What 2020 Taught Me About Sex
BOYSLUT ISSUE 30: This year will forever change how we approach sex, relationships, and love.
I think we can all agree that 2020 was a dumpster fire of a year. The irony being that many of us were optimistic at the start of this decade. At 11:58 pm on December 31, 2019, we thought, “2020 is going to be my year!” Then our hopes quickly faded, our mental health was challenged in unprecedented ways, and our lives turned completely upside-down.
I’ve spent the past few days drafting this newsletter and deleting it. I’ve repeatedly asked myself, “What can I say about this year that no one else can?”
The answer, I’ve realized, is sex. While this year brought unforeseen hardships, I think it changed how many of us approach our relationships. We were all forced to break our routine. We’ve had to abstain from sex and romance while we social distanced. No IRL dates. No sex. No meeting people out and about at bars. During this time, we’ve adapted for the sake of our mental and emotional wellbeing.
I’ve compiled a list of 11 sexual lessons I’ve learned this horrid year. Some of the lessons are universal—things many of us have learned about ourselves. Some are oddly specific (like new kinks I discovered in quarantine). The rest speak to how society (incorrectly) approaches sex and love. Here we go.
1. You’ll live without having sex for a while.
Grindr and Tinder sure fucked up a generation. Since I’ve been an adult, I’ve always had access to sex, no matter where I am in the world. Within 30 minutes, I can have someone new, ass up, shouting, “Breed me, daddy.” In the past, I’ve taken advantage, and I have no regrets for doing so.
At the beginning of the pandemic, I had my longest sexless bout since I was in high school. And guess, what? I survived. Heading into 2021, I plan to remember that I can go without sex—and at times, it’s good for me to take breaks. Breaks give me an opportunity to reflect on what I want sexually, what I want from potential partners, and what I can give to potential partners. Thus, these sexual hiatuses help to break my routine of having sex, simply for the sake of having it.
2. The paradox of choice is overwhelming.
I have met many serious partners on Grindr, Scruff, etc. I don’t want to make it seem like that can’t happen, but Grindr also creates a paradox of choice. There are too many options for romantic and sexual partners, which is why I’ve often fluttered from one person to the next. Instead of investing my time and energy into one (or a few people), I get tempted by new people I haven’t met yet. The pandemic forced me to limit my interactions with potential romantic partners, and because of this, I’ve been able to end up with not one, but two incredible people in my life.
3. Sexual fear can be transferred in unlikely ways.
When daily COVID cases in NY went down in the middle of the summer, I began hooking up again, albeit it cautiously and less frequently. I did a masked encounter, where we both wore our masks the entire time. No kissing. No dick sucking. No eating ass. Just a pounding. Part of the allure of the experience was the fear, knowing that what I was doing was risky. It was oddly arousing knowing that a lot of people would judge me if they found out what I was doing. But that risk is partly what made the experience so alluring.
4. You should pay for your porn.
I got into OnlyFans during the pandemic. (Not creating content, just watching others—sorry!) I did it, at first, to support my friends and the people I was dating. Slowly, I began subscribing to other folks’ content too. Sex workers have never had it easy, but there are numerous things right now making it even harder to exist. This includes lack of work from the pandemic, Instagram’s censorship, and a newly introduced bill to congress that will end adult content of any online platform if passed. Paying for sex content is the one thing we all can easily do to help support sex workers. So let’s do it.
5. Sextech provides temporary solace but not long-term substitutes.
If there were ever a moment for sextech to shine, it would have been in 2020—and it did! People began using long-distance sex toys, attending virtual sex parties, having FaceTime sex, and more. I got very into the many virtual ways to connect with others around the globe without leaving my house, but they did grow tiresome. The virtual sex parties got boring after a few goes. I had a month of FaceTime sex with a few different folks, and it was sexy, but that, too, lost its luster.
(Taken as part of the of theohseries.)
That’s why sextech should be used in addition to our regular sex life and during times when we can’t see our loved ones. But sextech never can or will replace IRL experiences with our sexual and romantic partners.
6. So much of our sexuality is untapped.
All I do is read, write about, and have sex. I thought I had seen and experienced it all and had a solid sense of what turns me on. I was wrong. During COVID I explored some new, intense fetishes, and I loved them. (Don’t worry, I will write about them in detail in future newsletters.) I realized this has less to do with untapped sexual pleasures but more to do with sexuality evolving. The things I’m currently into aren’t things I would have been into four years ago, and who knows what I’ll be into four years from now. It’s about being open to how your sexuality and desires change over time. What was once a hard limit suddenly becomes all you want to do.
7. Depressed masturbation is a thing.
Masturbation is great. By now, we all know that it can help alleviate stress, improve your mood, and help you sleep better, etc. But depressed masturbation is definitely a thing. You think jerking off will cheer you up, but the moment you climax, you feel worse than you did prior. At the beginning of COVID, I had to figure out when masturbation was helpful and when it would leave me feeling emptier.
8. Sometimes you don’t want sex but crave touch.
I missed sex, don’t get me wrong, but when I found myself with another person, I spent most of my time aggressively cuddling, as if I was trying to meld our two bodies into one. This eventually led me to get a weighted blanket, which attempts to offer a similar sensation. Moving forward, I need to create more opportunities that allow for platonic or romantic touch that don’t lead to sex. I know this will be tough. Half of the time, I intend on having a platonic cuddle, but then one of us gets hard, and before you know it, you’re having sex in the spooning position. That’s isn’t the end of the world but having more platonic cuddles sounds heavenly.
9. Your butthole is surprisingly clean.
It turns out I have been badly overdouching. You can get away with a bulb or two (10 minutes flat) as long as you take your fiber pills (and don’t eat anything too spicy/greasy). You can also douche and somehow be ready to go five hours later. I have been pleasantly surprised by how little you can do to remain clean. This fact has turned me into a significantly bigger bottom. (You’re all welcome!)
10. You need to accept the risks of having sex.
There are always risks that happen during sex. Even where you wear condoms, you can still get an STI. Even when on birth control, you can still get pregnant. And even when you take every precaution to make sure there’s “zero risk” of contracting COVID when hooking up, you are still at risk. That person may have omitted some of his whereabouts. He probably didn’t tell you about every single person he’s seen. And trust me, there are leaks in your pods, especially ones with more than two people.
While you can and should do your best to reduce the risk of contracting COVID during sex—or anything else for that matter—note that nothing is 100% safe. This is okay! You can still engage in something that isn’t 100% safe. But I’ve met many folks who are deluding themselves into thinking that how they’ve engaged in sex is somehow safer than everyone else. They then get this sense of moral superiority and self-righteousness. It’s not a cute look.
11. Shaming does not deter sexual behavior.
Shaming does not deter sex. COVID has made this very clear. When folks are shamed, they either become emboldened, flaunting their (allegedly problematic) behavior more, or they simply hide their sexual behavior from others. After speaking with many folks, I’ve realized that most people have been dishonest regarding how much sex they've had during the pandemic. Either they’re lying to their sexual/romantic partners, friends, family, or on social media. (They will, however, post on their ‘finstas’ about the sex they’re having/sex parties they’re attending.)
There’s research to back this up, specifically for gay/bi men. A recently published study in the Journal of AIDS and Behavior found a mean increase of 2.3 sexual partners over the non-COVID period. This research specifically noted that the increase in partners coincided with increased substance abuse, caused by COVID depression/anxiety/isolation. This speaks to the fact that shaming does not work. Instead, we need to address the underlying mental health problems causing sexual behavior. We need to create better support systems for those struggling with anxiety and depression.
This information isn’t anything new. Shaming people is not an effective deterrent when teaching abstinence-only education, and it was ineffective in the 80s and 90s when groups attempted to shame gay/bi men who were still having unprotected sex during the height of the AIDS epidemic. But I bring this up to say, before you’re quick to judge/shame others, perhaps look inwards. Or, conversely, keep your mouth shut.
2020 is finally coming to an end. We made it through and are still standing. There’s power in knowing that if we can handle a fucking pandemic (and all the other shit 2020 threw at us), we can take on anything else that comes our way.
Here’s to hoping 2021 is less of a shit show. Happy New Year!
Your Boyslut,
Zachary Zane