Issuu

FEBRUARY 12, 2019 | VOLUME C | ISSUE XXIII “WASTE OF FRUIT” SINCE 1918

U carnal

carnal the ubyssey sex issue

editors’ note

Asking anyone to write about sex is a bit like walking into a sex shop. We didn’t know what we were looking for, what we were going to find or if we were supposed to make eye contact with the cashier. When we set out to edit this year’s sex issue, we chose the theme “Carnal” because we figured it was a universal sentiment that many people could find a sliver of themselves in — and because we wanted to push the boundaries of student media with a raunchier issue. With a focus on how we do it (if we do it) and the feelings that stay in our memory long after it’s done, “Carnal” allowed us to tune into the variety of sensory experiences and connections that come with doing the dirty. But just like finding things in a sex shop, the submissions we received were unimaginable until we saw them with our own eyes. The writers have blown our minds in their unapologetic vulnerability, humour and candour as they speak to parts of sex and intimacy many of us don’t talk about at all. From choosing to be celibate to kink communities to birth control woes, this issue is a celebration of the facets of individual experiences that compose our student narratives of sex, in whatever form they may be. There aren’t any “right” things to find in a sex shop, and these pages don’t share the truth about sex — but they do share many beautiful, intimate, carnal truths about who we are, what we feel and how we connect. Thank you to the brave writers and models who literally and figuratively bared it all in this issue. Your words and your bodies tell a story completely your own. Much like a sex shop, we hope this issue helps you find a sense of yourself in places you may not expect. Or at the very least, it sparks some inspiration the next time you’re gettin’ busy.

Bridget Chase Culture Editor

Moira Wyton Features Editor

P.S. We suggest you always make eye contact with the cashier at the sex shop.

the ubyssey EDITORIAL

STAFF

Coordinating Editor Samantha McCabe coordinating@ubyssey.ca

Opinion + Blog Editor Tristan Wheeler opinion@ubyssey.ca

Visuals Editor Claire Lloyd visuals@ubyssey.ca

Science Editor James Vogl science@ubyssey.ca

News Editors Alex Nguyen & Zak Vescera news@ubyssey.ca

Photo Editor Elizabeth Wang photos@ubyssey.ca

Culture Editor Bridget Chase culture@ubyssey.ca Sports + Rec Editor Lucy Fox sports@ubyssey.ca Video Producer Marina McDuff video@ubyssey.ca

Features Editor Moira Wyton features@ubyssey.ca Illustrations Coordinator Ella Chan illustrations@ubyssey.ca

Pawan Minhas, Zubair Hirji, Jack Yuan, Emma Livingstone, Jane Procyshyn, Matt Asuncion, Olivia Johnson, Candice Lipski, Marissa Birnie, Rolando Hinojosa, Lua Presidio, Salomon Micko Benrimoh, Chimedum Ohaegbu, Ryan Neale, Hannah Feodorov, Angela O’Donnell, Cat Hartt Towle, Johann Cooper, Jack Lamming, Kristine Ho, Clare Skillman, Zainab Fatima, Iain Coates, Charlotte Alben, Riya Talitha, Chelsea Dumasal, Joshua Azizi, Sammy Smart, Danni Olusanya, Shamit Rahman, Divija Madhani, Moe Kirkpatrick, Daphnée Lévesque, Benoit Dupras, Sonia Kung, Scott Young, Eve O’Dea, Andrew Ha, Anupriya Dasgupta, Aki Ota, Amy Shandro, Henry Anderson, Micah Killjoy, Sonia Pathak, Maged, Brendan Smith, Mitchell Ballachay, Negin Nia, Sarah Zhao, Dar-

by Lynch, Maneevak Bajaj, Tolu Amuwo, Tara Osler, Isabella Falsetti, Karolina Skupien, Alex Vanderput, Sophie Galloway, Arshiya Malik, Paige Mayo

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LAND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT We would like to acknowledge that this paper and the land on which we study and work is the traditional, occupied, unceded territory of the Coast Salish peoples, including the territories of the xʷməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish), Stó:lō and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations.

table of contents 4

mini essays

personal essays

10 fridge poetry

reporting

photos by elizabeth wang & samantha mccabe illustrations by ella chan design by claire lloyd & chelsea dumasal

unsolicited advice

playlist

personal diaries

resources

seven stages danielle olusanya

rief has been chalked down to an exact model, commonly known as the seven stages. I know this because I was given a booklet which said so — it had pictures that were intentionally left blank so that I could colour them in. Of course there was the shock, the “inciting incident” of grief. For me this was the scariest part, the overwhelming numbness that comes from the realization of one’s worst nightmares. In those moments, I would completely depersonalize, becoming nothing but an organism overridden and running on autopilot. Soon to follow would be the other stages: denial, grief, anger, bargaining and — much, much later — acceptance. I would feel those “stages” in waves. They would turn up loudly, unannounced and intrusive in the worst way, hitting the hardest when I would least expect them to. Depression of course hung around longer than it needed to, manifesting itself in new and equally terrifying ways. I stole a discarded “MOVE UBC” sign, took home 100 copies of the newspaper, filling my room with junk I didn’t want or need, trying to make sense of a mental, physical and spiritual attack while simultaneously not trying to let it consume me. Most of the time, I am fine. I have learned to laugh and smile again. I even clean my room sometimes — but 11 months later, there are still moments which take me back. A body pressed up against mine, a slight stroke of the hand, the adrenaline that comes with getting to know someone — these moments still make my heart race. But they don’t make me happy. These moments are quickly tainted for me, as is the way I have approached any kind of intimacy or desire. This wasn’t the person that I used to be. I used to love the idea of casual intimacy, getting to know and discover someone new. But now even a harmless swipe makes me reminiscent of what I used to have and will never be able to have again. And when I do indulge, the next morning the grief fairy pays me a visit and I am forced to reckon with my own misdeeds. So I have found ways to counter this by not attaching names to faces and closedmouth, closed-eye kisses — and yet those are the moments in which I feel. The moments I secretly and guiltily crave for because in those moments I have learned to feel not numb, not perpetually sad. It’s a rush of oxytocin that hasn’t come straight from a bottle. And still it’s a lose-lose situation, as my lust has been laced with guilt and a devastating fear of the unknown. But this isn’t the future that I wish to have. I look forward to a day when I am able to take small steps forward, a day when I am able to call someone else my partner. U

a silent place elizabeth wang

y parents never had ‘the talk’ with me. To be honest, this idea never hit me until last week. I was having lunch with a couple friends and someone brought up the new Netflix series Sex Education. “You have to watch it,” said my friend, “it’s SO good.” At first, I thought the series would be something like the Masters of Sex — adultoriented and erotic... overly erotic. But instead, it was a high school teenage sex tutorial. Watching Otis Milburn getting paid by his peers for sexual consultations, I felt both weird and jealous. Growing up in mainland China, I never received any sort of education about sex. Yes, my mom and Grade 6 science teacher did explain the origin of humans — but that’s it. In terms of things like healthy relationships, birth control methods, the LGBTQ+ community, HIV prevention, consent — there wasn’t a single word. A silent place — this is the place I grew up. In China, sex before marriage, especially in high school and college, is still highly stigmatized. Dating in most Chinese secondary schools is forbidden. The slogan, 禁止早恋 [“Early romantic relationships are forbidden”], is written on every bulletin board at school, watching the young boys and

girls passing by. Under these circumstances, students who engaged in sexual intercourse during high school might face punishment from the school administration. If you are a girl, you are also at a high risk of being harshly slut-shamed by your peers who stand on “the moral high ground.” The direct result of this absence of sex education and a sex-friendly environment is the incredibly high number of teenage abortions. According to a report published by China’s National Health and Family Commission, more than half of induced abortions in China are on women under the age of 25. I was lucky enough to receive a full course load of sex education during my high school years in Canada. After my graduation, I went back home for the summer. And when unpacking my backpack, my mom found a condom at the bottom of my bag. I will never forget the awkwardness in the air in that moment. I remember her quickly putting my backpack away and starting to unpack again. By the end of the day, she called me into the room alone. “It’s nice for you to know how to protect yourself, but I hope you never use that until you grow up.” Eighteen-year-old me stood in front of my mother, and she had no clue how to

this body, our body moe kirkpatrick

he last year of Catholic high school, we decided to bypass the rumours and just fuck. Why not? The running joke of the track team was that we were sneaking behind the bleachers during practice to make out. We both had short hair, so we were lesbians, and we were friends, so we were girlfriends. At least this way, we wouldn’t be virgins at university. We waited ’til summer, a night when my parents were out of town. We sat on my brother’s beat-up futon. We were making out and then we were shirtless, braless, and she was sucking the underside of my breasts. I was pretending to like it — or really liking it, I couldn’t tell. I had never liked my chest before, but this was pretty nice. I had given her hickies every half-inch below the neck-line. “We should do this somewhere more comfortable,” she said. I closed the curtains and we moved to the bed. We were down to our underwear. “Now what?” “Well,” she said. “We might need a towel, because I squirt. And some music.” She put on Fall Out Boy, but before we had even really gotten on the bed she stopped and changed the song. Then changed the song twice more. “Any song we listen to is gonna be the song playing the first time we had sex. That’s a high bar. Got any ideas?”

I didn’t. She didn’t either. For a long moment, we sat in silence. She couldn’t find the right song. There was a growing pit in the bottom of my stomach that said maybe I don’t want to do this. She was biting her nails. She said, “Want to get dinner?” So we went for dinner: Cheesecake Factory. Cheesecake Factory had seemed so fancy when I was younger, but now it felt like nausea — the shame I couldn’t quite contain. Had the gold walls always been so garish? Had the waiters always been so stiff, the menu so laminated? We both ordered ice cream, which made my stomach more upset, and it felt like a sign. Why couldn’t I just have sex like everyone else in our high school already had? Didn’t I want it? Wasn’t I normal? I knew she was feeling the same shame. That inherent fault that came with bodies, with wanting and being wanted. And what was wrong with wanting? There weren’t any bodies like ours, not in any histories we knew, not in any sermon we’d heard. So what if we fucked? So what if we didn’t fuck? This was something entirely platonic and new, a history of hands that knew to stop when neither of us could say it. We had nothing to be ashamed of, not our bodies, not our bodies’ desire. U

when an asexual has sex

his Valentine’s Day I DON’T WANT FLOWERS. I WANT INTENSE SEX THAT WILL MAKE ME GO CRAZY WBU? I want to be wined, dined, and 69-ed ;) I just want head! I want pussy A number of messages were scrawled in succession below the first, all in agreement, all detailing the kind of sex they wanted, Valentine’s Day or not. I read on, perplexed but amused — at least as amused as I could be while hunched over in a bathroom stall in Buchanan D. As a serial bathroom graffitist and an avid reader of accounts of students going at it like rabbits in cubicles — and other daring escapades, secrets and shockers that appear and are habitually scrubbed off of stalls all over campus — this was nothing new. Bathroom graffiti was easily one of UBC’s juiciest tabloids and sex was the column of choice. If I had any hopes of tuning out hypersexuality on a trip to the bathroom, then the writing was literally on the wall. Uncapping my pen, I racked my brain for the best way to phrase what I wanted to say. After turning a few iterations over in my mind, I finally left my mark. My asexual ass will gladly take the flowers. It had been half a year since it occurred to me that I didn’t think about sex and other people in key ways.

joyce chung

On the first day of a creative writing class, the girl sitting next to me leaned over and asked if I thought our professor was pretty. I had answered no and was surprised when she seemed disappointed. Whenever I was hit on, I had the urge to stagger-waddle away with my legs glued together and puke onto the sidewalk. Overhearing conversations about hooking up or multiple flings and complaints about dry spells — to my knowledge, garden-variety love lives — confused me. Imagining myself doing the same left me uncomfortable and upset. Some time later, I encountered the term ‘demisexuality,’ a sexual orientation describing sexual attraction exclusively to those with whom one has formed a close bond. Teetering on the edge of the sexual spectrum was asexuality: the complete lack of sexual attraction. Afraid of being too sure, and confident that I’d warm right up once I found somebody (having never been in a relationship before), I was happy enough to call myself demisexual. That is, until I met Josh. Laid back, optimistic and endlessly supportive of most of my decisions and especially of my sexuality, Josh did plenty to smooth me over in what was a first relationship for both of us. When it came to sexual attraction, however, there was barely a sizzle. Josh had lovely long hair, warm brown eyes — and that was it. Nothing sparked, nothing set my loins aflame and the creeping suspicion set in: I was asexual after all. After I left the bathroom, I texted Josh with a picture of the graffiti. Which do you think I wrote? A few ellipses, then: The first one. I rolled my eyes but let it slide. If I was asexual then Josh, while no nymphomaniac, liked to be physically intimate to say the least. Our first date found me up against the backseat of his fogged-up car with his hand already roving over my chest while mine rested on the crotch of his jeans in a poor attempt at reciprocity. I had to ask him to put it there for me. On the second, I learned that I was violently allergic to swallowing. On our first night together, I was almost unable take the initial pain of sex. On his birthday, we fondled in the dark by the Museum of Anthropology and all that came to mind was the cold. To say sex poses a challenge for me hardly scratches the surface. I’m not attracted to the body on top of or under me and I will never be able to return the sentiment when Josh tells me I’m sexy, as flattered as I am despite not knowing exactly what that means. I don’t have an intrinsic need or even want to be pleasured. While my body is fully functional and responds to being touched in the right places, too much physical stimulation sends me into a panic. One attempt to climax had me almost screaming at Josh to pull away. I bolted up on the couch in his basement, blinking rapidly and dabbing at the tears that had suddenly sprung to my eyes.

“Too much pleasure produces tears,” he observed aloud. What I didn’t say was that these were also tears of frustration. To be physically incapable of wanting the most basic of human desires stung. I knew some asexual people described themselves as broken and while it hurt to hear, it was occasionally difficult to think of myself otherwise when everybody else chased the very thing I had no interest in. Additionally, I found myself questioning the validity of my asexuality. Was I still asexual if I had sex? Was I still asexual if I longed for the warmth of physical touch? Was I still asexual if I loved the softness of skin, kissing and tight hugs on my tiptoes? Truth be told, I still grapple with the fluidity of sexuality. What I lack in passion or desire I try to make up for in expertise and the willingness to learn. I periodically ask Josh many, many questions because when I have sex, I gladly do it for his sake. I read up on techniques and sexual wellness. I taste-test too much lube. While I don’t dream about bodies or orgasms, I fantasize nonetheless — about success, having a cat someday so I can stop bothering Josh’s and sumptuous slabs of cake. Above all, I fantasize about respect, understanding and open communication. Admittedly, I too often weigh the coexistence of asexuality and the act of sex. But when I take a break from my relentless searching for an answer, I find that the closeness of two, however achieved, is enough. U

exploring Grindr and the spaces of his mind in New Delhi

t is a truth universally acknowledged that a blank Grindr profile belonging to a horny top must be in want of a willing bottom. Picture this: New Delhi, India, some time in July 2018. My chubby, pimpled cheeks flushed pink with excitement and terror in equal measure. After years of searching, crying, pining and sexting, I was finally going to lose my virginity. Yes, my friends, I had met a boy — let’s call him Timmy! Timmy was 24 — six years older than me — and identified himself as a “sapiosexual.” When a guy calls himself a sapiosexual it means that, 9 times out of 10, he forced himself to wait a generous 23 minutes before blessing you with a hazy photo of his lacklustre little friend. Plus, when he did send it, it was taken at such an odd angle that the only part of your body throbbing was your neck because you had to twist it around so much you ended up with osteoarthritis. Our conversation lasted for around 10 minutes before Timmy asked if I wanted to meet up. Up until this point, we had merely been exchanging pleasantries, but then I discovered that he lived in my housing complex. I knew instinctively that he was The Chosen One. You know that feeling that animals get when they sense a hurricane coming? That was how I felt, if you added some extra dollops of dread.

aditya bhagirath

Now, I know what you may be thinking: “Aditya, do you mean to tell us that you lost your virginity to a guy you barely knew, who you met on an app and was six years older than you? Didn’t you want your first time to be with someone you cared about?” And to that, I say: 1. Yes. Believe it or not, being Queer in a homophobic country sometimes requires you to risk your safety to be able to live your life. Who knew?! 2. No. If I wanted to find a husband, I wouldn’t look on Grindr until I had ruled out every possible chance of a meet-cute in each of my classes — and believe me, I tried and tried… and tried. Once we confirmed the brief encounter, I proceeded to get myself ready. I won’t go into the nitty-gritty details, but I must inform you that no amount of research on “how to perform an enema” could have prepared me for the sheer physical and mental exhaustion. I still unfailingly clench up whenever I look at any bathroom floor. I remember thinking, “This guy better have the greatest stroke game in New Delhi. Or at the very least, strawberry-flavoured lube and a comfy mattress.” Cut to me, standing outside his front door. I was wearing a plain red t-shirt — a size larger than my others so that my belly

was protected — and shorts that covered my flabby thighs, allowing the cool air to sharply cut at my bare arms and legs. I was beginning to have second thoughts. Is this going too fast? Will I be good? What if he thinks I’m too plain or too brown or too fat? My thoughts were interrupted when Timmy opened the door. He gave me a sheepish smile and whispered, “Hi. We need to be quiet, my grandmother is in the next room. Sorry.” He went on to give some explanation, but I wasn’t listening. Even as we walked to his room, I was looking. At his face, round and cocoa brown. Even in the dark, his smile shone brightly. I remember wanting to climb inside of his mouth, nestle against his molars and let him crush me. I observed the inside of his house, walls plastered with photos of him and his family. Around his bedroom, populated with rumpled sheets and open books. I was in unfamiliar physical territory, but I could recognize the space of his mind: the tiptoeing, the secrecy, the whispers in corridors for fear of being caught. We both knew we would never speak of what would happen to any other living soul. He looked at me and smiled. I wanted him desperately. We kissed while undressing each other, his forceful tongue betraying the calmness of his demeanour. We were very

fast in shucking off all of our clothes — what was the point in wasting time? He kissed me along my neck and took my body into his coarse hands. I could hear him chuckle at how my breathing was growing shorter. My arms remained firmly crossed across my belly. He knelt down and looked up at me, his dark eyes filled with need and whispered, “I want you.” He bit the skin where my right hip joined my thigh. I was not expecting it, but the pain surged through my nerves and I could feel my fingers and toes shoot out as I shamelessly moaned, “Yes.” My whole life, I told myself that I was worthy of good things: of love, of success, of happiness; that I should be able to give myself pleasure, that I shouldn’t have to rely on someone else. I trained myself not to let other people define how I see myself. But I must admit, it was good to feel… desired. To feel his excitement mesh with mine, our desperation, our fear. Being completely open, with no verbal embellishments or woollen armour, it gave me such a thrill. Of course I was still scared, but somehow that made letting go so much more delicious. In a bedroom, cramped and scattered with books, hidden in a dusty city filled with zooming rickshaws and blinding streetlights, I tasted a new wave of freedom. If only for one cool August night. U

the way out the door because he told me that he was in town this week. Shit, was that presumptuous? Did I take it every day last week? I wasn’t even sure that he was visiting specifically to see me and now he’s in my bed. Moira, why didn’t you think of this? If you’re going to get knocked up, you should at least go for a guy majoring in something employable. If I couldn’t even enjoy the spontaneous sex that was supposed to make the mood swings, the weight and the mountain of a pimple on my face worth it, what was the point of taking that tiny blue monster each morning? Other than being able to casually signal that, ‘Yeah, I bang,’ to anyone who saw me pull the pouch out of my wallet in morning lecture, I couldn’t see how the pill was actually helping me own my sexuality. I was shouldering a burden that my partners never had to think about. My sex life then went on an unscripted hiatus, and so did my commitment to taking the pill. Only remembering when I had a regular partner was giving me whiplash, and my eventual lack thereof made me wonder if it were possible to revirginize. “Moira, come on. That’s not how it works.” My sister, in a committed relationship, was unsympathetic. I ignored her naysaying, took advantage of my regained virtue and got an IUD inserted. Rather, the IUD inserted itself and my body fought it valiantly for a few days until giving into the tiny robot forging a home in my cervix. In the throes of intermittent, insufferable pain for days, I didn’t realize it would help me make a home in my body, too. A few weeks later, an evening with a new person turned into five months and counting with a new partner. For the first time, I didn’t have to hesitate, to count, to worry before I said yes — hell yes. My heart thumped with excitement, not anxiety. My breath caught only because I didn’t have the words, not because there was anything I was afraid to say. The pressure for sex to be the be-all-end-all of my sensory experiences has abated because I’m no longer sacrificing my physical and mental health to make it more comfortable for my partners. There’s nothing I have to weigh against it to be “worth it.” I’m never compromising what I’m comfortable with to take advantage of the moments we have together in between lectures and barre classes just because we don’t have a condom but we want to so badly. Hopefully, four and a half years will be long enough to find a kindly doctor to put me under for my next IUD insertion or just have the memories of that pain hypnotized into oblivion — but that’s a burden I can live with. For now, I get to intertwine my fingers with his instead of counting the days since I last forgot to take a pill behind my back. U

a burden, unseen

moira wyton

omeone better have sex with me right now,” I choked out between grunts of pain. I was laying in the front seat of my parents’ Subaru Outback, a chocolate chip cookie held limply in one hand, the other resting where I had guessed my uterus was. My parents’ laughter echoed through the car, but I wasn’t sure that it had even been a joke. I felt bloated and feverish. A headache was coming on and anxiety was reaching from my chest, wrapping its long fingers around my lungs, clenching them as I fought to breathe. Whoever says the cervix doesn’t have any nerve endings clearly doesn’t have one. The IUD the doctor had inserted an hour before radiated pain from a part of my body I didn’t even know I could feel. “Oh Moira, you’re going to be fine. It’ll all be worth it.” I rolled my eyes. I had literally needed anti-anxiety medication prescribed on the spot to calm down enough to leave the doctor’s office — the only thing that could possibly make this worth it was meeting my soulmate immediately and making passionate love forever, right? My mom’s words were well-meaning, but how many times had I heard them before? How many times have people with uteruses heard that the pain — the mood swings, the acne, the depression, the anxiety, the weight gain, the cramps, the costs, the inconvenience, the uncomfortable pharmacy interactions — is worth the

ability to most-likely-not-but-maybe-still get pregnant from sex with a man? And that’s if the pain is acknowledged at all. My journey using birth control started an optimistic while before I started having sex, with a visit to get Lolo prescribed “just in case.” My family doctor assured me it was the lowest dosage available and that it would have minimal side-effects, but tutted and hummed her way through my next visit a year later when I told her the mood swings, weight gain and acne had been too much for me. I had stopped taking the tiny blue pills each morning, I explained. “You’re young, you’re growing up. Mood swings are normal.” And here I thought the thing I was using to protect myself from the sex I wasn’t even having might have been the problem! I took things into my own hands and stopped taking Lolo. I figured I could re-evaluate the issue when sex was more than a minuscule spec on the horizon. “What kind of protection do you use?” he asked. A beat, two beats and then — “Um, I’m on the pill... if that’s what you mean?” He seemed relieved to have that business out of the way and continued removing my shirt. But my mind drifted as his hands did, too. Did I take my pill today? Yes, I think so? I’m pretty sure — ah, yes! I remember shoving it in my mouth on

phantom pain

here is no worse torture than someone touching you with cold fingers. Correction: there is nothing worse than your doctor touching you with cold fingers. “Oof,” I wheeze. Dr. Parkes smiles up at me with her crescent moon smile. Her teeth are so blindingly evanescent, like the flesh of the small, white, astronomical body that controls our waves and counts my cycles. Dr. Parkes definitely counts my cycles. Her fingers, like the icy edges of space, are frozen on my ribs. “Does that hurt?” she asks. “No, your fingers are just cold,” I say. And that’s the truth and not-so-truth, but this is not that story. “Well, everything feels normal,” she informs me, digging her icicles deeper into my skin. Her fingers melt into my flesh or maybe I am glass fusing into her — skin touches skin and becomes one. She blinks at me with crater eyes. “It’s probably just phantom pain.” Phantom pain. I imagine a ghost, hovering behind me, wrapping silvery intestines around my waist and crushing until mine squeeze out of my skin. I blink. “Phantom pain?” “It’s pain your brain sort of makes up,” she tells me. “Honey, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. You’re in college. Stress happens.” The coffee at the restaurant costs $7.50. I can’t stop blinking at the menu, as if willing the number to change before my eyes. “It’s imported coffee,” the boy sitting across from me mentions, nervously. “I remember you mentioning how much you like Italian coffee, so…” I’m glad that the lights are dim enough for him to not see me blush. He listens. He remembers. I do not remember what I say to him. I do remember that he pays for our expensive coffee and holds my hand like it’s an ice sculpture he’s scared to break on the bus ride home. I

camille lemire

remember the way he kisses me later that night. He can’t stop smiling, but he can’t stop kissing me either. He kisses every inch of my face and sighs into my mouth and I want to cry but I know if I start, I might melt away. I think about sex and I wonder if sex is holding yourself together. Hot-glueing all your cracked pieces until you are a mosaic Frankenstein wobbling through the sheets. We listen to music into the night on his record player. His fingers tap melodies onto my thigh. I fall asleep with my cheek pressed against his chest. I dream that I am Adam and he is Eve and I pluck this blue-eyed wonder from my ribs. Somehow, he is all heart and no bone and I would give every piece of me to make him happy. I dream of angering God and I wake up. I leave early in the morning, trying not to wake him. I tiptoe around his room as if I am scared of breaking something, but really I am scared of breaking apart in front of him. The coffee at the restaurant costs $8.50 the next time I go. There is a different boy. I nod and smile and say all the right things. I am pretty like an ice sculpture, and he touches my thighs as if he hopes I’ll snap between his fingers. I bring the boy home and turn on a movie. While he is watching, I throw up the coffee I drank in the bathroom. I stare at myself in the toilet water like the opposite of Narcissus. I crawl into bed with the boy. He digs his fingertips into my skin and kisses me with his mouth wide open, as if he can eat my face bit by bit. Maybe then I won’t be a girl, but water swirling around in the toilet bowl, staring back at some other brown-eyed girl. “Oof,” I wheeze. “What’s wrong?” the boy asks. “Sorry… Just. My rib.” There is an absurdity in the comment, but I feel it. A dull ache, quietly stirring beneath my ribs. As if a bird had made a nest there and was discreetly trying to flap its way out. “I think you may have… bruised it.” And for a second, we both laugh. But it’s just a second.

“I should go,” he says. “Okay.” I think about sex and I wonder if sex is wishing you held yourself together more. I catch my fragmented bits in my hand, holding the jagged parts in my fingers even though it cuts my skin and I bleed. I think about sex and wonder what hurts more. There is no worse torture than someone touching you with cold fingers. Dr. Yang smiles up at me with her sunny grin. There is something safe about a smile like that. Her fingers rest below my hips. “Does that hurt?” she asks. “No, your fingers are… warm,” I say. And that’s the truth and not-so-truth, but this is not that story. “Well, everything feels normal,” she informs me, pressing her fingers in. Her fingers melt into my flesh or maybe I am glass fusing into hers — skin touches skin and becomes one. She smiles again and the sunny heat melds us together. “It’s probably just phantom pain.” “Phantom pain?” I ask. I imagine a ghost, fingertips digging into my thigh, confused about the pain I identify in my ribs. “You imagine this is going to be painful, so your brain just makes up pain,” she explains. “Like a placebo effect. But we are almost — there.” There was a moment, a brief stab, a flash of pain. But as quickly as it came, it faded. Dr. Yang’s hands slide back, and she pats my thigh, comfortingly. “There you go, IUD fully inserted,” Dr. Yang informs me. “You are good to go. However, I want you to be careful going home. You may experience some pain—” “Phantom pain?” I ask, joking. It hurts a little to move my legs as I sit up. I think about sex and push the thought aside. I am holding myself together. “I was just teasing you,” Dr. Yang tells me. “There is no such thing as phantom pain.” U

freaky fridge poetry You may have provided context for the worst things said to you during sex, but we think they stand without any. They also work together as a poem.

I have an idea Call me “Papa Elf”

Wait, did you put A or B for question 4?

I wanna meet your mother

*barks*

Didn’t I see you in a Playgirl?

We have to stop my hip is acting up

Nice work!

Roar like a tiger and call me daddy You made my dick sneeze The best investment is an abortion

Are you ready?

My dick is so hard right now it could cut diamonds

Aye aye captain

Can I lick your armpit? I thought white girls just didn’t have pubes until I realized you shave — Should I shave?

I don’t really like going down on girls

No me gusta

What did your mother feed you? One does not simply walk into Mordor — I’ll fuck you hard enough till your pussy becomes red

I can’t hear youuuuuu

I am bleeding!?! I am not on my period!

Do you have Reddit? Yasss, Papi I’m falling in love with you already I think I love you Did you just say “I love you?” I love you

Can you help me, I don’t know what to do.

AYE AYE CAPTAIN!

unsolicited advice communicate about kink

embrace your dry spell(s)

zak vescera

alex nguyen

ellas, we need to talk. Imagine if your partner punched you in the middle of sex. That’d be weird, right? It’s literally a crime. Now imagine if your partner thought this was a normal thing and didn’t merit a little heads-up. That’s how a really, really shocking number of my fellow dudes seem to think about kink or rough sex. According to the National Survey of Sexual Health and Behavior in the States, 30 per cent of women have experienced pain during vaginal sex and 72 per cent have experienced it during anal. If you ask female friends, a lot of them will have fresh horror stories of bad sex. Consent doesn’t stop once you start having sex, especially when trying new things. If you’re doing anything that could cause pain — choking, spanking, biting, rough play or anal, for example — you NEED to discuss that with your partner BEFORE you try it. Despite what porn might show you, not every person is into that stuff. Failing to communicate during sex is, at best, a guarantee they’ll never have sex with you again. At worst, it’s assault. No one is going to think asking for permission to do that stuff is weird. If anything, they’ll probably think it’s cool you thought to do it. U

ry spells: You have or will probably have a few of them in your lifetime. Don’t worry. Society makes us think that if we’re not having sex all the time, we’re somehow dysfunctional. This is ridiculous — sure, sex is great, but constantly trying to seek it out just sounds exhausting. Or at least this is what I experienced after some pitiful attempts at using Tinder and Bumble. So instead of getting ghosted after a few messages or trying to have a conversation with people who don’t take public transit, it can be a healthy experience to learn how to enjoy being on your own sometimes — whether that be taking yourself out for a date or exploring what your body likes. I don’t think you have ever truly lived until you manage to weasel your way into a crowded restaurant because you’re eating alone. The same goes for finding 10 different ways to orgasm without having to first teach your partner what a clit is. Don’t fear your dry spell, embrace it. U

ears aren’t just for listening

olivia johnson

ex is an amazing time to utilize all the senses of the body. Touch and scent are the obvious ones that come to mind, but hearing also needs to be addressed. I’m not talking about moaning and whispering encouraging comments, but instead combining touch and sound together. Use your tongue in your partner’s ear and you will discover you’ve hit them with a new pleasure usually disregarded due to being self-conscious. Nibbling on your partner’s ear lobe during missionary will make it seem much spicier than the traditional experience. Their reaction should be surprised by the added sensation to their already rocking body. Glide the tip of your tongue inwards and then kiss just below their ear on their neck for maximum pleasure. Don’t knock it ’til you try it. U

intimacy isn’t something that can be scheduled into a google calendar

emma livingstone e’re all busy people balancing assignments, work, friends, extracurriculars — it can be almost impossible to squeeze in some intimate moments. Unless you’re someone who maximizes pleasure by maximizing time or gets turned on by a full hourby-hour, colour-coded schedule, I’d suggest leaving sex out

of your bullet journal. When you have a time-slot to fill, it can be difficult to get going. A quickie in between classes is always fun, but it kinda kills the mood when you get a calendar notification 10 minutes before your next lecture. Spontaneity is sexy. But if you’re too busy for it, a classic “Wyd?” when you have a free moment is a good way to start. U

diary of a dry spell zak vescera

day 1: Cool, it’s only been one day since I’ve had sex! day 7: What if I downloaded Tinder? That’d be hilarious. day 9: You know what? I don’t need Tinder. I have plenty of prospects. I’m good looking, smart and absolutely hilarious. Boy oh boy, do I love myself! day 10: Why is everyone on Tinder Irish? day 15: Why aren’t I getting matches? day 17: It’s definitely the algorithm. day 18: Or maybe it’s the Irish. day 19: Whatever, I hear Bumble is way better. day 26: It is not. day 34: Honestly? Most people my age aren’t even getting laid that much. I have friends who have been single for years and they’ve never complained about it. A month is nothing! Besides, I’m worth more than my sex life. day 60: Shit. day 73: I got drunk, re-downloaded Tinder and matched with someone I matched with before. This can only be going well, right? day 74: They matched with me explicitly to ask why I re-downloaded Tinder and then made fun of me.

day 76: I am once again free from Tinder. day 84: A slight breeze is now the only thing needed to turn me on. day 95: You know what? I’m overblowing this. day 97: I don’t need a cheap hookup. I’m looking for genuine human connection. day 98: I mean, sex is a form of connection, technically. day 112: Maybe that girl was flirting with me? Shit, I should have asked for her number. Do I go back? No, must demonstrate abundance mentality. Plenty of fish in the sea! day 124: Overfishing has devastated our waters. day 134: My bus drove unusually fast today and I had blue balls for hours. day 142: I am prepared to fuck a tree. day 150. As the fifth month passed, I felt serenity come through my body. I realized that you and I are but tufts of grass being blown through the insanity of this world. I will not measure my value in the number of partners I have or whatever lifestyle the media projects onto me. I will take life as it goes and enjoy the moment for what it is. day 151: I’m re-downloading Tinder. U

a diary of having sex while living with your parents sammy smart August 19

February 13

Tonight we had our second date and it went really well. We made out at the bus stop and he choked me very quietly in the cab ride home.

We’d been having sex in a car for far too long, so we went to campus on a Saturday and had sex in a bathroom. It was disgusting and when we left, there was a janitor in the hallway who looked at us and smiled.

September 2 Tonight we had sex for the first time in the cramped backseat of his car on the side of the road. Vehicles kept driving past us and every time I saw the headlights shine through the back window, I would stop and stare until they passed. I wish we had a bed to use instead of a car, but I guess this is my life now.

September 20 We had car sex again.

November 4

missed connections

lauren park

ou ever lock eyes with someone across the room and your heart begins to flutter? You just think to yourself, “Oh my god, he’s the one. He’s perfect. I definitely want to have sex with that guy.” Well, that guy was 24, Dutch and sitting across from me in the hostel lobby. Let’s call him T. It was my last night in Japan and I had promised myself that I would go to bed before the sun came up. Instead, I found myself sitting cross legged, surrounded by my newest batch of drinking buddies. With a can of Strong Zero in my right hand and a Sapporo in my left, I settled in for a long night. By five in the morning, everyone had slowly retreated up to their rooms until only three of us were left: me, T and the guy passed out on the floor between us. Next thing you know we’re making out in the hallway, heavy breathing as our hands begin to wander. In between kisses one of us muttered, “Do you have a condom?” I can’t believe I forgot to bring condoms, but to be fair, I was trying to pack light. Good thing we were located in between a 7-Eleven and a Family Mart, in a city full of convenience stores. T came back from the store and this time we opted for the elevator over the stairs. Articles of clothing hit the floor before we had even made it back to ours. As the elevator announced our arrival with a faint ding, I figured a public elevator seemed more private than a dorm full of 10 other sleeping bodies. I hit “DOOR CLOSE.” We hit another snag. These Japanese condoms were a little snug, which I think

made him feel a little smug. They also came with thin, wax paper flaps attached to the sides and it took a few minutes for us to figure them out. After fumbling around we realized if you pulled them one direction it literally unrolled the condom onto one’s penis. Japan is known for its efficiency. Way to streamline the process. I had never had sex in an elevator before this, but it always looked hot in movies. A hot guy holding me up against the wall, knowing that at any second anyone could press that elevator button? Hot. Elevator sex is hot… that is until you actually start to have sex and realize, a shaking elevator? Kind of spooky, kind of loud. Here I was, having sex with an attractive guy and my mind had momentarily wandered, dreaming up scenarios in which the police found my dead naked body in a wreckage at the bottom of an elevator shaft. Not the kind of shaft I was hoping to be wrecked by. I finally snapped out of the grim daydream and soon enough the banging sounds were drowned out by other kinds of banging sounds. We exited the elevator, hair disheveled. He walked me to my room and asked if I wanted to go out tomorrow. Considering it was close to seven in the morning, I tell him it already is tomorrow and that in a couple hours I had to catch a flight back to Canada. That’s the joy of sex abroad isn’t it? Hostels are just a melting pot of different nationalities coming together, sharing one too many beers, coming together — and before you can even begin to romanticize the stranger you just met, you’re already flying to two separate continents and never see each other again. U

At least we know when family members are going to be away some days. We can occasionally experience the beauty of a memory-foam mattress and anxiously look out the window whenever we hear anything remotely similar to the sound of a mini-van door.

April 5 It’s been car sex only, ever since the bathroom incident.

June 28 We decided to try bathrooms again and had sex in a park stall. It was as disgusting as one might think: dirt and water all over the floor, everything was made of metal and I didn’t feel comfortable touching anything. We had to do it standing up and I was on the verge of falling over the whole time. I think this counts as a thigh exercise. When we left the bathroom, there were families outside with children.

August 20 We’ve been having car sex ever since the second bathroom incident.

November 10

September 2

More side-of-the-road car sex.

I moved into my first place on my own. Finally, some privacy. U

navigating asexuality at U B C

sonia pathak

omance and sex are seemingly ever-present in our society, our media and even our campus life — but they’re far from universal. Students from ace and aro communities are frequently caught in between the dayto-day misconceptions of asexuality and aromanticism as they navigate a hyper-sexualized campus environment. “I think the main thing is that people just don’t know what it is here,” said Aiden Synkova, who identifies as gray ace/aro. Gray refers to the spectrum between sexuality and asexuality. Asexuality is defined as the persistent lack of sexual attraction. Similarly, aromanticism is defined as the persistent lack of romantic attraction. However, it’s important to note that asexuality and aromanticism are not the same thing and aren’t necessarily mutually inclusive. The split attraction model is a theoretical model of attraction used within ace/aro communities, and views sexual and romantic attraction as separate but parallel drives. “The split attraction model is what we talk about when we say aromantic versus asexual,” said Evelyn Elgie, a graduate student in gender, race, sexuality and social justice (GRSJ) who identifies as ace-aro. “Because until you get into that extra binary, you don’t think of sexual and romantic as being different orientations.” These distinctions are an important part of the way different individuals on campus identify and navigate the

relationships they enter into. There are asexuals who are “sex repulsed” and disgusted by sex, there are asexuals who are sex-positive and are okay with sex, and there are asexuals who are sex neutral and indifferent towards sex — “different shades of asexuality,” said Synkova. “An asexual can have sex, can be married, can have kids, and they’d still be asexual,” said UBC student Joyce Chung, who identifies as gray-ace. “It’s just a matter of attraction. So what they do doesn’t change their orientation.” Chung engages in sex with her partner but notes that this doesn’t negate her orientation. “Another huge misconception is that asexuality is a choice. It isn’t. So some people tend to link asexuality with celibacy, which is the choice to abstain. Asexuality is not a choice, it is a sexual orientation. It’s not something you can control,” said Chung. “We still have perfectly functioning libidos and perfectly functioning body parts. Asexuality has nothing to do with the capability of having sex.” Some asexuals watch porn and some asexuals masturbate for the purpose of physical relief, explained Chung, which is where the relationship between orientation and a body’s physical ability to be aroused is further complicated. “Sometimes you can be asexual but have a really high sex drive, which really sucks, because you don’t really want to do anything sexual but your body is like, ‘But I do!’,” said Synkova. Despite this myriad of experiences and practices by students who identify as ace or aro, many still experience push-back when they self-identify on campus. “Sometimes asexuality is written off as just a hormone imbalance that can be checked out, or that there’s medication for that, or that we haven’t met the right person yet. Which is not the case,” said Chung. “Most [comments] that I personally experience [are] that something is wrong with me, psychologically or biologically, or that I haven’t found the right one — the person that ignites the flame inside me to finally turn to the light,” said Synkova. For many people who identify as ace or aro, meeting “the one” isn’t about finding a sexual connection or necessarily a romantic one. Their relationships may look different than the typical college relationships the movies sell us on, but they still fulfill basic human needs of connection, support and community like any sexual or romantic relationship. Elgie and her partner are in a queerplatonic relationship (QPR), and a frequent assumption they receive is that they are sexually involved. To Elgie, being in a QPR means “we are going to treat each other as partners now. We’re going to give this friendship the same amount of investment and future planning and deliberate care that we might give a romantic relationship.” “And I found that there isn’t really good language to describe the importance of having multiple, important platonic partners or multiple friendships being your priority,” said Elgie. The language gaps around relationships like Elgie’s are plentiful on campus, in her experience, because the campus environment has a tendency to be so hyper-sexual. “How do you talk [about] the importance of those relationships, even with the people in the frame? ... How do I say, ‘You’re really important to me, you are important to my life, this is a load-bearing relationship in my life,’ right?” Chung recalled waiting to take a final last term, and how she overheard a group of girls talking about their sex lives right before the exam. “I mean at its best, hearing so much about sex is amusing. But at its worst, I imagine for some people, it might make people feel broken,” said Chung. Romance and sex are placed on a high pedestal within our society and are considered paradigms of what a healthy relationship should have.

“The romantic relationship gets this privilege put on it that you don’t even get for casual sexual relationships or friendships. It’s sort of the be-all, end-all of adulthood and happiness, and all these concepts that we use to talk about you know, what the good life is ... Romantic attraction is sort of a cultural term that, when we break it down, really ends up meaning a lot of really different things to different people,” said Elgie. “People have the idea that it is necessary to have sex to have healthy relationships. And that you can’t fully experience romantic love if you are not sexually attracted to the person,” wrote Synkova to The Ubyssey. “For the folks out there, know that nothing is wrong with you, you’re just the way you are, and there are other people like that,” said Synkova. As a member of UBC’s Pride Collective, they encourage people to reach out to Pride for resources or support. As celebrations of romantic and sexual relationships intensify around Valentine’s Day, Elgie is celebrating the diversity of relationships that ace and aro people at UBC are cultivating each and every day, too. “Just because your experience is different from someone else’s, doesn’t make it invalid, or doesn’t make it not ace,” said Elgie. U

the art of loving

t’s a Friday night in June of 2003. Three media satellite trucks surround a sex shop in Kitsilano while an unknown number of undercover cops sit among the audience within. On the floor, a man and woman lie naked and covered in paint, ready to perform oral sex in the 69 position in what is arguably Canada’s firstever live erotic art show. As the lights dim, everyone has one question on their minds: “Is this guy going to be able to get it up?” John Ince, co-founder of The Art of Loving, the sex shop itself, laughed as he remembered the experience. Ince, a UBC law alumnus-turned-sexual activist has spent his life studying sex, fighting for it in court and the political realm, and finally helping others get better at it. In his early twenties, Ince visited the Khajuraho Group of Monuments in India and was inspired to see erotic sculptures depicting group sex placed next to ones of deities and other day-to-day scenes. “I saw a civilization that revered sexuality,” he said. “[It was] the first time I’d ever gone, ‘Wow, not every civilization represses it.’” Originally specializing in forestry law, Ince used his law degree to begin representing people involved in cases surrounding sexuality. The interest in these cases eventually led to his independent research at Robarts Library in Toronto, where he began to study the correlation between autocratic societies, religions and familial structures and negative views surrounding sex. “Sexual fear helps authoritarianism and authoritarianism breeds sexual fear, so it’s

bridget chase

a reciprocal causality. It’s an inner state of fear,” he explained. Ince believed the way to enhance his research was to get experimental in his own life. This is why, in the early ’90s, Ince lived in San Francisco as a “closeted straight man” — he was an active participant in the gay community, even though he identifies as straight. “I started taking erotic massage workshops in the gay community in San Francisco,” he said. “... For the first time, I saw how sexuality could be taken out of a romantic context, and into almost a spiritual context … So I set up an erotic massage school in Vancouver.” Back in Vancouver, Ince juggled practicing law, running his business and writing his first book The Politics of Lust. A year and a half later, he decided to pivot to a different business model with his partner Vera and open a community-based store. “Our interest was to offer seminars where we’re not just selling objects but we’re bringing community in to learn about sexuality — that was our passion.” It was at this shop where, in 2003, artist Martin Guderna asked to display his erotic art show Public Sex, Art and Democracy — and to have a live piece of performance art to go with it. “Over a couple of bottles of wine, we figured it out.” Ince and Guderna decided to cover a couple in paint, allow them to perform oral sex on each other and then to wrap their bodies in a canvas: a three-dimensional experience becoming a two-dimensional piece of art.

But a couple of weeks before the show, The Vancouver Sun reported on it, prompting the police to threaten Ince with an indecent offence charge. “We could punch each other silly in the art gallery, but we couldn’t have a sexual connection,” said Ince. “Bizarre laws. [But] they hadn’t done their homework, they didn’t know that I was a sexual activist who’d gone to court many times. “The police didn’t back down. We didn’t back down.” The officers didn’t halt the show that night, so the exhibitionist couple performed as scheduled. The man was indeed able to get it up — Ince called him an “incredible sexual athlete” — and this set a precedent for the shop. “Because of our history of being sexually on the leading edge, we were confident no one was going to come after us.” This allowed The Art of Loving to venture into new territory: sexual education workshops with live demonstrations. “We were just talking about how to pleasure an anus, how to stimulate a woman to ejaculate, and we could show videos but people were saying, ‘You know, it would be great if you could have somebody with the chutzpah to be a model for that.’ We discovered there was both a market and people willing and interested in describing their experience.” From 2005 to 2011, Ince also helped lead the Sex Party, a political party focused on improving sexual education in schools, removing restrictive laws pertaining to sexual performance and working against the prohibition of non-exploitative sex work.

With such a variety of work in this field, it may be hard to decide which of Ince’s ventures has been the most successful. While Ince cites his books as one of his greatest personal achievements, he also finds joy in his shop having brought so many people together. “I really value the community-making that Vera and I have done, at making The Art of Loving a little bastion of sexpositivity in a very progressive city.” On February 6, the shop held one of their regular rope bondage seminars, with a trained kink professional teaching a class of around 25 people how to tie a number of different knots in a safe and sexy way. The audience ranged from people as young as their early twenties to those in their fifties or sixties. As the class began and the instructor cracked jokes while handing out lengths of rope, any nervous jitters faded from the crowd and participants began tying themselves up, tying each other up and — for one particularly adventurous couple — asking the writer of this article to get freaky and join a strange, three-way tying session. The small, intimate space of The Art of Loving helped to dissolve any tensions and set the room at ease to participate without self-consciousness. This was exactly the community that Ince had hoped to cultivate. U The Art of Loving holds workshops on everything from creative kissing to impact play to fisting. Their sex seminar calendar can be found at https://www.artofloving.ca/calendar.

‘a special place of safety’

why some students choose to be celibate on campus

Trigger warning: This piece contains mentions of sexual assault. he very, very first commandment in the Hebrew Bible is to ‘be fruitful and multiply,’” said Rabbi Philip Bregman, UBC’s Jewish chaplain. “It isn’t a commandment about believing in God — it isn’t a commandment about not murdering. It’s a commandment about procreation because without it, nothing goes forward. “Sexuality is an incredibly wonderful, important gift from God and without it, we don’t exist.” Many of us are told that university is a time to explore this “gift from God”: to experiment, to discover our tastes and preferences, to have some fun. Yet there are plenty of students on campus who, to various extents and for various reasons, choose not to have sex at all. They are celibate. Speaking to some of these students, there seems to be a lot of confusion over why people choose to be celibate. Many of us attribute the decision to ‘archaic’ religious thinking that deems sex sinful — especially when it is performed for purposes other than procreation — but most who abstain do so for secular reasons that are varied and complex. Even in religious doctrines that are stricter than Bregman’s understanding of Judaism, justifications for celibacy are more often grounded in a reverence for eroticism rather than a fear of it. Take Justin Mosca, a fourth-year psychology student who grew up in New Jersey. Mosca has never had sex and he doesn’t intend to any time soon. When you ask him why, a number of reasons unfold like pages of a thick book. Mosca grew up attending a Catholic church, and he admitted that he internalized messaging about the immorality of sex at a young age. Yet the first explanation he provided for his abstinence has nothing to do with religion. “In some of the experiences I’ve had — kissing and touching — I found that I got emotional really quickly,” said Mosca. As a result, he has resolved not to have sex until he is in a very “secure” relationship or even engaged. Father Robert Allore, UBC’s Roman Catholic chaplain and pastor at St. Mark’s Parish, believes that the prohibition of premarital intercourse in Abrahamic religions is based on similar concerns. “We know that full expression of our sexual powers is such an intimate activity that when it’s not done in the context of a committed relationship, people can really be burned,” said Allore. “I think people feeling able to be vulnerable to give and receive love from one another — that requires a special place of safety. That’s a hard space to come up with outside of full commitment.” When asked whether he had ever reached out to religious groups on campus in order to find people with similar views, Mosca said that he felt such communities

could be so “indoctrinated” that he had trouble relating because his reasons are not primarily religious. Allore admitted that he understands why some religious groups resort to such drastic messaging, but he hopes that people’s relationship with celibacy gets more sophisticated as they grow older. “You hope people, as they grow, develop a solid worldview that’s adequate for the challenges that they’re going to face,” said Allore. Yet Mosca highlighted another factor in his decision to be celibate: he had been sexually assaulted. Since the incident, Mosca has found that certain situations and images will put him on edge. Many survivors of sexual assault find it difficult to be intimate after being assaulted due to negative flashbacks and memories that close physical contact may trigger. “It’s gotten to the point where a girl may brush my hand as she walks by, and I’ll get really uncomfortable,” said Mosca. Allore also noted that celibate students have confided in him about being sexually assaulted, in which case he always refers them to sexual health resources on campus, such as the AMS Sexual Assault Support Centre or the UBC Sexual Violence Prevention and Response Office. It can take a long time for a

henry anderson

survivor of assault to recover mentally and emotionally before they are ready to become intimate again. Other students choose not to have sex because they never had the urge in the first place. Miles Justice, for instance, is a 20-year-old engineering student who is a member of the UBC Pride Collective and identifies as asexual. He explained that while many people are celibate despite their carnal desires, asexual people are celibate because they lack such desires altogether. “Celibacy is a choice. Asexuality is an identity,” explained Justice. While he has abstained thus far, Justice would consider having sex in a romantic relationship for his partner’s pleasure, distinguishing him from most celibate students. Ultimately, Mosca thinks that more people should experiment with celibacy because he feels from personal experience that the detached nature of hookup culture can have an adverse effect on mental health. He also explained that not worrying about sex gives him more time to “work on himself” instead of focusing on finding a sexual partner. “I think some people might be happier if they were celibate,” said Mosca. “It’s made me happier, anyway.” U

getting kinky on campus

jenny chantrakool ex is great, however you like it. Some of us like it nice and simple — vanilla, if you will. Others not so much, and that’s where we get kinky. Kinks are unusual sexual preferences, and they come in a variety of flavours. Some of them, like temperature play or blindfolding, play on the physical senses. Others are more psychological and are intended to get those involved into a certain headspace, like humiliation or submitting and dominating. Others play on taboo concepts and turn them sexy, like daddy or mommy roleplaying. With all this in mind, we were curious as to how kinky UBC students are, and set off on an investigation to find out what kinks were being practiced here on campus.

choking Let’s start off a little more on the tame side, shall we? The first kink I ran into was choking, which is a subset of breath play — the restriction of breathing, usually during sex, to gain erotic satisfaction. Ray, a land and food systems student who enjoys being choked, said, “I like it because it feels almost like I’m being put in my place… It makes me feel like I’m not in control for once.” Aside from the control aspect, she also explained that there was something “just really hot about not being able to breathe. It elevates every other feeling and makes your mind go blank in a really awesome way.” On the other hand, Barry, an arts student who prefers to do the choking, said that he enjoys being in power and that it was sexy to “make people feel pain and watch their faces change.” Both interviewees said that choking isn’t a kink they would introduce into a sexual experience quickly, and that they usually only approach it when they’re in a relationship or feel they know someone really well.

bondage Bondage, a classic. This kink seems like it stands the test of time, even here on campus. Arts student Tammy explained the appeal of bondage, claiming that it was about submission and trust. “[It’s hot to] just be submissive and put your pleasure in somebody else’s hands.” She said that while she does indulge in ropes every now and then, she has never had an issue approaching the topic when it came to simpler, manual bondage. “Lots of guys will grab your wrists together or pin you down anyway, and guys I’ve mentioned it to didn’t have an

issue with it.” Convenient, if you’re into it.

foot fetish While many of us tend to shy away from thinking about feet in a sexual nature, talking to people who indulge in it does make it sound pretty inviting. “There’s something just really attractive about feet,” said an arts student named Jimmy. “I can’t really explain it, but I just find it really hot.”

He said he enjoyed looking at and touching feet, and occasionally kissing them. His partner, Kate, mentioned that even though she doesn’t have a foot fetish herself, it was “actually pretty nice. He’s really gentle and sweet, and it makes me feel really loved and special.” On finding new partners, Jimmy said, “[It’s] pretty rare to find someone who’s into it, or even ok with it.” While it seems like UBC students have a bit of an aversion to this particular kink, it may be good to give it a try or to keep an open mind at least.

femdom Femdom — short for female domination — is a kink where a man is submissive to a woman who controls his actions and pleasure. An interviewee who liked to be on the receiving end explained that it feels like he was “given a purpose.” “I’m here for her use, basically,” explained Joshua, a science student. “Things are just a lot simpler … I have instructions and rules to follow and if I don’t follow them I get punished.” And of course, the punishments can be quite fun. “Girls I’ve submitted to in the past have spanked or humiliated me as punishment. I feel kinda dirty talking about it, but honestly that feeling is part of the appeal of the whole thing,” he added. In terms of the femdom scene here at UBC, he said that, “There aren’t many people who do it, or at least that’s what I’ve experienced … I’m super cautious about bringing it up because it freaks a lot of people out.”

tying up loose ends Overall, it seems like a good deal of UBC students are pretty kinky. Milder, more mainstream kinks related to domination and submission — like bondage and choking — seem to be fairly common, but there are definitely some of us who really get down and dirty. And of course, a lot of us like it vanilla, and there’s nothing wrong with that either. All in all, do what makes you happy (read: horny). Keep an open mind, research and be safe. Most importantly, respect other people’s choices and boundaries and, of course, have fun! U Editor’s note: All names have been changed for anonymity.

a cringey, carnal playlist We asked you to submit the most cringe-worthy songs you’ve ever gotten frisky to and you didn’t disappoint. Many of you provided context, but we’re not going to be so kind. Readers, make of it what you will — it’s no mistake that “All Star” is on there twice. You can also listen to the compilation on Spotify by scanning the QR code or at bit.ly/carnalplaylist

*White Noise*

22 *Shrek in the background*

“The Queen is Dead,” The Smiths

“I Do, I Do, I Do,” ABBA

“Frankly, Mr. Shankly,” The Smiths

“The Bare Necessities,” Phil Harris and Bruce Reitherman

“It’s A Small World,” The Disney Children’s Chorus

“Kung Fu Fighting,” Carl Douglas

“Lake of Fire,” Nirvana

“The Bad Touch,” Bloodhound Gang

Lo-fi hip hop beats in sync with an episode of The Office

“Holiday Road,” Lindsey Buckingham

“Call Me Maybe,” Carly Rae Jepsen

“Thrift Shop,” Kidz Bop

“Cotton-Eye Joe,” Rednex

“Canada Goose,” Pressa

“All Star,” Smash Mouth

“The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song,” The Flaming Lips

“Black and Yellow,” Wiz Khalifa

“Baby Shark,” Pinkfong

“YMCA,” Village People

“All Star,” Smash Mouth

“Planetarium,” Squarepusher

“My Heart Will Go On,” Celine Dion

SHUFFLE PLAY

My Heart Will Go On Celine Dion

Kung Fu Fighting Carl Douglas

Canada Goose Pressa

resources not your parents’ sex toys food to put you in the mood zak vescera

ook, I’m a team player. That doesn’t mean I’ve had team sex, though. Fuck. What I mean to say is, when someone needs something, I do it. But not in a sex way. The point is, I don’t know why I was asked to write this article. I’ve never even had a sex. I can cook well, which is apparently the only qualification required. So here are some recipes to put you in the mood, if I knew what “the mood” was or why my mom keeps giggling when I tell her about this piece.

appetizer: simple bruschetta Get some nice focaccia or a baguette, slice it lengthwise and brush one side with olive oil. You can imagine yourself putting oil on the body of your naked lover if that helps, which it doesn’t for me because I’ve never touched another person in my life. After you season with salt, pepper and a touch of garlic — ideally pureed — you can put pretty much anything on this before it hits the oven. Caramelized onions, simple cubed tomatoes tossed in a bit of balsamic and olive oil, prosciutto or a bit of mozzarella are my suggestions. Bake at medium heat for a few minutes or until slightly crispy, and you’re good to go. People get scared by Italian food because they think it’s really complicated and also sexy. It’s actually pretty damn simple. It might be sexy, but I don’t know because I have no comprehension of what sex is.

main: simple salmon with potatoes and asparagus Salmon is great food to get you in the mood because it’s a low-impact protein that enhances serotonin production. Or at least that’s what I just read on some random blog because I’ve never experienced joy. Let’s start with sides. Sauté asparagus with a bit of butter — it’s best to start with a splash of olive oil in the pan to prevent the butter from burning. It’s like foreplay! Season with salt and pepper while cooking with a bit of roasted garlic. Wrap some salmon — ideally wild — in tin foil with olive oil, a bit of dill, salt, pepper and a good squirt of lemon juice. Chuck it on the grill or bake at medium temperature for around 20 minutes. It’s better when it’s slightly raw, which is apparently a thing that some people also think about sex, but please wear a condom because overpopulation is destroying our planet.

dessert: homemade hot chocolate Making homemade hot chocolate is really impressive, especially for people who want to have sex with you! Or at least I think so! It hasn’t worked for me!!! Finely chop chocolate of your liking — dark is always best. Melt it in a microwave or a double boiler with a smidge of butter and a bit of salt if you want to be fancy. Bring some milk to a scalding temperature. It should be hot enough that small bubbles form at the corner. Add the chocolate to the milk. Look how happy they are together. God, I wish that were me. Drink up! U

james vogl echnology and the internet have brought society some truly miraculous bounties. Our smartphones put computers more powerful than those that sent the Apollo lander to the moon in the palms of our hands. The ways that we work, play and socialize are dramatically different than they were 30 years ago. So are the ways we get off. From devices designed to augment your experience with a partner to those designed to improve your ability to please yourself, technology has made its mark on the adult toy industry in a big way. For those of you who — like me before I researched this article — are unaware of just how far out sex toys have gotten, here’s a list of five especially interesting implements. Strap on-err in, this might get weird.

kiiroo pearl and onyx At first blush, the Pearl may look like a regular vibrator and the Onyx might just look like a fancier fleshlight, but Kiiroo has paired the two via the internet. When the Pearl is in use, the Onyx will respond by simulating intercourse. The user of the Onyx can respond in kind by controlling the vibrations of the Pearl. Marketed as a way for couples to stay intimate even while apart, the Pearl and Onyx certainly offer a more tactile alternative to Skype sex.

imtoy The ImToy, marketed as a male vibrator, is definitely more geared towards solo play. Its key selling point is its ability to synch with erotic video through its associated app. By matching the sensations supplied by the device with the pace of the video, the ImToy promises a more immersive adult movie-viewing experience.

svakom siime SVAKOM’s Siime is probably one of the more idiosyncratic toys on this list. According to the manufacturer, Siime is the first internal camera vibrator. And yes, that is exactly what it sounds like. Equipped with a camera and light at one end, the device allows the user to record photos and videos of your intimate experiences, bringing users and partners alike “a feast to the eye,” according to the SVAKOM website.

lelo transformer While not incorporating any new technologies, the Transformer is noteworthy as one of the first sex toys designed for all genders to use on the market. According to Lelo, the Transformer can function as anything from “a clitoral massager” to “ a cock-ring” or even “a vibrating double-ended dildo.” The possibilities are endless!

realdoll x Finally, no list of novel sex toys would be complete without mention of sex robots, so here you go. The RealDoll X is a hyper-realistic sex doll that uses AI to control different aspects of the features and personality of the doll. With a head and face that can move, and different AI-driven personas and voices, the doll offers users a uniquely interactive experience. Models are also offered in male and female models alike. If I’m being perfectly honest, this really isn’t my cup of tea — and I think that while the RealDoll X doesn’t quite have Westworld-level realism, it does have Westworld-level creepiness. But, hey, if the uncanny valley revs your engine and you’ve got $8,000 burning a hole in your pocket, who am I to judge? U

sensual scents:

aromas for intensified intimacy

lucy fox and marina mcduff

t smells like sex in here.” A line many have heard after bodies separate and the world reappears post-sex — it can be like hitting a carnal wall. That scent, along with any others in the space, can have an impact on sexual experience — though you may not necessarily notice it in the moment. Studies show that sexual experiences can be heightened when smell is taken into consideration, including more pleasant sexual experiences and higher frequency of orgasms for women. Whether it’s incense, candles, diffusers, essential oils, fragrances or any other product that adds scents to your space, acknowledging smells and adding fragrance can add another layer to sex. Step up your sexy game with these scents. We’ve stuck to candles here to get you started!

vanilla Vanilla is a scent we all recognize — it’s sweet, warm and soothing. It’s also a natural aphrodisiac. Historically — from the Mayans to the French — the scent has been connected to sexual arousal. Its sweetness can reduce drowsiness and help ease tension and stress. Scent suggestion: Paddywax: Vanilla Bean and Cinnamon

ginger Three words: spicy but sweet — a killer combination. The smell of ginger has been known to stimulate the circulatory system, pumping blood to every corner of the body, especially the sex organs — be it yours or your sexual partner’s. Spicy and warm scents can also lead to perspiration, which can heighten chemicals that lead to sexual attraction. Ginger is even mentioned in the Kama Sutra. Scent suggestion: Salt Spring Island Candle Co: Neptune (Clary, sage, eucalyptus and ginger)

jasmine Jasmine has been used for erotic purposes for centuries, particularly in Asian countries. It contains indole — a compound that is found close to human genitals, connecting it innately to the sexual experience. It can also produce feelings of euphoria and confidence. We suggest trying it alongside sandalwood, mentioned below. Jasmine is rich, but still sweet and seductive — and it is also one of the most readily available scents out there, as it is a favourite in perfumes! Scent suggestion: Vancouver Candle Co: Kitsilano

neroli Neroli is a modern favourite when it comes to scents. Made from steam-distilled bitter orange blossoms, it is sweet and refreshing with a metallic undertone that can make it an overall heady aroma. It blends particularly well with several other scents on this list, including jasmine and sandalwood. Scent suggestion: Black Candle Society: Neroli and Musk

sandalwood Perhaps the most traditionally-masculine scent listed, Sandalwood has been used for over 4,000 years as an aphrodisiac. Sandalwood relieves tension, relaxes muscles and is well known for its meditative properties. As the name suggests it has a muskier aroma, but is still sweet. Scent suggestion: Paddywax: Tobacco and Sandalwood

amber Warm and woody, the scent of amber creeps up as the body warms up. As an oil, amber can enhance intimacy by upping blood circulation and revitalizing hormones. The scent is sultry and seductive, without being too overpowering. It isn’t usually an essential oil on its own so if that’s the route you take, don’t be surprised if it is combined with other scents. Scent suggestion: Canvas Candle Company: Fireside U