Quean of Quarantine: 3 Fun Sextivities

Alright, alright, I’m about two months late in creating some sexy quarantine post, but like…a LOT has happened. If you’re a citizen of planet earth, I’m sure you’re no exception to the fact that life has gotten a bit cray cray.

First, I created an email campaign to start reconnecting with you beautiful humans back in March, only to be bombarded with 14 hour shifts to help keep another organization’s dream afloat.

Yes. Defaulted back into helping others over myself. Goals = out the window.

But, guess what? I’m officially unemployed, like 22 million other Americans. And as much as it’s a stressful concept, I have had the privilege of getting real with myself…yet again, and it’s called for some creativity.

Here are my top 3 quarantine sextivities (subject to change as time goes on, and creativity flows…). Hope you enjoy!


Perhaps this is an obvious one, but for those of you who don’t know me, I’ve been exclusively interacting with my hubby and women. Turns out the lack of outside attention has been leaving me a little restless, so I’ve opened the Tinder gates to some virtual male interaction.

This took a few conversations between J and I to, first, understand my intention (because I wasn’t even 100% sure why I wanted to send strange men pics of me), and secondly, what the ground rules were.

Prior to my relationship with J, I found myself seducing most of the men I hooked up with. What I mean by that is, I tended to be the one who did the teasing and pursuing. When J came into the picture, it was the first time I really had a man assume that role. It’s an incredibly satisfying thing; however, from time to time I miss the chase. I get that Tinder may not be the easiest place to fulfill this desire of mine, but it’s a safe starting point AND, for anyone looking for some virtual hum-hum, kind of a guarantee.


They don’t call me the Queen for nothing. I love some serious pampering, and lucky for me, my man is a hands-on kind of guy.

We recently bought this bench, which we’ve used as both a sex and massage table. Who knew a dining room set would be my new favourite piece of play equipment?

We will spend full afternoons or evenings setting the tone (music, candles, lotions), and taking our time to just touch one another. Depending on your comfort level in your own relationship, it could be nice simply to set a timer, play some soft meditative sounds, and just do some deep-tissue Covid detoxing.

If you’re really feeling frisky, make a rule that you can touch each other anywhere, except for the genitals for a specific amount of time (say, 30 minutes?).

Master J likes it when I can barely contain myself anymore, so he’ll sometimes go as long as an hour, applying lotion to my skin, and rubbing me down. If your love language is touch, this is a surefire way to get those loins a-heated!

Ps. You can always ad restraints, blindfolds, and some light (or hard) whipping.


This is a classic Mo and J experience.

One of us will play the host, the other a delicious guest. The host will cook dinner, and set up the room with the festivities in which they want that evening. Then, enter guest. The goal is to genuinely seduce each other in the same way we would if we were on a first date. There’s no jumping the gun, or throwing in the towel. We approach these evenings with the same attitude and respect that we would if we were getting together for the first time (so, no groping and gawking, people!).

Yes, we even pick new names, new stories, sometimes even a crazy outfit that is WAY out of character.

Meet Alexi – she loves pink, is super confident
and goes for what she wants!
(I may have been watching a lot of Schitt’s Creek during this time)

NOT FEELING SO FRISKY, but still want to connect?

Here are a few alternatives for people who are just looking for a fun activity that doesn’t include Netflix or family Skype calls.

House Party: All you need is two devices, the app downloaded and a good sense of humour. This app has a variety games from trivia to Ellen Degeneres’ famous Heads Up. Of course, if two isn’t feeling like a party, you can always invite friends virtually.

Becoming: I recently purchased Michelle Obama’s guided journal. It’s based off of her autobiography, Becoming. Although it is meant to be completed individually, Master J and I have recently been asking each other the journal prompts aloud. By doing this, we’ve learned a lot about each other’s pasts, wants and feelings.

Boho Beautiful: I have adopted a wonderful yoga routine, and am in love with this woman! You can find her videos through her link and on youtube. I always recommend partners getting physical with each other outside of the bedroom. Because much of the world is prohibited from going into nature at the moment, having an activity that can be done indoors is a great way to sweat together.

I’d love to hear if you and your special someone(s) give any of these items a go! Feel free to share your ideas in the comments below.

Until then,

Fuck well, friends! And happy-quarantine!

The Good Girl Game

My husband’s creativity amazes me.

If you want to know the extent of your partner’s sexual imagination, go away for a few days with very little contact, and the commitment of not masturbating during that time.

I was away from Thursday to Saturday and when I arrived home, his desire to connect physically was at its peak. Here are the details of the evening we shared. It may just inspire some lusty ideas of your own…


A series of small, red candles gave life to our dark apartment. There was a platter of grapes, berries, and French cheese on the counter. J turned the bench seat from our dining room set into a massage table. He asked me to remove my top and lie down. Soft meditative tunes swam from our Amazon Dot, and he began massaging me from head to toe.

As a result of my three days away – a work trip – I wasn’t mentally or physically ready to get intimate. J was able to take that pressure away by telling me that sexual intimacy was not the purpose for the set up. If it led to that, than we’d deal with it then; however, he went into this with the expectation of helping me relax, and being close to one another.

It’s safe to say that with that kind of understanding, attentiveness and physical touch, I was able to shed the work week Mo, and settle nicely back into the Quean.

Once I communicated this to J – both verbally and through involuntary body signals – he took the massage up a level, and focused on parts of me that had been neglected for days.


I score the highest on “physical touch” in love language. When my partner takes time on me in any physical way, 9.99 times out of 10 it leads to sex. J has known me long enough to understand this. If I’m not rushed, we are both rewarded.

Once I vocalized my desire to move onto the more “active” portion of the evening, J produced three small, closed envelopes. Each one had a small note on the outside. This is what they read:

You want to be…a good girl?

You want to be…a slut?

You want to be…a slave?

Each envelope came with a box. My selection (good girl, slut or slave) would determine what hidden contents would be my fate for the evening. As an extra detail, each character was assigned an outfit. The outfits were not shown to me prior.


I’m a funny human. Perhaps I’m more normal than I imagine. Being away from J for three days left me feeling uneasy about hard-core sex. As I mentioned, I’d already required warm-up time, and although he’d accomplished that wonderfully, mentally I was not in a hard-core state. Out of the three, the good girl resonated the most.

Inside the envelope was a small card. It read:

A good girl listens to what’s being asked of her. She tries her best to please her husband. She is naughty and playful, and loves hearing how good she is. She dresses sexy, with a touch of innocence.

Once I finished reading this, J disappeared into our bedroom, returning with a mini-skirt and a very low-cut, long-sleeved, skin-tight crop top. I changed immediately, looking like an actress from a school-girl porn. I felt cute, and safe, and, when I could see my appearance turning him on, in control.

The only order I received was to call him “Sir.” Living in the south has made it almost impossible NOT to call him Sir.


It felt like Christmas. He put the large box on my lap and told me to open it. Even if none of the contents were new, I felt giddy and child-like in my excitement. He had mastered the steps of getting me into character; a beautiful manipulation.

I peeled back the four folds of cardboard, and found the following items:

1. Sex dice – each face had a sex position. From oral to doggy style, there was no knowing what our next move would be.

2. Rope – it isn’t unusual for a good girl to turn into a brat. Better safe than sorry.

3. Spreader bar, with ankle and wrist cuffs – ’nuff said.

From here, the performance commenced…


Every step of this evening was thoughtfully crafted. My husband took my state into consideration. He removed the pressure, allowing me to navigate my own feelings. There were no expectations, just possibilities.

It isn’t just his creativity that amazes me, but also his patience, compassion, understanding and attentiveness. It’s those attributes that make him irresistible to me, and what keeps this love strong, and this sexuality so thrilling.

So, tell me, how do you and your partner(s) reconnect after some time apart? What do you do to keep the desire?

Until next time,

Fuck well, friends!

Trapeze, ATL

Regardless of my sexy-writing hiatus, nothing can keep me away from the lifestyle. It shouldn’t surprise you that one of the first adventures we took since moving to the land of peaches is the highest rated sex club in the city.

The name itself leaves you dreaming of seductive circus talent hanging from ceilings, calling you into their web…

Even if the theme doesn’t quite live up to that image, the Trapeze definitely harbors some beautiful freaks.


Our first visit was Halloween. I can FEEL my friends rolling their eyes. So typical: costumes, masks, sex.




Compared to other sex clubs we’ve been to, Trapeze is on the more luxurious end. It’s equipped with a buffet and club near the entrance, three BYOB bars, a whole secret VIP section and, of course, the play rooms.


Now, you have to understand, I love food. Like, if it weren’t for this innate urge to write all day long, food would have been my go-to career. Paid to eat = bliss, bliss, bliss. So, buffets and I have always had a love-hate relationship. Truth is, buffets in the US tend to make me cringe. It’s hard enough to trust the quality of the products at an American grocery store, let alone what’s being served at a $6.99 rate. So when J told me we’d be eating at a buffet…in a sex club…the dormant hypochondriac in me was like, “hell-to-the-fucknah!”

Then I saw it. Tried it. Realized that it may be the only buffet in this country I could grow to love. Meat-lovers’ delights, mouth-watering vegetarian, luscious deserts and light, sensual fruit…

But that isn’t what you’re here for, is it?


The US has very specific rules surrounding nudity in clubs. First, you cannot buy booze where people be naked. You have to bring your own, which the lovely bartenders take and pour for you. I have yet to see such an impeccable system as the Trapeze. These bartenders know exactly where your bottle is at all times.

Unlike the sex clubs I’ve been to in Europe and Canada, you are required to be a member to enter. What that means is, on top of the door-fee ($80, with certain discounts on themed evenings), you pay a flat rate which covers two months of access to the club. For couples, membership is $50; for single men, it’s $150; for single women, it’s $50 with a bonus month (3-month membership). This, of course, is completely separate from the VIP pricing which is, and don’t quote me, around $200 more at the door.


On our first evening, J and I took a tour of the entire club. Compared to the regular lounge, the VIP section has its own bartender, kitchen (served, not buffet), and elite ambiance.

If part of the thrill is feeling like you roll in dough, then this area may be for you. J and I find the rest of the club luxurious enough to enjoy. The great thing about the VIP lounge is that it’s so hidden, you don’t feel a class difference. Also, keeping in mind we only explored once, the VIP lounge attracts a more mature crowd, if you know what I mean.

All of this isn’t to say Master J and I will never return. I am a Taurus after all. I love luxury as much as I do adventure. We’ve noticed we’re popular among the older crowd. Who knows, maybe one of these days a nice, sophisticated couple will enjoy an evening sipping wine, and inviting us behind that red, satin curtain.


Down a low-lit hallway, you’ll find a manned locker room to your right. Darkness draws you through a doorway and into the back of the Trapeze. As you give in to your curiosity, tv screens of humans making love will entice you further. A bar sits to your left, overseeing faux-leather booths lining the opposite wall. You won’t stop there. Naked bodies walk slowly towards and passed you. A pool table adds a light-hearted touch to the dusky ambiance.

People play.

They play with each other’s humour, feelings, hearts and other organs. Men in towels; women draped in lace, silk, or nothing at all. Into the depths of this place we go to find a room that puritanicals would describe as hell…

All that survives there is pleasure.

It still amazes me, after the few years I’ve been in and out of these paradises, just how in flow people can be when they’ve reached down to their depths and pulled out their animal. We mistake our animal for the anger we feel, or the negative emotions we come up against. The truth is, that isn’t our animal…that’s our human. Our human is the corrupt part of us, the filtered versions we are forced to let show up in the world due to societal pressures and conditioning. Our animal, however, is the purest form of what we are. And in rooms like this, in clubs like the Trapeze, the jungle comes to life, and my friend, it’s fucken beautiful.


Go. Just once. It’s a pressure-free environment. Some people just go to party in a safe, open place. I promise if you go once, you’ll be back again. And again. And again.

Maybe we’ll see you there.

(P.s. They also have a location in Fort Lauderdale, FL!)

Until next time,

Fuck well, friends!

Forgive me, for I have sinned

It’s been exactly three months. Three months of acquainting myself to a new place, a new story. When we think of the word “home,” I imagine the majority of us feel warmth. It brings to mind certain people, a specific place, perhaps. If you’d asked me when I was ten where I’d be twenty years from then, I’d say here. Georgia. HOME.

There was something about the art that came from this state. The Spanish moss draping the streets; romantic, with an ominous charm. My heart would be full, I’d never be bored. It was a writer’s state…

If you’ve been here from the beginning, you know my sexual becoming has had a tremendous impact on my ability to navigate life. Accepting who I am between the sheets has helped me walk a little straighter, chin a little higher, in the outer world. After two years in France, I felt invincible – nothing could take me off my podium…

Then I moved to the United States. Even more specifically, the bible belt. A republican state. Everything I spent the last several years eliminating were suddenly confronting me at every turn:

A woman has class.

A man doesn’t cry.

Women need to be protected.

Being gay is not masculine.

The woman’s first role is to be a good wife.

Those are only a few of the repeated truths of the south. The other day I sat behind my desk as three male colleagues spoke about a potential date one of them would have that evening. The most senior of the three opened his mouth to speak, then looked at me and said, “a lady is present, so I won’t say anything.”

I was shocked. Like, truly, completely, utterly, shocked. It’s an interesting thing when you finally make a decision not to tolerate certain attitudes, and then how, when they are raised, your body convulses in order to reject it. That’s how I reacted. I shuttered. But I remained silent.

My vulva is, and may always be, the elephant in a room of men.

I didn’t come here to speak about this though. I didn’t take three months off from COTQ to purge the issues I’m now facing in this new patriarchal territory. No, I write today to say:

I. Am. Sorry.

I am sorry for having given up this platform in the first place. I was afraid. I fell into the same trap so many of us do. I indirectly became associated with a puritanical, upper-class group, and I felt the pressure to be “normal,” in a self-torturing attempt to keep them from seeing the real me. Can you guess what happened though?

My insides started boiling. I began feeling anxious again. I regretted every click of that “delete” button.

I also relearned that normality is an illusion…even within the walls of their uncontaminated ring. Sometimes those who seem the most together carry the deepest pain.

So, for the trillionth time in my life…

I let the walls back down. I sank into my being. I reconnected to the part of me that gave me my power. You know who came ripping out? The Quean. And I’ve missed her.

So has my husband!

To celebrate this rebirth we spent the whole of Saturday night dancing in the middle of a club, naked and sweaty people around us, enjoying life. Liberated from the restraints. And we fucked. J and I, in some back room, with the door locked, on a black leather bed, surrounded by red walls, and her essence drowning us: the Quean.

For the first time in my life, I had multiple orgasms.

For the first time in my life, I realized there was no going back.

For the first time in my life I wasn’t sorry – no forgiveness needed.

Until next time,

Fuck well, friends!

Bye-Bye Quean, This Isn’t the End…


Two years ago, the Quean was born. It’s been fun, but life is made up of seasons, chapters, and it’s looking like this one has come to an end. This blog fed a part of my soul, and judging by the feedback I’ve been receiving over the last couple of weeks, I think it’s safe to say it’s fed a few of yours, too.

Like most things that come to an end, there’s this bitter-sweetness. It was humbling to receive such love, when this whole platform came from a place of anxiety. Hitting PUBLISH for the first time was both terrifying and exhilarating. I remember where I was: Whitney Bar, Tignes, France. I was wearing all black, in my blonde wig. It’s funny how the simple press of a button can make one feel so naked, exposed…free.

My hope for this site was always to inspire others to be themselves, no matter what that looked like. So long as that authenticity creates a positive wave in the world, we shouldn’t deny it. I can’t tell you if it’s a result of how I was raised, or how I was made – always the nature vs nurture debate – but I’ve only ever wanted to create space for people to be who they are, and to help them create that same space for others.

Look, this blog, despite what some have thought, didn’t have a large following…

COTQ was a minuscule pebble thrown into an enormous pond. From way up high, you wouldn’t even notice it…but focus back in to where that pebble landed, and you’ll see it. That tiny ripple. It only lasted a few seconds on the surface, but it flowed downward, impacting everything within its tiny diameter. If you’re reading this now, you were in my zone; a part of my impact. Thank you…

Even though this is goodbye, it’s also an invitation to step up in the world. What parts of you have you been holding back out of fear? What pieces of your soul are being pushed down?

When Master J first met me, he described me as a bird in a cage. I now use that metaphor; however, I wasn’t simply a bird in a cage. I was the bird ramming itself against the sides of the cage. I knew I wanted to be free, but wasn’t quite sure what that meant, or what needed to be done in order to get there. There were so many other elements holding me in place, that the only control I seemed to have was self-destructive. For a long time I blamed a specific toxic relationship for that self-loathing, and self-harm. I recognize now, through my own self-development, that putting that kind of blame on a single person was my way of rerouting the responsibility I had for and of myself. It was never his fault. Yes, he made choices and said things that were unnecessary and unfair, but I stayed. Me. My response to the world is up to me. That was really where my control lied.

I was impressionable, superficial, and hadn’t quite figured out my own self-worth. If I had, I never would have quit on my registration to Oxford University for a relationship; I wouldn’t have given up music for partying; I wouldn’t have focussed my entire energies on looking a certain way, rather than being a great friend to the people I love. I wouldn’t have let the seemingly “easy” path take precedent over the things I deeply, truly desired.

But I did.

And as much as that all sounds heart breaking, I also know things happen for a reason. Without any of those errors in judgement, I never would have written my first novel. I never would have met the love of my life. I wouldn’t be living in the place I dreamt to live nearly my entire life. I wouldn’t be speaking a second language, or be financially independent. I wouldn’t be taking music lessons again, or creating a writing habit! I wouldn’t be working alongside a coach I deeply admire. I wouldn’t be the me I am today…

By removing the blame. By accepting the past. By moving on, and allowing myself to change through the seasons of my life – becoming more and more self aware – I veered back onto the right path. We get mislead sometimes. We misjudge, we blame, we fear, but in the end, if you just sit with yourself for a moment or two every day, that noise will quiet itself enough for you to begin understanding the workings of your own spirit, and the direction it wishes to take.

Two years ago, COTQ was my direction, my path, my fate. I know this to be true because the Universe showed me in a multitude of ways that who I was becoming was no accident. Trust yourself. Trust life, and know that there is no such thing as the end – only beginnings. So, as I say my goodbyes and wish you all well, let this be an invitation – the opening of a door, if you will – to tap into the pieces of yourself that you’ve been hiding, ignoring or repressing. No two things in nature are the same, yet they’re all spectacular. What makes you the exception? Nothing.

You are an extension of the Universe, and no one – not even you – can take that away.

Until our paths meet again,

You all know what to do!

RAF: The Sexiest Science

The woman that graces my blog today is a passionate badass on all things sex and science. She’s devoted her time and efforts to quality, researched information on sex, sexual health, intimacy and quality sex products for women. When she isn’t teaching others how to accept their bodies and increase their pleasure, she’s defending women’s sexuality, even if that means having my back in a major insta-troll attack! This woman, although having never met in person, has proven herself a warrior in the arena of sexual health, and I am so thrilled to be sharing her words and experience with you today.


It is no secret that the American Sexual Education system is comically bad. To put it in perspective, when I was a junior in high school I went with a group of students to the Dominican Republic to teach about First Aid, hygiene, and a little bit of Sex Ed to some of the children in the area. We were able to teach more relevant information about sex and sexual health to children ranging from five-years-old to seventeen through a translator than any of us had received at the hands of public or private education.

Growing up in an abstinence only state was a unique experience and my sex education ranged from somewhat worthwhile (thanks to a few teachers being willing to stretch the interpretation of abstinence only) to truly abysmal. In eighth grade I had a very sexist, sort of creepy health teacher who made us say “penis” and “vagina” over and over and over again while he listened. I think the point was to desensitize us to the shock of saying the words, but I think the overall effect was that we instead pictured his face with those words… which in hindsight may have prevented a few pregnancies.

My first exposure to some sort of sexual education in school was in fifth grade during what the school called “The Maturation Program” in which we really did have the conversation about our changing bodies. Boys and girls were separated, and they actually brought in health care professionals to talk to us. Even still, what they could say was quite limited and I think they were trying not to scare us with some of the talk about menstruation and pregnancy. Thankfully, my mom had decided to come with me. Not as a chaperone, but as a filter and translator for the bad information. Part of the translation went like this:

Nurse: When menstruating you may experience some mild cramping which can be alleviated with light exercise and drinking lots of water.

Mom: Your period may be like that at first, but it will probably get worse as you get older and your body regulates. Let me know and I’ll make sure we get you what you need. The first couple days it might be really difficult to exercise but there are other things you can do to help.

Nurse: You may experience some minor moodiness or irritation as your period gets close. This is normal and can be helped with medications like Midol and again light exercise and lots of water.

Mom: Or you may start sobbing because someone looked at you funny and that’s okay too.

Nurse: If you need period supplies while at school you can ask a trusted teacher or find your school’s nurse.

Mom: In a few years once most of you have started you’ll be able to yell down the hall that you need a tampon or pad and you’ll get a rainstorm of what you need coming back at you. Don’t be embarrassed about it or about the boys, they need to learn how to handle women on their periods appropriately anyway.

I was, and continue to be, very grateful that my mom was so forthright with me and always has been when I’ve had a question about my body. We never had the official “talk” because the narrative was always open between us about it. There were still some questions I was uncomfortable asking at different times, but I knew I could get the answers if I needed them. I learned quickly that the information from Google was… not the best and as I learned more about reputable sources of information on the internet I used those to fill in the gaping holes of knowledge left by school education and flattered myself that I was a little more aware of my body than most girls my age.

This held true as I joined the Army as well. I remember very clearly at one training in Kentucky being called in to a meeting with all the rest of the girls in my company to sit down with a female Lieutenant Colonel (LTC) who was overseeing our training to have a discussion about hygiene in the field. This was an aspect of training I felt pretty confident and comfortable in and sort of tuned out a lot of what was being said until this LTC then advised all the girls in our company to shave off all their pubic hair before going to the field because it would help to keep them dry. I was appalled to say the least, knowing that the piece of advice she had just offered was absolutely terrible, but the LTC had not cultivated a climate in which contradicting her in any way would be tolerated. 

So, I waited until we were excused back to the barracks and held a little meeting of my own enumerating all the reasons NOT to shave all their pubic hair off. I believe I used the phrase “pubic hair is like the eyelashes of your vulva” and told them that they were liable to get a yeast infection, UTI, or both if they did that and if they were worried about wetness to bring panty liners to the field and switch those out when they could, wear breathable underwear, and use baby wipes at night to cleanse that area. 

It was like a live science experiment. The girls who listened were infection free as we exited the field, those who didn’t had screaming UTIs, bad razor burn bumps, and a few had yeast infections. We did what we could for them by giving them the dried cranberries from some MREs, but it was too little too late.

As much as I thought I knew about my body, there was still a lot I had to learn. I have a degree in Biology and so when my friend lined up a consultant from Pure Romance to give a demo at my bachelorette party two years ago I scoffed, thinking there was no way this random woman in a MLM would be able to teach me anything about my body or sex. I ate my words, and some very flavorful lubricant samples, that night and when I had the opportunity a year later to become a consultant myself, I jumped on it.

I love doing it, despite the stigma, despite the judgment of MLMs, despite the whispers of people who don’t understand. I am finally in a position where I can help women take control of their bodies and sexuality and it’s an indescribable feeling. I have had the opportunity to do bachelorette parties and ladies’ nights, but more importantly, I’ve had the opportunity to talk with many (far too many) sexual assault survivors and help them take back some of the control over their sexual health and wellness and learn about resources and how to experience sex in a more positive way.

Being in this business has also led me into the paths of some truly incredible women through the team I work with, my online business, working at expos, and in social media. The experience, c’est magnifique. 

Growing up all I ever wanted to be was a scientist, taking on a role as a sexual health educator never even crossed my mind, but I have been afforded great opportunity to see the desperate need for women to stand up and be empowered to be educated. To see sex not as a chore in their relationships, but as a means of mutual pleasure and intimacy. To understand the beauty of their bodies and what they are designed to do and how to keep them healthy and happy. To know they are not alone in their struggles with intimacy, health, or recovery. To dismiss Freudian views of women and sex and to embrace the belief that pleasure is not inherently bad, nor are women inherently lesser or ‘broken’ simply by being born XX instead of XY.

I am so grateful for the women in my life and who came before me who have paved the way and made it possible for me to be where I am now and I hope to do them all justice and to help as many women as I can in the time that I have!

– Kristen Gines, Sexiest Science

Haven’t gotten enough of this Pure Romance Beauty, follow her on Instagram @sexiest_science. She ain’t shy!

So, tell me, what was your early sex-education experience like?

Until next time,

Fuck well, friends!

RAF: No Sex Please – We’re British

It’s such a pleasure to introduce this week’s guest writer, Petra Pan. We started speaking early on in my blogging days; however, she has been killing it as an adult product/lingerie tester long before the Quean was born. Well, today she brings you the perspective of sexuality from the land of another known Queen – England! As someone who has lived in France, it’s always a treat hearing the diverse attitudes and education of neighbouring cultures.


Growing up in Britain has its ups and its downs.  I adore our country in many ways – the diversity of the landscape, our sense of humour, regional dialects and how adventurous we are when it comes to food.  Every city these days has a vast array of cuisine on offer to the point where it can take me a while to choose where to eat.  Gone are they days when your choice was merely English, Chinese or Indian – now I’m choosing between Turkish, Lebanese or Greek!
But one thing I struggle with is our prudishness. At school, sex eductation started when I was around 13 and was solely focused on heterosexual relations.  It wasn’t at all about pleasure, but was focused on ‘the purpose of sex’ – having babies.  It also warned about STI’s and how to prevent them so that’s one good thing, but I don’t recall ever being taught about the clitoris, nipples, perinium or any other area that feels pleasurable as those body parts can’t contribute to pregnancy.  Gay sex wasn’t touched upon at all, we didn’t look at different body types, so if your anatomy didn’t match the cartoon ones we were shown we would think there was something wrong with us. Consent wasn’t discussed and yet that is a hugely important topic.  And there was certainly no mention of sex being natural, normal or fun, it was taught as if it was a means to an end.
This led to total confusion and fear when it came to sex.  The internet wasn’t a thing when I was growing up (and I’m not even that old!!), so I had nowhere to go for reference other than my friends, who knew as little as I did.  ‘Dirty magazines,’ as they were known then (which is so damaging given then use of the word ‘dirty’ to describe sex and nudity), were on the top shelf of your local newsagents so (a) I couldn’t reach them, and (b) the newsagent knew my dad.  So the thought of buying one was terrifying!
Nudity wasn’t seen much either.  People didn’t sunbathe topless on the beaches and today that still seems to be the case in most parts of the UK.  Whenever I travel abroad I love to be able to sunbathe topless, providing the country is acceptant of such a thing (n.b. Thailand isn’t!).  I have to confine my breasts to a bra all bloody year and it’s so liberating to set them free once in a while!  I honestly can’t see the big deal with toplessness amongst women.  Society has sexualised breasts.  Has this contributed to people being embarrassed or even offended when a woman breast feeds her child in public?  No wonder a lot of women are uncomfortable doing so, and yet it is the most natural thing to be able to feed your child from your own body.  I would never shame anyone for doing so in public and it makes me mad when people do, but is that their fault, or is it down to the way they have been taught?

Changing rooms are the same – when I last went swimming in this country, around a year ago , I stripped off in the changing room and had a shower.  But the other women present didn’t, they showered in their swim wear.  That’s hardly hygienic and a real faff!  I am perfectly comfortable with my body to strip off and shower, I only get uncomfortable when people stare at me for doing so, or seem embarrassed at my nudity.  And this is only because being naked isn’t ‘the norm’.
I travel a lot around Europe and I particularly adore Amsterdam. I love that sex shops are in full view on the high street, right next to mainstream shops.  It teaches society that sex is normal, natural, and that everybody does it.  What impression do we give to our society in Britain when our sex shops aren’t able to display their goods in the window, for fear of offending?  Sex shops appear seedy by being located down some steps somewhere with a small sign pointing to a ‘private shop’.  It makes you feel dirty or embarrassed to enter.
There is one saving grace – Ann Summers on the high street.  Although they have been around for a while we never had one on our high street when I was younger.  I remember being in my early twenties and there was a shop in the large town I lived in that, from the outside, looked like a shop selling household bits and bobs.  But when you went inside and went up the stairs, they also sold novelty items and sex toys.  The only one of its kind, you can imagine how popular it was!  People my age in particular used to flock there.  Other than that, the only place I ever found to buy sex toys was via a brochure at an Ann Summers party I was lucky enough to be invited to when I was in my twenties.  Thank goodness we now have the internet!
TV’s ‘Naked Attraction’ is another saving grace; what a show!  They capture a diverse range of people, genders, disabilities, ages, skin colours etc.  It shows that everyone is slightly different and that isn’t good or bad – it’s just a thing.  I never knew until I was in my thirties that vulvas could look so different!  I used to compare mine to those that belonged to porn stars.  I also learned about sex primarily from porn, which was hardly beneficial when the porn I used to watch was focused on male pleasure, blow jobs and getting covered in spunk. Oh – and making as much noise as possible to ensure your partner knows you’re enjoying yourself (even though you probably aren’t).  What a lot of bad sex and unhelpful thoughts I have had thanks to porn!
I imagine the argument against nudity, sex shops and better, more realistic sex education is that we will be subjecting our children to sex from a young age and therefore encouraging it when we have an age restriction of 16.  But do we really want to bring our children up to fear sex, to see it as dirty or seedy?  Something not to be discussed, or something that you only do to get pregnant?  If I had a choice of my child having happy, consensual and enjoyable sex at 14, or having awkward, uncomfortable sex at 16 that they didn’t enjoy, I know what I would choose.  And the fact we didn’t discuss LGBT sex when I was at school is outrageous. Hiding LGBT from sex education is extremely damaging and history has proven that. If you were gay at my school, you were ridiculed and bullied for it.  From what I read, I believe things are changing in this respect – finally!  But Britain still has a long way to go and a lot more to do.
Article written by Petra Pan of www.PetraPanReviews.com 
Twitter: @PetraPanReviews
Instagram: @PetraPanReviews

So, tell me, what was your upbringing around sexuality like both in and outside of the classroom?

Until next time,

Fuck well and educate yo-selves!