN: You hateful octopus! Your sucking at the mouth of my womb makes me gasp for breath! Aah! yes… it’s…there!!! With the sucker, the sucker!! Inside, squiggle, squiggle, oooh! Oooh, good, oooh good! There, there! Theeeeere! Goood! Whew! Aah! Good, good, aaaaaaaaaah! Not yet! Until now it was I that men called an octopus! An octopus! Ooh! Whew! How are you able…!? Ooh! “yoyoyooh, saa…
hicha hicha gucha gucha, yuchyuu chyu guzu guzu suu suuu….”

LARGE OCTOPUS: All eight limbs to interwine with!! How do you like it this way? Ah, look! The inside has swollen, moistened by the warm waters of lust. “Nura nura
doku doku doku…”

MAIDEN: Yes, it tingles now; soon there will be no sensation at all left in my hips.
Ooooooh! Boundaries and borders gone! I’ve vanished….!!!!!!

SMALL OCTOPUS: After daddy finishes, I too want to rub and rub my suckers at the ridge of your furry place until you disappear and then I’ll suck some more. “chyu
chyu..”

What I love here is the title of the woodcut reveals to us that this encounter took place in the unconscious travels of the sea woman, and confirms, that sexual encounters with cephalopods in dreams are centuries old.

In dreams, we cross time and space to meet entities, and in some of these encounters, we are invited to expand our sense of reality. To experience intense, otherworldly arousal with an entity makes sense ⸺ human pleasure is one thing, but alien, supernatural sex is another.

Astral squids, tentacle monsters and extra-terrestrial octopus are known to pop up in dreams and mushroom trips. In some stories, we learn that each tentacle can transmit different thoughts and sensations to the receiver, ranging from evil and malice to pure love and pleasure. I have heard conspiracy theories about the alien origins of the octopus, involving cryopreserved octopus eggs attaching themselves to comets which crashed into the ocean millions of years ago. I appreciate what these stories spark in our earthly imaginations – a sense of wonder, adventure and curiosity for life out there. Deep space and deep ocean are both unknown, underexplored spaces, which in dreams can bring forth existential curiosity and confrontation with our shadows, which can manifest in the form of endlessly enigmatic and mesmerising creatures, such as the octopus.

This dream evokes liberation, freedom and pleasure sourced from unexpected encounters. Let go of existing conventions and standard measures of attraction as defined by society. The entity has initiated you into a realm where anything is possible. You are invited to expand your worldview and scope of human experience by undergoing an ego-death. Many people I speak to with similar visitations often go on to have recurring dreams with the same entity over several different nights ⸺ and thereafter, their perception of sexuality shifts. After these encounters, dreamers walk away with gifts of sexual liberation, be it no longer repressing desires for same-sex partners, or being attracted to partners they had not considered before.

Ultimately, we learn here that pleasure can be derived from unexpected, otherworldly
sources. But these entities, be they octopuses or aliens or demons, are a reflection of what already exists within you. Go out into the wilderness and revel in the sweet gifts of ego annihilation – just as the sea woman says in Tako to Ama – “Boundaries and borders gone! I’ve vanished….!!!!!!”

If you've had a dream you'd like Manisha to explore, email us at info@becuming.me.

Alongside my art practice, I work at Malmsbury Youth Justice Centre for a company called Living Music where I teach art on the weekends. Throughout the week, when I’m not in the studio, I work for an outdoor advertising agency called Apparition Media painting murals on city walls. I am slowly plodding my way through a Bachelor of Visual Arts and Teaching but find my art practice is constantly pulling me away from this realm. 

My first experience of sex had a profound effect on my relationship with my body and sexuality for many years. Between the years of eight and twelve, there were instances of infidelity in my parent's marriage. I wasn’t of the age to properly grasp what was going on, but to me, sex seemed like a dangerous weapon to devastate a family and a child’s sense of safety and certainty. I was repulsed by everything that resembled sex. I would close my eyes in movies when kissing scenes came on. I loudly hated every boy in my class and made multiple bets of one million dollars that I would never kiss a boy in my life. I was utterly closed off to exploring my own sexuality which is partly why it’s such a huge focal point in my life now. Luckily, I had an extremely tender and supportive first relationship which slowly gave me the safety to unfurl into a sexual being. 

The experience enabled me to grasp my sexual energy, to turn it inwards and slowly outwards. To indulge in the powerful relationship between sexuality and creativity.  I am forever grateful to Euphemia for guiding me into my body, finding the safety and confidence to awaken my sexual/creative voice within, idle for too long. I also take inspiration from Frida Kahlo for being the powerful, resilient, playful, sexual and interrogative artist and human that she was. 

Initially, as I was discovering my sexuality, it was in relation to the other. I felt a lot of resistance to exploring my own body and relationship with the self. Over time, with some beautiful lovers, a great deal of therapy, and the painting process, my relationship with my body is a mostly shame-free explosion of playful delight! 

My sensual fire ignites when I sit quietly in bed with my morning coffee, when I pause on my run to inhale a deep long breath, when I listen to my favourite playlist eight times in one day, when I rub charcoal softly across a canvas, feeling my skin brush the empty surface. There is a tenderness within it that constantly grounds and brings me back into my body and breath. 

I spent a couple of years creating paintings of landscapes and figures, forever searching for that feeling of an exhale. I felt restricted in painting something of resemblance. When I began creating from a place of embodied knowing, sexuality naturally became the predominant theme of my works.

Painting has been my cocoon in which to authentically own and explore my sexuality. To communicate from a space of embodied knowing. To feel pleasure in its totality, knowing its boundaries and exploring it unrestrained, seeping throughout the everyday. I don’t always paint naked, and things are often the opposite of intuitive vitality. Sometimes I am rugged up from head to toe, staring blankly at my work, drinking way too many coffees, completely out of my body and suffering in my mind.

Our sexual and creative energies are in bed with one another. I believe that they live and breathe the same entity. To fall deeply into each space requires a great deal of vulnerability, curiosity and intention.  When we divert our sexual energy into the creative sphere and vice versa, a powerful dialogue of embodied knowing occurs. An unravelling of movement, sound, breath and exuberance. A heaving of impulse and intuition. When I paint after a love-making session with another or myself, my body caresses the canvas with an overflowing bounty of motion and form. Our bodies are the ultimate temple of pleasure and creativity. 

I feel most connected to my sexuality when I’m well rested, when I do yoga regularly, when I spend at least two days in the studio, when I take the time to self-pleasure without external stimulation, and when I hear others sharing stories of their own connection to sexuality. The greatest lesson I’ve learnt about sex is that your sexuality is never static. Forever adapting to its environment, new stimulations, lessons learnt and reflections in quiet time. Your sexuality consists of so much more than sex, it's alive and burning at every damn moment in time.

After having Belinda on my podcast a few weeks ago, I knew this would be the start of a special friendship. As we sat in the recording studio, cup of tea in hand, I instantly felt at ease in her presence. From the moment she sat down, I was in awe of her vulnerability and knowledge of all things sex and relationships. It felt like I had known her forever and that we could have stayed in that little room chatting away for hours longer. 

The reason I feel so interested in this particular topic is that I haven’t yet been able to crack the code on this in my own life. I wondered if it were even possible to sustain and grow such levels of intimacy.

What drew me to Belinda initially, apart from her radiance, magnetism and wisdom, was the work she does. After getting to know her a little fuller, I understand why there was such a pull. Belinda is the epitome of someone who practices what she preaches. She has more than 60 years of life experience under her belt, and what she teaches is reflected in her own life and marriage. 

She is living proof that deep connection over many years is possible. Having been married for nearly four decades, Belinda has helped hundreds of women and couples maintain and grow physical and emotional intimacy in their relationships. 

I sat down with Belinda to ask her about her life and work. 

I married when I was 26 and had three children over six years. I was predominantly a stay-at-home Mum, and as the kids got older, I was involved in our family businesses. Our relationship started full of passion with lots of sex, but as I started raising small humans, creating over nine businesses, and building homes, our sex life seemed routine at best. We didn’t know how to talk kindly to each other about our frustrations, without it ending up in arguments and hurtful comments. I started avoiding having sex, although I felt a sense of responsibility. I felt the ‘dutiful wife’ feelings, living an amazing life provided for by our businesses.

From a young age, I was always searching for meaning in life. I had always been interested in personal growth, but even after studying and teaching yoga, I felt like something was missing. My sex life wasn’t getting any better, and I wanted to understand myself more fully. I suggested my husband and I see a counsellor. He didn’t want to; he said he was happy. So there I was thinking, “what is wrong with me?” Life carried on. We muddled through our sex life, having some ordinary sex, occasional amazing sex, but most of the time questioning, “is this really it?”   

It wasn’t until I discovered the teachings of Layla Martin that I realised I wanted to do something about how I was feeling. I did her course on women’s sexuality which was really empowering but also felt a little weird to be doing some of the practices, including self-pleasuring. Although it was unfamiliar at first, my body was responding. I became super curious about my sexual pleasure and what turned me on. I noticed the numbness in parts of my body and places I struggled to connect with, like my cervix and my nipples. It made sense to me that I would feel disconnected from these areas after three births.

I then decided to dive in and do a certification in Sex, Love and Relationships with Layla so I could start sharing the magic I had learnt within my own body. From there, I did an intensive Relationship Transformation training. This included looking at my own marriage and learning new ways to gain clarity and connection, and learning to communicate lovingly and honestly.

From there, my love for my sexual self grew. I started feeling alive and in my body, and my marriage shifted up a gear. There was a narrative change in our sex life, shifting from “how many orgasms can we have?” to “how much pleasure can we have together?”

We have been together for 42 years! My ‘three Cs of Intimacy’ have been vital in keeping our physical and emotional intimacy thriving all these years. I believe when you both prioritise your relationship, communicate with love and kindness and connect intimately regularly, this leads to deep erotic intimacy.   

Commitment to our relationship 

Having both feet in the relationship is vital. Appreciating and prioritising the relationship is healing for both partners. Of course, childhood wounds will appear in the relationship, but understanding that long-term happiness is possible through learning and growing together is so important.  

We’re often taught to be independent and to tell our partners what we each need by demanding it from them. In my experience, this doesn’t work. It inevitably creates chaos, distance, and lots of arguments. When a couple creaets a narrative shift and are both focused on, and willing to, meet each other's needs, a kind of bubble forms around both partners that starts to feel safe and loving. It calms both people’s nervous systems, and the relationship takes on a whole new look and feel. This is because the couple is prioritizing of the relationship rather than prioritising themselves.

By working actively on meeting your partner’s needs and being there for them, you get your own needs met. It is an ongoing practice, but this is what thriving relationships require. This is what I started practising with my husband, and it made so much sense to us both.

Communication 

Learning to genuinely listen to each other helps both partners feel heard. This includes speaking in a way that does not become moaning or blaming the other, otherwise, partners will switch off. Learning to use ‘I’ statements rather than pointing the finger with ‘you’ statements also goes a long way in helping a partner feel understood. Knowing what behaviours have been inherited from parents or caregivers and whether it serves the relationship or not can help create ways of communicating that make sense for the relationship. This is all an ongoing practice, and each relationship will be unique. 

Connection  

Concentrated time together is extremely important. This includes booking sex dates for at least two hours and committing to those on a regular basis. Remembering to be intimate in small manageable ways daily like hugs, smiles, small touches to each other’s bodies, kissing, texting, and checking-in chats all support better sex. Do your best to regularly communicate:

What we really want

What we may be afraid of

What we love about each other 

When done regularly, this is the perfect connection practice if a couple feels out of touch.  It’s amazingly easy to say “I’ve got work”, or “Sorry, shall we do it next week?”, and then that week easily becomes next month or never happens. This leaves room for resentment to breed, as communication has not been maintained regularly, and sex is the last thing on the couple's minds. 

We have three adult children in their early to mid-30s now. In honesty, I’m not sure we did work on keeping the intimacy alive whilst parenting in our 20s through to mid-50s. I know we both felt guilty a lot of the time that we hadn’t had sex. We would say ”we probably should”, and then couldn’t understand why we didn’t do it more when we eventually did!

I do remember having moments in my 40s where I thought, “I don't think I can do this mother and wife thing anymore. It feels like I am giving out so much, and it feels way too hard”. Perimenopause and menopause kicked in with a blaze of glory. Hot flushes, weight gain, and hormonal fluctuations were just some of the symptoms I experienced. I remember trying bioidentical hormones and masses of vitamins, all at great expense. Finally, I came to terms with the fact that ageing is inevitable and should be embraced (which is not easy in the world we live in where youth is pedestalled). 

Battling through menopause really affected my body, and sex did not feel nearly as interesting or exciting with my husband.  We thought we must be getting bored with our usual sex routine. If I didn’t feel turned on, we would try porn. This felt stimulating to start with but then became boring as we were fantasising in our heads instead of being present in our bodies. To me, being fully present is way more erotic. Make your sexual experience your own by experimenting and being playfully curious! You might build orgasmic energy using the edging technique, introduce toys or whatever the fuck you like!

It wasn’t until I was in my late 50s that I became curious about my sexuality and what pleasure meant to me. I started educating myself on everything I could to get to know my body and understand the power of pleasure. I was 59 when I started my study to become a sex and relationship coach. Also, remember, sex and intimacy can be seasonal. We go through patches, months, quarters and seasons where we are just busy, and that’s ok. Keeping up communication and prioritising your relationship is key to a shared experience rather than feeling alone or guilty that sex is not a priority.

My typical clientele is aged between 40 and 65, in predominantly heterosexual, monogamous relationships. Most are in long-term relationships. There are many reasons people come to see me, but some common concerns are:

– Women who, since having had children, haven't had much sexual drive and are concerned as it gets longer and longer between intimacy. There is usually still an attraction with their partners but are at a point where they want more intimacy. They often feel more like friends than lovers and that the spark has left the building;

– Fears around low sex drive from one of the partners and a feeling like something is wrong with them;

– Women who feel less adventurous or experience painful sex after traumatic births. They’re often fearful about urinary tract infections or feel an overall anxiousness about having any intimacy, which can be the root cause of the painful sex. They’re also often lost as to how to communicate this with their partners. 

– Men who haven’t had sex with their partners for a long time (sometimes many years), and don’t know how to bring it up without hurting their partner. 

– Truly listening to your partner and not judging them for what sexual desires they might have;

– Remaining open to trying different ways of experiencing sexual pleasure;

– Taking yourself less seriously when it comes to sex;

– Being vulnerable with your partner;

– Learning to be present in your body.

You can find Belinda Wiley here: https://www.belindawiley.com/

Once, somebody I admired came to me in a dream. We were listening to Mazzy Star in a timber hut in the woods, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. It was very Lynchian ⸺ shadowy and disorienting, with a cool soundtrack. So naturally, something felt off. I asked, who are you? The man’s face changed into a face I had never seen before. Sheepishly, he confessed, I took the face of somebody you knew so that you would love me. He said he lives in the dream realm and that he has been trapped here for thousands of years. He confirmed that it is a fact, that people do live in the dream realm, interacting with dreamers, putting on immersive performances, regularly taking on the faces of people we know for their own amusement.  We talked for one thousand years, about life and death and the ways that beings move through dimensions to experience one another. My eyes filled with tears, and I told the stranger that I could love him. We might have lived happily ever after in that Lynchian dimension, but I was to wake in this reality, having obtained new perceptions of time, performance and transmutations.

In folk stories, mythology and fairy tales, transformations, be they metamorphosis or outright shapeshifting, occur by way of divine intervention, magic, demonic possession, or innate ability. Since the birth of storytelling, gods, animals and humans have been changing form for seduction, deception, escape from danger, punishment and reward.

When I read this dream, I am reminded of gods and semi-divine beings who shapeshift to seduce humans. The Ichchadhari naags and naagins of Hindu mythology are cobras who after one hundred years of atonement, are blessed with the ability to transform into any living creature. In popular culture, naagins of this genus take the form of attractive women to seduce and kill men.  Some of the most explicit transmutations are found in Greek mythology, the most famous example being Zeus, who deceives and rapes mortals by changing into a satyr, a bull, an ant, a swan and even rain made of gold. Male selkies, of the seal folk mythology of Scotland, are known to change into irresistible men, who seduce lonely wives of fishermen who wait for their lovers to return from sea.  And there are of course, all the frogs who metamorphose into handsome princes once kissed by the princess.

'Lida and the Swan' by Fernando Botero. Image by Jesse Hunniford for MONA.

Let’s have a closer look at the symbolism in the dream. The palace in Versailles, the parlour,  being fanned with a feather while engaging in a sexual act and Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette are all symbols of aristocracy, wealth and class. Marie Antoinette represents extravagance, haute couture and fine art. The fact that the partner gradually changes into Marie Antoinette allows the dreamer to be eased into opulence. When the familiar changes form in a dream, it signifies that this reality already exists within you ⸺ the pleasure you desire is already present ⸺ at least on the quantum level.

Ask yourself, in what ways can I increase my sense of enjoyment in the material world? What forms of escape from the mundane can be realistically actioned? This can be as simple as performing the dream with your partner ⸺ take turns fanning each other, feed each other grapes, immerse yourselves in physical pleasure, forget about the real world for a moment. To enjoy as Marie Antoinette did ⸺ without guilt.

However, the Marie Antoinette figure does come with caution. Her excesses, amongst other things, made her unpopular. She was beheaded during the French Revolution. And with the recent death of a monarch, society is once again considering the abolition of the ruling class. But there are gifts that can be borrowed from Marie Antoinette that can enhance the life of the dreamer.

Or perhaps, we could draw from the wisdoms delivered by the shapeshifting man in my Lynchian dream – that perhaps, this Marie Antoinette is a dream-world inhabitant who took the face of someone you knew, so that you could love her. Perhaps she is, like our selkies and naagins, a semi-divine being  who regularly changes form to seduce dreamers. However you choose to interpret this encounter, my advice is to think about it while on a romantic holiday, or devouring an extra piece of cake, or immersing oneself in a rose petal bath ⸺ however it may be that you define indulgence.

As we know, libido can be affected by a number of different biological, psychological, and social factors including hormone imbalances, relationship dynamics, stress, pandemics, the list goes on.

This abrupt halt in my sexy tracks of course could have manifested from any, or all, of the above, but my intuition felt strongly that my newfound technology addiction was the root cause of this poignant pause.

Now, before I launch into smack-talking my beloved laptop and phone, allow me to express a moment of gratitude for all the nourishing ways they have feed my sex life. Without them, I couldn’t access my favourite apps such as Dipsea (chíc audio porn for women), MyFlo (period tracker, with sexy tips), and Spotify (sexy tunes and endless educational podcasts on sexuality and pleasure). I couldn't access my online studies, there would be no more erotic films by Erica Lust and I could no longer log into my Beducated account to perfect my Lingham massage skills. These electronic objects have watered and fed my initially small sex garden into a pleasure-filled and expansive jungle.

In saying that, lately I have found myself waking up from many a technology trance (a little more than I’d care to admit). I’ve noticed myself spending more time on my phone and laptop than ever before. I speak of boundaries often, yet with this relationship, they have become seriously lazy. We’re together just before I close my eyes at night, they basically sleep on top of me and their sweet blue light is the first visual of the day. 

I had convinced myself that this year would be the sexiest of my life. Studying sex full-time, I was under the impression that I would be magnetising ecstatic lovers and travelling to the cosmos on the daily through wild cervical orgasms. Yet, much to my dismay (and like the Tui ad), it’s been an elongated moment of ‘Yeah, right’.

I’ve been in learning mode, business building mode, podcast mode, work mode. And one thing I know to be true about my sexual desire, is that it requires me to slow down. Do less mind stuff to get more into my body. And in my technology trace, I have forgotten to do enough of this. 

So I turned to my friend and neuroscientist Sam Dodd, asking if he could shed some light on my ponderings, this is what he had to say:

“Whilst it’s well known that chronic stress isn’t good for us, we may not realise the toll it takes on our libido. Because the body interprets ongoing stress as life-threatening, it naturally prioritises survival over reproduction or pleasure. In today’s world, many people are simply worn out as a result of balancing jobs, marriage, our unprecedented times, or caring for ageing parents and young children.

Neurotransmitters are responsible for regulating aspects of mood, cognition, and behaviour including sexual motivation and reward seeking. Excitatory neurotransmitters like dopamine, norepinephrine, epinephrine, and glutamate stimulate sexual desire and arousal. Inhibitory neurotransmitters like GABA and serotonin facilitate sexual reward and satiety. Decreased libido can be the result of reduced excitatory activity or increased inhibitory activity. 

As technology continues to evolve at a rapid pace, concerns are being raised as to how this affects libido. While this field of research is new, undoubtedly technology negatively impacts human behaviours and physiology in a way that downstream affects sexual drive and desire.

Sleep is essential to every process in the body, affecting our physical and mental functioning the next day, our ability to fight disease and develop immunity, and our metabolism and chronic disease risk. Sleep is truly interdisciplinary because it touches every aspect of health.

One thing we know for certain is that technology interferes with our sleep. More so than any other colour, blue light messes with your body's ability to prepare for sleep because it blocks a hormone called melatonin that makes you sleepy. On top of this, the content we choose to engage with in a technological context can make us feel stimulated or stressed. This also results in production of hormones such as adrenalin, which prevents us from getting quality sleep.

Sleep is the platform on which healthy levels of neurotransmitters and hormones are regulated. Disrupting this, as technology does, immediately imbalances our neurochemistry and unfortunately libido is impacted immediately and directly.

Technology undoubtedly has upsides and impacts everyone in different ways. Many people form positive relationships with technology and social media, using it as a tool for healthy social interaction and learning. For some people it introduces a level of stress and anxiety, for others these emotional responses become chronic and debilitating. Permanently elevated levels of the stress hormone cortisol is incredibly damaging to the body and the mind. Unsurprisingly this alters the balance of excitatory and inhibitory neurotransmitters, which directly regulate sexual function and desire. As mentioned above, being in ‘fight or flight’ mode leads to a prioritisation of survival functions in the body and sexual drive and the pursuit of pleasure can become entirely abolished.

As the field of science becomes more and more conscious of this issue, more evidence will be unearthed on the extent of this issue and the mechanisms underlying it. Unfortunately more ways in which technology can negatively impact libido will come to the fore. However, technology can be used in countless ways and although it may be causing issues now, it may be used in the future to help reverse many of these deficits. The brain is malleable and adaptable and levels of chemicals in the brain can be restored and positively modulated. Sexual drive and libido can be increased in anyone and technology will help elucidate how.”

So, in conclusion, my intuition was right. Technology most definitely affects our sexual desire. I felt inspired by my newfound learnings so I put it to the test. This labour weekend I took myself into nature for two days without any reception. No Instagram to scroll, no emails to respond to, just me, a friend, some edibles, and the wild west coast. And it worked. I came back renewed and quite honestly, a little hornier than before. 

I’m ok with having sexual lulls. I’ve lived it before and I’ll live it again. But the more I get to know myself, the more I understand my body's wise and seasonal nature. I can’t be expected to sexually thrive 24/7. This is an illusion. It’s ok to go through celibate, sexless patches. It's ok to use your sexual energy to create and build instead of sharing it with others. It’s ok to lose yourself in work and life from time to time and then find your way back home. 

But If I’m keen to feel more desire, and perhaps magnetise some of that post-sex-school summer lovin’, I best be chilling out on my screen time and spending a little more time getting naked, dancing, and swimming in waterfalls. 

That’s all from me. Stay safe, stay sexy, 

Stacey O 

The air of the 5,500 seater concert hall was filled with equal parts hope and desperation as we waited for the 'intimate evening' to start. Her talk began with a series of questions. As the lights in the concert hall lifted, we were told, "If the answer applies to you, stand up." Her first question, "Who here has been dragged along tonight?", saw a wave of chino-clad men rise from their seats. Following her second question, "Who here is in a relationship and came with their partner this evening?", the chinos were joined by an accompanying wave of sundresses and heeled ankle boots. The real blow came with her final question, "Who here wants out of the relationship they're in?" A scatter of brave individuals stood. The internal screams of those who wished to stand, but didn't, were palpable. 

Using terms like 'relational ambiguity' and 'erotic intelligence', Perel explained the many shifts relationships have been subject to over the last 100 years. Armed with a clear concept for each generational and cultural shift, it was hard not to think, "Christ. She's cracked it."

I'm a very private person and will happily confess to having some grinchy tendencies. My equally grinchy friend and I stayed seated for the entire session and, during the enforced 'dance break', questioned whether we'd stepped into a vortex and landed on the set of The Ellen Show. 

As question time rolled around, a line of eager individuals took the mic. The questions ranged from "Should my partner and I open our relationship?", to "How do I get my partner to share with me more?", to "How do I get my partner to understand my point of view?". One overwhelmed woman tried to catch her breath, muttering, "You're a superstar" to Perel before mustering the nerve to ask her question. With each question, you could feel the asker waiting for Perel to deliver the blow that would change everything. That would allow the person to transcend themselves or encourage their leopard of a lover to change its spots. 

At this point, I thought, "Has anyone been listening to anything this incredibly eloquent woman has said over the last ninety minutes?" I don't say this out of a false sense of superiority. I'm no more capable of interpreting Perel's words than anyone else, and my romantic blunders could easily appear on an episode of "Where Should We Begin?". 

However, the frustration I feel is this: we live in a world of opinion and personality where critical thinking and autonomy have been replaced with expert instruction. So often, we look to those around us for answers, instead of ourselves. It's as if what someone else thinks is more consequential than our ability to navigate our own lives, because the guru knows best.

When we constantly seek instruction on what the parameters of our beliefs should be, our capacity to ingest and synthesise new ways of viewing an issue in an individual way becomes very limited. We're more interested in who has the latest hot take, over our own understanding of the world. I often wonder if this desire for quick answers and solutions is partly why so many people are consumed with trying to patch up relationships, instead of being in genuinely fulfilling ones. 

This desire for a guru is not new. Humans seem to have an innate tendency to look for guidance from higher sources. Without this, we wouldn't have Jesus, Musk, Paltrow, or Perel. I see this desire for external fixes and instruction as part of 'hacking culture', or the culturally pervasive belief that with the right information (and products), we can possess full control over our lives. It's why we're all counting our steps, controlling our houses with Siri, and putting therapists at the centre of the cultural Zeitgeist (Netflix's 'Stutz' is another great example of this).

While having Siri wake me up with soft jazz at 5.30 am every day, or knowing how many steps I've taken, might give me a sense of mastery over my own life, it does not make me a more inherently complete person. Neither does taking the advice of Perel. To suggest that one person can single-handedly give you the answers is to ignore the uniqueness and complexity that each interpersonal relationship carries. 

The irony of this is that, in my interpretation, the relational intelligence Perel advocates for is trying to discourage people from precisely this type of 'fixing' behaviour. Her work often explores the gaping chasm between what we want, what is possible, and all the crap we fill that chasm with to try and create a bridge. 

Perel claims she is not a 'Deus ex Machina', coming down from the high heavens with all the answers on love and relationships. However, as I sit in a crowd of 5,500 who have all paid upwards of $100 per ticket, this claim feels a little harder to swallow. While being the messiah of relational bliss might not be her aim, the crowd's questions sang a different tune. Whether Perel believes she has all the answers or not is irrelevant if people treat her as though she does. 

A moment that exemplified this came when Perel mentioned her 35-year marriage. Some audience members began to clap, and my whole body cringed. "Why are you clapping?" she asked. "You have no idea what my marriage is like." This signifies one of the many myths we believe about love, for example, that longevity equates to quality. More interestingly, it demonstrates how we reach for ideals above realities, particularly in matters of the heart. 

I often feel Perel's openness is mistaken for endorsement, particularly regarding non-monogamy and infidelity. Perel's idea that one partner can't provide everything is often taken as a recommendation, if not a suggestion, that non-monogamy is the only way to balance a partner's shortcomings. In doing so, we ignore Perel is merely pointing out how drastically our expectations of love have shifted in the last 100 years, and the need to find new ways to approach love in light of this.

I've been in therapy since I was 16. My relationship with men has been a predictably tragic cornerstone for someone of my demographic. Despite this predictability, I also know I'm complex. I make many mistakes (particularly in matters of love), and no amount of Esther Perel seminars will help me escape that, because that is the work of a lifetime. 

The following day, a friend who also attended texted me asking what I thought. "It says a lot that therapists are the rock stars of our generation," I responded. Perel arrived at an opportune cultural moment where the internet, globalisation, and the after-effects of the sexual revolution are all intersecting and creeping into our beds. She comes at a time when there's social cache in 'owning your trauma'. Wanting to interrogate your inner world is not only less shameful than ever before, but also a signifier of how evolved you are. It's as if the amount of Alain de Botton you've read indicates your worthiness as a potential lover. But don't forget, you can read Botton and Perel and still be an asshole. And that's okay. 

Relationships, whether friendships, romantic, or professional, are fucking brutal. I don't deny this. Anyone willing to put time and effort into genuinely working on this is worthy of hearty applause. However, I refute the idea that someone else can help you, more than you can help yourself. 

No winged cupid (or middle-aged Belgian psychotherapist) can save you. In love, we hurt people, and we get hurt. I accept this is part of living a life with meaning. In the words of psychoanalyst Jamieson Webster, "Sex and love press us up against the ways we attempt to organise their excesses. But they disorganise. If we start to fear we cannot offer adequate containment, we risk bringing desire under wraps, or even killing it, at our own cost." 

I don't believe life can be modulated or controlled. Between culture, personalities, and family histories, there are too many variables to ever expect matters of the heart to be orderly and pain-free. Or all this could be my grinchy-ness talking. Either way, I'm content with continuing to fumble through love.

If you'd like to read Perel (with a critical and discerning eye), you can find her books here. 

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When Van Halen’s Hot For Teacher was released in 1984, it brought to popular culture a fantasy that had lurked in the unconscious minds of students since the beginning of time. The glam rock anthem is an ode to inappropriately lusting after a teacher, and has an iconic, humorous music video, featuring members of the band and their younger selves at high school, with bikini clad teachers putting on a show for the class. It is a tongue-in-cheek exploration of one of the most ancient taboos – the sexual union between a teacher and student.

To dream of being back in high school, for most of us, is to go back in time. It may be easy to jump to the conclusion that the dreamer is Hot for Teacher à la Van Halen, but in the dream realm, when we revisit this intermediary, hazy space between childhood and adulthood, we are often revisiting unresolved psychic wounds that were birthed in that environment.

Whether you spent your time at school being a little Dazed and Confused, or thriving as a Mean Girl, a Rebel Without a Cause or a Teenage Dirtbag, we can agree that high schools are delicate and complex ecosystems marked by assessment criteria and hierarchies, both academic and social, which foster deep insecurities about perception, performance and the ways we relate. Failing to adhere to prescribed versions of being result in public humiliation, embarrassment and social ostracisation. Schools set the paradigm for our shared understandings around who gets to be loved, and how.

And so, by design, schools instil within us that our value is dependent on external factors, such as standardised assessment rubrics, acceptance by peers or approval by teachers and parents. All these factors ultimately, are the foundations of how we come into being, as we come of age and enter the big wide world armed with an incessant, pathological longing to belong.

Sex with a teacher is considered taboo and criminal in most societies around the world. Penalties for teachers who engage in sexual acts with students consist of lengthy prison sentences, and even death, in some countries. In the dream realm, if the student is dreaming of having sex with a teacher, this act can be symbolic of desired integration with authority, pertaining to the childhood wound in which the dreamer seeks the validation of an elder. It can also reveal to us the fallacy in our
structures of authority, governance and laws – the humanness behind the veneer of power and duty of care. In this dream, for sex to be made public at a basketball game, and to receive validation from the crowd in the form of cheering, further reinforces the desire to be publicly accepted and loved, to be celebrated for one’s ‘achievements’, to be deemed worthy by the status quo.

I would go further to ascribe student-teacher relations in dreams as also being symbolic for the desire to integrate with God. Both the student and the teacher are archetypes instrumental to the human experience, with each of us moving through these roles as a rites of passage. Spiritual alignment with a higher being or source of wisdom is innate to our psyche, and alongside the conditioning we receive at school, this longing for spiritual integration becomes corrupted in our systems of shame and reward.

Ultimately, the people we have sex with in dreams, have characteristics or traits that
we are desire to acquire, internalise and integrate as our own. In the game-like design of this dream, the dreamer is the loser who is thrown in the bin while the teacher is celebrated, despite both having played an equal part in the act. Why does the teacher have the opportunity to give a triumphant speech while the dreamer is voiceless in the trash? What is it about the teacher that the dreamer is seeking? Perhaps they embody a wellspring of knowledge, power and stature in the community.

The subject the teacher is associated with is also important here. In Van Halen’s Hot for Teacher music video, the hot teachers were of Chemistry and Physical Education disciplines, naturally. Our educator in question teaches geography, the study of places and the relationships between people and their environments. Physical geography looks at Earth's seasons, atmosphere, waterways and land formations; and human geography looks at the distribution of people and cultures on the surface of the planet. Further aligning yourself with the physical properties of Earth – the soil, minerals, plant matter and salts – will be a grounding journey. Integrate yourself with higher knowledge, by pursuing a path of learning through practice, experimentation, analysis and study. Become the knowledge holder.

This dream also asks the dreamer to consider, in what ways does participation in traditional systems empower or disempower you? Perhaps, despite your efforts to
participate in existing paradigms of living, you still don’t quite fit in. The transgressive act of having sex with a teacher, then experiencing humiliation by being thrown in the bin afterwards, sheds light on how the dreamer might be in some way, crossing their own boundaries to satisfy others. Ask yourself, in what ways are you transgressing against yourself to please the status quo?

The dream is inviting the dreamer to re-order their value. Create a system of being in which the inner world is not dependent on the outer world for love and validation. The fabric of reality is thin, and the rules that have been set out for us, are not necessarily in our best interests.

With the exception of Eddie Van Halen who ends up in a psychiatric ward, Alex Van Halen, Michael Anthony and David Lee Roth graduate with careers in gynaecology, sumo wrestling and game show hosting at the end of the Hot For Teacher music video. And our dreamer is met with a darker fate, reinforcing the differences between fantasy and dream. The dream is functional, in that it helps us undo the dichotomy of shame and reward we are so wired to. Institutionalised environments like schools, prisons and temples are manufactured ecosystems in which individual development, expression and self-worth are moulded to be dependent on society. When the dreamer aligns themselves with wisdom, there will no be no question of their value from within.

For speakers of the English language, many of our enigmatic experiences are described by the term ‘falling’. We fall in love. We fall out of love. We fall asleep. We fall ill. We fall out with each other. We fall apart. The fall is the metamorphosis that takes place when one experiences the euphoria of love, the fever of illness and the unconscious of sleep. The metaphor marks an accidental departure from the known, and a dangerous and sudden entry into an uncontrollable, unknowable state. There are representations of the fall that some of our foundational stories demonstrate as fated and significant occurrences. The Haudenosaunee creation story tells of the Sky Woman who fell to earth and made a home on the back of a turtle, who grew to be what we know as Turtle Island. Lucifer, of biblical notoriety, is a fallen angel, who severed their allegiance to God in favour of free will and individuality. What we learn from Sky Woman and Lucifer, is that falling is the first step towards something new.

Many dreamers experience falling sensations in the liminal space between waking and sleep, and often wake with a startling jolt. This is known as a hypnic jerk and is characterised by involuntary muscle twitches alongside the sensation or visuals of falling. We often wake in this way before ever hitting the ground or ‘dying’ in the dream. In many instances, the adrenaline alone will prompt us to exit the stressful dream. What is interesting about this dream, is that the dreamer hits the ground. This suggests a sense of control and grounding in the dreaming mind, and perhaps a willingness to let go of the environment from which they fell.

Elevators appear frequently in dreams to symbolise moments where the emotional and social security of the dreamer may be threatened. The glass elevator suggests the dreamer has the means to see through the walls of their world. While a falling elevator in many cases will elicit fear and a loss of control, in this context, it may be a feature of a fated departure. Falling signifies the rupture, or severance of the individual from their origins. The departure is a crucial step towards adventure, knowledge and inquiry. For sex to be conflated with falling, in this context, suggests the dreamer is experiencing an invitation from their libido to detach from something. To be rewarded with the feeling of sexual arousal upon waking suggests that the letting go is encouraged in the psyche of the dreamer. But the recurrence of this dream means there is work to be done.

Dreams recur because the unconscious mind is trying to bring attention to a matter that has not been resolved. The dream will keep playing on repeat until the pattern is addressed, usually through action. The dreamer is being called to ask themselves, which aspect of my life would my detachment from elicit feelings of pleasure? It seems as though this detachment is essential to the development of their libido. Libido, also known as life force, is driving the need for the fall. The presence of sexual energy advocates not just a will to live, but a desire to experience pleasure.

It is not unreasonable to ask, why the psyche would represent the detachment as a fall, instead of an elevation. Falling, and the many ways we encounter it in language and life, is a complex phenomena. The fall carries with it a sense of risk, but also, inevitability. The dreamer has mystery of the fall in the story of their life, for reasons only they will come to discover.

When we fall, we are physically removed from what we were once attached to, and only the law of gravity is applicable. However, in dreams, there is no law. So, even the law of gravity need not matter. Lucid dreamers will often say that falling is an invitation to fly. I would advise the dreamer to investigate lucid dreaming practices to explore and resolve the dream. Next time the dream occurs, the dreamer will be able to become conscious within the dream and transmute the falling into flying. Sometimes, by partaking in performance of the metaphor in dreams, we have more clarity on which course of action to take in our waking lives.

Ultimately, the dream is an invitation to accept detachment from an aspect of the dreamer’s current world. The detachment will bring forth freedom and liberation. And alongside this freedom, the dreamer will also have the connection, excitement and intimacy that the sexual union offers. The libido of the dreamer will thrive from the fall. For the symbolism to stop replaying in your dream life, the departure must be actioned. If the action is not clear, the practice of lucid dreaming will help in revealing the course of action. The dreamer’s life force wills it so. Overall, the dreamer’s psyche is steering them towards a positive change – the falling is pleasurable, exciting and arousing.

Sup sup, my name is Blu Jay. I’m Native American/Dutch Indo-Malay. I was born in the United States, raised on Tarntanya Wama Land (Adelaide) and now reside in Narrm (Melbourne). I’m an artist, mainly working with Drag Performance, dance, movement, and Illustration.

My first love was drawing, an intimate and introspective pastime that opened doors to physical performance. It taught me to slow down and be focused on the present moment. Sometimes erotic in nature, my art has a heavy focus on liberation.

I first learnt about sex through unorthodox familial dysfunctions. Growing up, I had a very disciplinary father, I found it suffocating. An ideology I want to take forward is to never feel restrained again.

I only really started finding myself in my late teens. My sexuality has fluctuated in many ways over the various periods of my life, a lot of it being exploration and questioning and some through survival and necessity. We live once, and I want to experience the world at its full velocity.

I feel most connected to my sexuality when I am creating art, my sexuality is an inherent running theme. Sensuality, emotion and vulnerability are core throughlines for my work and continue to support my connection to my sense of self and others. 

The greatest lesson I've learnt about sex is to ALWAYS ask for consent and to remain open to the unknown.

I’m 29 years old, and I grew up in inner-city Naarm, in a series of inner-city government housing apartments. I currently live on Boonwurrung land in Naarm (Melbourne).

I just finished my Masters of Fine Art, and I work as a writer, artist and model. My art is mostly woven textile pieces, as well as painting and sculpture. I love just being able to play. I can spend hours painting, and it feels like it’s only been minutes.

I grew up in the nineties when new-age parenting was having a bit of a moment. I learned about sex pretty young, maybe at age four or five, by reading the kids’ book ‘Where Did I Come From?’

If you haven’t seen this book, you really should google it. The illustrations are the best – complete with an anthropomorphic sperm wearing a top hat. As a result, I very much knew about sex in the abstract. I knew about the body parts, but I don’t really remember retaining much of the information. 

Other bits came in dribs and drabs: being ten years old and watching Cruel Intentions on late-night TV with the volume low, the scene in Titanic with the foggy car and the smudged handprint, whispers at sleepovers where older girls leered and asked, “Do you know what a rainbow kiss is?”.

When it comes to sex, I’m still not as confident as I would like to be. I’m quite self-conscious, but with time, I’ve learned to own my sexuality. Previously, I might not have worn tight dresses that showed a lot of cleavage, or posted selfies wearing bathers or underwear. But the more I put myself out there, the more ‘at home’ I feel in my body and in my sexuality.

I feel most connected to my sexuality on first or second dates. They can be really fun and sexually charged. I might have put on a form-fitting dress that accentuates my curves. I love enjoying the anticipation. Kissing is, by far, my favourite part of being intimate with another person – it can be really fun and playful.

The greatest lesson I’ve learnt about sex is to invest in a good vibrator. I remember years ago, Flex Mami used to always say, “facilitate your nut,” recommending a clit-sucking vibrator and holding a lot of stock in what Flex Mami says, I did it. And, she was right!

Like most young people, my introduction to sex was by stumbling across porn, which was both intriguing and terrifying. From what I saw, sex appeared to be very cis, straight, white and created for the male gaze. Thankfully, as I’ve grown, I’ve found sex is so much more than what porn portrays.

My relationship with my sexuality has deepened as I’ve grown older and come to know myself more. I’ve always had an understanding of my capacity for sexuality, and am an inherently curious person. Over time, exploration has allowed me to reflect on what I think I’d like, and then discover if I actually like it. When you’re young, you unconsciously learn you need to please others before thinking of yourself. This certainly applies to sex. I am glad to have unlearned those ‘rules’. 

I feel most connected to my sexuality when I’m exploring. The ability to experiment requires a supportive and communicative relationship with myself first and foremost, and also with my partner. This allows me to feel safe to explore as I want to, according to my own rules.

The greatest lesson I’ve learnt is that sex is ultimately about your own pleasure. Whether you’re having sex often, occasionally, with a single partner, with many partners, or solo – advocate for what you want! Try things until you find out what you like and where you like it, and let your partner or partners know. You also don’t need to be having sex at all to feel in touch with your sexuality. Sexy is a state of mind.

I grew up in Germany and the United Kingdom with a brother and a sister.

I first learnt about sex in popular culture. Some of this came from European cinema and films about relationships and rites of passage. I also remember listening to music, making sense of lyrics that discussed sex, as well as reading magazines covering sex. 

We had sex education at school in Germany, and my parents had some input too. Many European countries are relatively open about sexuality. For example, nudity is much more acceptable and normalised in German culture than in Australia. 

I feel most connected to my sexuality when I’m well. Physical and mental health and well-being are pretty important factors that can influence sex. For me, being in touch with my sexuality manifests as a feeling of ‘aliveness’. 

The greatest lesson I’ve learnt about sex is to stay curious and trust yourself and your instincts.