This week on Sex and the Single Mom, a woman wrote to me about the nervousness she felt before her first date with a woman after two decades of dating cis men.
She writes.
“…I am definitely attracted to both men and women, but have been married and in relationships exclusively with men for the last 18 years. But I got up the courage to ask this woman on a date, and we are going to dinner on Friday. I am so excited and so nervous. I'm not going to presume that she wants to be intimate with me, although if dinner goes well I'm fairly certain it could lead to that. I’ve been so focused on men that I feel like I've missed out on all these years of knowing what to do to please a woman…”
This has come up quite a few times for me and was similar to my experience navigating the same.
If I were to sexually identify my early 20-something self now, though, it would be “imposter.” I was a woman masquerading as whatever the man I was fucking was turned on by; unable to articulate her own wants and needs and, frankly, unsure of what they even were.
But all of that changed when, after 14 years of marriage, I became single again at 37. What a relief it was to feel as if I could start over. I was my new life partner now, and to her I solemnly swore that the only gaze I would prioritize from now on was my own.
Entering a sort of reclamation phase, I opened myself up to every possible situation that excited me. There would be no labels on any of it. No expectations. Just freedom to move about the cabin without turbulence.
Unbuckled, wandering me.
I know a lot of women (present company included!) who feel/have felt extremely intimidated by women sexually, especially when all/most past sexual experiences have been dick-centric, so I wanted to do a bit of a deeper dive, here (heh) — and invite you — both free and paid subscribers — to weigh in.
When you spend decades equating sex acts with dick, it takes a second to acclimatize to a body that doesn’t have one. But it’s also going to make whatever intimacy you experience with her all the more titillating. And by allowing yourself to lean into your nervousness, you are also leaning into your vulnerability, which is where the best sex happens.
For those of you who came to queerness later in life, what advice would you give to those who are similarly intimidated?
What was your experience like dating women or non-gender conforming people after MANY YEARS of cis men?
Comments are open for story time! Let’s go! And thank you in advance!
(You can read the entirety of my Romper column, here. And my Refinery29 essay, here.)
Coming into my queerness later in life introduced me to the kind of community I had craved, where being forced into a box wasn’t the norm and where I could explore what being queer meant to me moment by moment. Until that point, I had assumed fitting into defined spaces was the way to happiness and acceptance, my queer mentors helped me realize the only definition that mattered was my own, if I even chose to have one. Embracing the fluidity and flexibility of queerness carried over into so many other aspects of my life and has helped me redefine myself not in relation or comparison to others but wholly within myself. It was a gift I didn’t anticipate receiving when I came out later in life but one that keeps on giving.
I love this. For me, queerness has made my life so much more open in many ways. I am excited for anyone on this journey. Being more of ourselves makes us good lovers & I agree, queer sex is more all-over-the-body. I have never looked at hands the same way again. Thank you, Becca, for always holding such beautiful & thoughtful space. You are a lighthouse.