Illustration by Luke Hampton

Dear Valerie Huber, executive director of the National Abstinence Education Association:

Earlier this year, the Chicago Board of Education voted to overhaul its public schools’ sex education curriculum and begin teaching age-appropriate sexual health lessons in kindergarten. You, in response, criticized the board as “pushing an extreme agenda across the board, both to normalize sex and begin the conversation earlier.”

I’ll admit that, as a leftist atheist sex columnist from the Pacific Northwest who enjoys premarital sex on a rather regular basis, I’m probably not your target audience. But still, I’m having one hell of a time trying to wrap my mind around how your two points, “normalizing sex” and “beginning the conversation earlier” are bad things.

We’re both adults here, so let’s be frank: People fuck. They make love. They have sex. The vast majority of people will have sex during their lives, and most will do it more than once! And contrary to what some people seem to think, sex isn’t some new development in human history. I’m not a historian, but I feel it’s pretty safe to say that, broadly speaking, sex has been a favorite pastime of humans for, well, ever.

I bring this up because you seem to be under the perplexing impression that sex is not “normal.” It’s as if you want us to teach our children that sex is like pink eye—a weird, disgusting rarity that only happens to the miscreants who don’t wash their hands. But sex isn’t pink eye. It isn’t a rarity. And as long as we keep our children in the dark about this fact, we’re setting them up to feel shame and guilt when they begin to develop their sexualities, as they almost inevitably will.

After all, classrooms are where we forge the culture of our future. Today’s teachers shape tomorrow’s society. The lessons we teach our children about their bodies—both what we say (or don’t) and how we say it—will follow them for much of their lives. For generations, sex education has saddled our children with incomplete information and shame. We can do better than this.

You’re worried that we’re trying to “begin the conversation earlier.” But that’s what we need, because we’ve spent too long saying nothing about sex at all. In every other subject, we expect our schools to teach our children fundamental, age-appropriate, evidence-based facts. This, after all, is how we empower our children to become informed, intelligent teenagers and adults. Yet when it comes to sex, we hold an entirely different set of standards, as if we’d rather keep our children ignorant. This is not the purpose of education.

I know you’re afraid of the potential consequences of early sex ed. Supporters of abstinence-only sex ed often fear that giving students information about sex will make them more likely to have it. But the evidence shows the contrary: Comprehensive sex ed makes students more likely to delay first sex. Similarly, teenagers who receive comprehensive sex ed are 50 percent less likely than abstinence-only students to experience pregnancy. Comprehensive sex education is the best way to help our youth stay healthy.

Instead of consequences, think of the potential benefits. The next generation of Chicago’s schoolchildren will grow up unafraid, unashamed and unapologetic. When they choose to become sexually active, either as teenagers or as adults, they will do so from an empowered, knowledgeable position. Comprehensive sex ed, after all, doesn’t tell students they should have sex; rather, it gives them information and encourages them to make decisions in line with their personal values.

They will have the skills to build healthy relationships founded on mutual respect and consent. They will be healthier, more responsible, less likely to get pregnant—and, god forbid, comfortable with their sexualities.

This should not scare you the way I know it does.

-Spencer Wharton

It’s the classic setup. A and B are dating. Due to some misunderstanding, A becomes incredibly jealous of the relationship B has with C—which is actually nothing more than a platonic friendship. This becomes a serious plot point, leading to arguments, character development and all sorts of juicy drama.

That’s how jealousy works. It’s the doomsday clock on a relationship, ticking down to detonation, and the only way to stop it is for someone to make a sacrifice.

Right?

Well, no.

Jealousy is real and it sucks; there’s no two ways about that. Shakespeare didn’t call it the “green-eyed monster” for nothing: Jealousy can feel like a hulking Jabberwock, eyes aflame and jaws snapping. It’s terrifying and infuriating and not something anyone wants to deal with.

But it’s also not the emotional juggernaut it’s often made out to be. From “Othello” to “Doctor Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog,” we make jealousy out to be an unassailable force of nature. We’ve made such a terrifying specter out of the mere idea of jealousy that it’s often hard to imagine how it could be managed in a way that’s healthy for everyone involved.

Let’s start by breaking down the idea of jealousy. As authors Janet W. Hardy and Dossie Easton write in “The Ethical Slut,” jealousy itself isn’t an emotion. Rather, it’s an umbrella term—when you feel “jealous,” you’re probably feeling a potent cocktail of fear, sadness, anger and disgust.

This ain’t just a semantic difference. “I’m jealous” only gives you a vague idea of what’s wrong—whatever your partner is doing with someone else. If you break it down into its component parts, you can better put a finger on what’s bothering you. Maybe you’re scared that you’re going to be replaced. Maybe you’re angry because you feel betrayed. Whatever it is, you’ll have a better chance of identifying it if you look deeper than the easy “jealousy” label.

When you break it down into its emotional components, jealousy also becomes a more familiar problem. Fear, sadness, anger—feelings like these often lose their sting when you share them with a compassionate, attentive partner. And putting it in terms of actual emotions often sidesteps the baggage that comes with saying “I’m jealous.”

Defanging jealousy also opens up new possibilities for solutions. As long as we treat jealousy like an angry god, the appropriate solutions are similarly dramatic: ultimatums, demands and edicts. But these don’t make healthy relationships. If you go at jealousy as a manageable emotional issue instead, then you can still maintain compassionate communication and an open heart.

This means making requests rather than demands. It’s one thing to say, “I would feel better if you did X”—it’s quite another to say, “You need to stop seeing C right away.” The first is something that both you and your partner can cooperate on and feel good about, whereas the second is unlikely to leave anyone feeling good.

This also means taking some responsibility for recognizing and meeting your own needs. Our partners often fill a lot of our emotional needs, but—and I’ve been here myself—it’s really easy to slip up and imagine that it’s their duty to fill those needs. Look for other ways (within the bounds of your relationship, of course) to get your needs. If your partner’s plans with a platonic friend are leaving you lonely, text a friend and get out of the house. Sure, it won’t be exactly the same, but it’ll often be a lot better than dwelling on what you don’t have.

Finally—and take it from someone who’s been through a ton of jealousy—understand that it fades. Especially once you’ve shared your feelings and no longer feel like they’re trapped inside you, jealousy, like any other source of emotional strife, loses its edge with time. Jealousy sucks, undeniably, but if you manage it with open communication, an open heart and a willingness to cooperate, you can weather it without letting it wreck you.

A few weeks ago, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists published research confirming that IUDs are safe methods of contraception, not just for adult women, but for teenagers as well. A review of over 90,000 health insurance claims for IUD users found that less than one percent of them, regardless of the type of IUD they were using or their age, experienced serious complications.

IUDs are the most effective reversible methods of birth control available today. Planned Parenthood reports that less than 1 out of 100 IUD users will get pregnant while using the method—a number so low that “Managing Contraception on the Go,” a manual for sexual health specialists and nurse practitioners, advises readers to “think of IUDs as reversible sterilization.” They’re long-lasting—Skyla lasts three years, Mirena lasts five, and the copper IUD lasts 10. They may prevent cervical cancer. And they require no input to work—there’s no pill you have to remember, no appointments you have to schedule, nothing.

Unsurprisingly, out of the 661 million couples worldwide who are using “modern” methods of birth control, 169 million are using IUDs. That’s a solid quarter, outclassed only by tubal sterilization (223 million).

Yet, in the U.S., IUDs account for only 5.5 percent of birth control use.

What’s up with that?

Blame the Dalkon Shield. In the 1970s, the A.H. Robins company manufactured, marketed, and sold an IUD called the Dalkon Shield. At the peak of its popularity, it had over 2.8 million users. It was also, due a design flaw, responsible for the serious injury of over 200,000 people. More than 300,000 lawsuits were filed against the company, and yet, in spite of this, A.H. Robins continued to defend the device and its safety until the company went bankrupt in 1985.

You can’t blame anyone for being cautious of what they put into their body, especially when corporations like A.H. Robins demonstrate how willing they are to lie and endanger people’s health in order to keep making a profit. But nobody’s selling Dalkon Shields anymore.

The IUDs available today have been proven again and again to be much, much safer than the Dalkon Shield was. The Shield’s central design flaw—a porous, multifilament string that provided an easy path into the uterus for bacteria—is absent in all three IUDs available in the U.S. today, which all use monofilament strings instead.

Obviously, the decision of what birth control method to use is a personal one, and depends on a lot of factors. That said, it’s time to cast aside the fear surrounding the most effective method of birth control available today. As this latest study from ACOG shows, IUDs are safe and reliable for practically everyone who might use them.

Illustration by Julie Peterson

(Content warning: This column discusses rape, rape culture and sexual assault.)

Several weeks ago, Trent Mays and Ma’lik Richmond, the boys from Steubenville, Ohio who raped an unconscious girl, were both found guilty and sentenced. This doesn’t mean it’s time to stop talking about rape. On the contrary, we need now, just as much as ever, to talk about how we raise our children—especially our boys—to become rapists.

Of course, not all rapists are men, and not all men are rapists. These facts are indisputable and I would never argue otherwise. But we cannot beat the drum so vigorously in defense of men who aren’t rapists that we forget some men are. If we want to move productively toward eliminating rape, we need to accept the uncomfortable truth that rapists are not born, they’re raised, molded by a culture that normalizes and excuses rape.

How?

Start by teaching a boy that there are fundamental differences between men and women—not just in anatomy, but in behavior. Tell him that masculinity naturally means aggression and competitiveness, and that femininity naturally means timidity and an attentiveness to emotions. Encourage him to be “masculine” by surrounding him with masculine peers. Show him that there’s something inherently unacceptable about displaying “feminine” traits—like wanting pink toenails.

Expect him to be a winner. Teach him that seduction is a sport, a competition between his natural offense and the other side’s naturally guarded defense. Drill him on a gameplan that involves scoring by whatever means possible. Keep sex a highly valued commodity, in low supply and high demand, so that when he does score, he knows he’ll win the status of a victor.

Teach him he has a right to others’ bodies. Show him through shock and scorn that it is unusual to not want physical contact—that by default, he’s free to touch other people as he wishes. Raise him to understand that in certain circumstances, others owe him access to their bodies.

Never expect him to control himself—least of all when he’s horny. Make that someone else’s problem.

Water down what the word “rape” means. Use it to talk about video games, football games, tests—make it sound like a minor inconvenience, like stubbing your toe. Show him that the wholesale violation of another human’s will is something you should be able to laugh about or wish on someone.

Demonstrate to him that he will always be protected. Show him that his community, his teachers and his coaches will support him, no matter what he does or how clear the evidence against him. Impress upon him that his sex will excuse any “mischief” he causes, because “boys will be boys.” Teach him through a sympathetic media that if he rapes, it will be a crime against himself and his bright future, not against the person whose humanity he ignored and whose body he violated. Show him a world that will make every excuse possible to make it not his fault.

And never once talk to him about consent.

Give him years of sex education where the only time he sees the word “consent” is on parental permission forms. Never tell him that just like turning an invitation to coffee down without saying the word “no,” someone—no matter their clothes, their makeup, their history or their behavior—can say “no” to sex simply by not saying yes. Never tell him that people who are scared or intoxicated might be unable to say “no,” and that he has the power to put his libido on hold in order to respect what they may be unwilling or unable to say.

Then tell him that rapists are psychopaths and monsters who can’t be reasoned with—not normal people like him. Tell him rape is committed by strangers in dark alleys—not him, with someone he knows, in his bedroom. Suggest to him that rape is only “legitimate” rape when it’s violent.

Tell him he is not, and will never be, could never be a rapist.

This is what “rape culture” means. If we want to fight rape, any single one of these points is a good place to start.

Or we can sit on our hands and continue to make excuses.

I’m gonna be blunt: We’ve got to stop virgin-shaming.

There’s an unfortunate trend in our society to scorn virgins. If word gets out that you made it to voting age without ever touching another person’s genitals, you’re practically guaranteed a certain amount of derision. “Virgin” is tossed around like a slur, as if there’s something inherently shameful about having never placed your naked junk in close proximity to someone else’s body.

We’re isolating and mocking a poor, misunderstood subset of our community, and that’s not okay. Virgins are people, too—people who deserve our pity, not our scorn.

It’s not like anyone’s a virgin by choice. Nobody in their right mind would pass up on the rich and rewarding experience of sex—especially sex at college. That would mean opting out of the intricate, sensual and erotic dance of sharing a magical first kiss in a sweaty frat basement, awkwardly fumbling around in the dark on a tiny dorm bed, and ultimately sharing your body and sexuality with a selfish partner interested only in their own pleasure. What’s more, it would also be branding yourself a total prudish loser in the eyes of your peers. Who would do that to themselves?

No, virgins aren’t sexless dweebs by choice; rather, they’re forced into their “involuntary celibacy” by forces beyond their control. For many virgins at Whitman, it’s because they weren’t granted the genetic gift of stunning good looks that the rest of us inherited. Instead, they’re genetically predisposed to be unattractive—ranging from “homely” to “plain-looking”—which is a well-studied predictor for celibacy. The evidence is stark: People are either attractive or they’re not, and those who aren’t have very little chance of ever getting some, especially when they’re competing with normal beautiful people.

They’ve also been screwed—figuratively, not literally—because of a vicious asocial spiral. It’s nearly impossible to remain sexless if you’ve got a winning personality, so for many of these poor involuntary celibates, their lifelong dry spell was at first merely due to a minor flaw in their character. But involuntary celibacy means being informally barred from most social events, and without any friends, virgins’ minor social flaws become full-fledged social inability.

Is anyone surprised? Never having known the sensation of another’s intimate touch, many virgins find it difficult to engage with anyone socially and instead redirect their energies to work, confining themselves to their rooms, their study lounges or the library. After all, how are you supposed to go to a sexual fantasy party if you don’t even know what sex is?

None of this is their fault, and yet we continue to hurl the word “virgin” like an insult, completely insensitive to the way it hurts the ugly, socially stunted involuntary celibates around us. They deserve a world where they aren’t slandered or unfairly ridiculed.

So let’s quit shaming people for things entirely out of their control. It’s the twenty-first century; we should all be able to accept that we live in a diverse society. Just because most of us are bumpin’ uglies at least once a week doesn’t change the fact that there are other poor sods who will never, ever get laid.

What’s more, all of us who have even a modicum of sex appeal owe a favor to the poor sexless virgins. Rather than mocking them, we should be trying to help them. Drag that socially inept dormmate out of their virgin cave and take them to a party. Introduce them to attractive people that they’d never have a chance with without your help, and see if you can’t use your charms to set them up. They’ll thank you for it later.

After all, virgins want sex just as much as normal people.

I’m no stranger to kink. I’ve got a bag of crimson hemp rope stashed away in my closet. I’ve browsed the sex toy selection at Babeland in search of toys to cause a partner just the right amount of (completely consensual) pain. Hell, I’ve gone to parties at Seattle’s Center for Sex Positive Culture, which, among other things, serves as a sprawling BDSM “dungeon.” So it’s not because of any aversion to kinky sex that I say I absolutely loathe “50 Shades of Grey” and everything it stands for.

With the advent of the Internet, the explosion of personal blogs and discussion groups, the instant accessibility of porn and the recent popularity of “50 Shades of Grey,” Americans are now more aware than ever of kinky sex—that is, sex that involves power play, bondage, pain or any number of other activities outside of the conventional realm. At least, they used to be outside of convention. Lately, kink—which once kept to itself in quiet, largely secretive subcultures—has recently been dragged into the mainstream spotlight, and while I’m all for sexual openness, this “mainstreamification” of kink has dangerous implications for how people think about and have sex.

It doesn’t help that kink had a bad rap to start with. Many well-meaning people go pale at the idea of power or pain play in the bedroom, believing it to be a sign of an unhealthy relationship or a damaged psyche. Until 1994, consensual sadomasochism was still classified as a psychological disorder by the American Psychiatric Association. But the truth is, kinky sex can be just as safe, sane and consensual as any other sex practice, when done right.

With kink in the mainstream, however, it becomes far more likely that people will try to mimic what they’ve seen or read about and do it horribly, horribly wrong. Take physical safety. Far more than with “vanilla” sex, kinky sex offers so many more ways to cause pain to someone. For many, that’s the point. I’ve seen people flogged and whipped. I’ve seen someone set on fire. I’ve even seen someone squirm as his back was traced by a thin arc of electricity. But all of this was done by people who knew precisely what they were doing. They’d carefully learned how to practice their kinks without putting anyone in serious danger. Even to tie someone up, you need to know how to avoid pinching nerves, how to distribute weight evenly and how to get them out of the ropes immediately if something goes wrong. You learn these things from skillful people who’ve come before you, and as you get better, you pass your wisdom on to others in order to keep everyone safe.

However, when kink is packaged and sold as something anybody can immediately pick up and try out, there’s no such guarantee of skill or physical safety. It gets even scarier when you talk about power play. Dominant-submissive sexual relationships, like any aspect of BDSM, can be healthy and consensual for everyone involved. It’s even possible for people to enjoy what’s called “consensual non-consent”—fantasy scenarios that involve one partner’s lack of consent. These can be done safely, but they require immeasurable work behind the scenes to build trust and establish limits.

When kink is reflected in the mainstream, none of this behind-the-scenes work is shown. Porn that incorporates power play like this, for instance, never shows anyone using a safeword to immediately and unconditionally end the encounter. Instead, viewers see a façade, with all the sexy allure but none of the foundational work of the real thing.

Kink can be practiced safely precisely because of the safeguards, communication and trust embedded in its context. Mainstream kink, however—kink without context—is nothing but a model for dangerous sex and harmful relationships. In skillful hands, a whip is a toy. In the wrong hands, it’s a weapon.

My boyfriend and I have recently become sexually active (we’re both newbies) and we’re having some serious issues with the condoms slipping/breaking. So, I guess I have two questions: What are some reasons that condoms slip/break, and do you have any tips for how to avoid those things?

-Doesn’t Want to Take Plan B Again

Good on you for practicing safer sex!

External condoms can be a little tricky. According to Planned Parenthood, each year, only 2 out of 100 women whose partners use external condoms perfectly get pregnant. That’s not bad. But that refers to perfect use, and unfortunately, when you look at the typical failure rate—that is, the rate among women whose partners don’t always use condoms perfectly—that number jumps up to 18 out of 100. That’s almost a 20 percent failure rate. Clearly, to maximize the protection provided by condoms, you want to use them correctly, but not everyone’s taught how best to do this. What’s a person to do?

In general, if condoms are slipping off or breaking, there are two things you want to investigate first: the fit of the condoms, and the amount and type of lube you’re using.

To start with, if condoms keep slipping off, check to make sure they fit. A well-fitting condom should sit snugly around the penis without bunching up anywhere—if it’s bunching, that means there’s extra material, and extra material means the condom’s too big. It’s easy to slip out of a condom that’s too big. At the same time, a well-fitting condom also shouldn’t feel uncomfortable or painfully tight, and shouldn’t be stretched taut. If your boyfriend is concerned that the condoms you have don’t fit, consider trying a condom sampler pack like this one from Babeland to find a brand and size that does the trick.

In terms of lubrication, the key is to apply the right amount in the right places. It’s a good practice to put a single drop of lube inside the tip of the condom before putting it on, but as you might imagine, putting too much lube inside the condom makes it harder for it to snugly wrap around the penis, and thus more likely to slip off. Don’t go overboard; you want a single drop in the tip of the condom. Meanwhile, when it comes to preventing breakage, you want to minimize the amount of friction on the outside of the condom, which means ensuring the outside is well-lubricated. When condoms dry out, they get less stretchy and more prone to tearing. Keep things slip-slidey with lube and you’ll decrease that risk.

You should also make sure that the condoms you’re using are compatible with the lube you’re using. Check out my previous post on choosing lube for more advice about that.

If you’ve ruled out lube and condom size as causes, then a few other things to consider are:

• Intensity of sex: Are you having really vigorous sex? That can put a condom at higher risk for breaking (or slipping off if the two problems above aren’t dealt with). Stop every once in a while to check the condom and reapply lube as needed.
• Condition of condoms: Condom wrappers should be unwrinkled, free of any holes, and in generally good condition. The condoms should also be unexpired; most have an expiration date printed on the wrapper so you can check. If your condoms are expired or not in great condition, don’t use them—throw them out and get new ones.
• Timing and withdrawal: Anyone wearing a condom should pull out immediately after ejaculation, while their penis is still erect. When they do so, they should grab the base of the condom as they withdraw. Both of these techniques keep them from slipping out of the condom.

For more information on external condoms, check out Scarleteen’s “Condom Basics: A User’s Manual”.

Good luck!

Anonymously submit questions to Spencer at http://is.gd/sexcetera/.

My girlfriend and I are both seniors at Whitman, and I’m worried that our busy schedules are hurting our sex life. On a normal night, we’ll curl up on the couch together, and maybe cuddle a little, but even when I try to suggest sex by giving her a massage, she tends to fall asleep. Sometimes, I’ll ask if she wants to have sex, but she usually says she’s tired. She seems concerned that I’m unsatisfied, but at the same time, I don’t want to pressure or guilt her into having sex. I’m just concerned that our sex drives are becoming more and more mismatched.

-Schedules Make Intimacy Tough to Experience

You mention, SMITE, that you don’t want to pressure or guilt your girlfriend into having sex. That’s a good principle. But she’s concerned, and you’re unhappy, and amidst all of this, it sounds like you’re not saying a word, just bottling it up, presumably in order to keep from feeling like you’re pressuring her. This is not a promising equation. In order to deal with this, you’re going to have to acknowledge that your desires and needs are important too. Caring for yourself isn’t the same as selfishness.

Everyone has their own sexual needs. This might not be discussed as often as other parts of relationships, but it’s a fact—everyone has a libido that works at a different pace. Some people are happiest when they’re getting sex once a day; others are perfectly fine if it happens once a month. However your libido works, there’s no denying that it can significantly improve your happiness when you’re meeting your needs and really drag you down when you’re not. If you’re feeling unsatisfied, don’t brush it off. That’s a perfectly valid feeling.

It’s important to consider your partner’s feelings, obviously—but you’ve also got to recognize and take care of your own, because if you don’t, who will? This means that while you definitely shouldn’t pressure your girlfriend into sex, you also shouldn’t keep your dissatisfaction secret. If she doesn’t know there’s a problem, there’s no way it’s going to get better.

So tell her. Make sure you’re not blaming her for anything, but also don’t be afraid to honestly and gently express what you’re feeling. A good trick is to use “I” statements—rather than talking about what she’s not doing and how she could fix things, stick to talking about yourself. This would be a good time to talk about what each of you like about your sex; maybe by listing favorites, you can find things you’re both eager to do more often. Alternatively, maybe that will help you find ways to improve the quality of your sex, which could also help you both feel more satisfied.

You might also talk about scheduling sex. If spontaneous sex isn’t working with your schedules, maybe you can set aside a few nights a week as sex nights—provided you’re both on board with the idea, of course. It sounds weird, sure, but by doing that, you make it something you prepare for and look forward to. Often, the biggest hurdle is just finding the motivation to start sex, and scheduling it can help relieve that.

The goal is to make yourself heard and find a solution that benefits both of you. If you’re unhappy right now and your girlfriend is concerned, neither of you are very happy with this portion of your relationship, and resolving it will be to both your benefits. By treating this as a team effort, you can respect your girlfriend’s desires while also giving voice to your own.