By Kai Cheng Thom
This post is the first in a column series entitled “Bad Ass: Real Talk about (Queer) Sex and Dating”.
“We have been raised to fear the yes within ourselves, our deepest cravings […] The fear of our desires keeps them suspect and indiscriminately powerful, for to suppress any truth is to give it strength beyond endurance […] In touch with the erotic, I become less willing to accept powerlessness.”
—Audre Lorde, “Uses of the Erotic”
It is probably best that I come clean now, in the opening lines of this column on sex and sexuality: I am not a sexpert. It is possible that I have not even had that much sex, to judge my sexploits in comparison to the raunchy over-brunch tales told by many of my white, gay male friends in Montréal. I have never spent steamy bathhouse nights in the red-light stretch of Rue St Catherine fucking and being fucked by dozens of men in the space of an hour; could not authoritatively tell you how to navigate the ethics and emotionality of a polyamorous quadrangle (if you figure it out, let me know); I have yet to successfully experience fisting. Girl, I am not even on Grindr.