My acceptance of my own pain allows me to have the kind of sex that is rooted in the specificity of my body. I don’t love the idea that I’ll never fist, but I do love the idea that every act of sex I engage with is collaborative. Queerness reminds me that there is no standard way to fuck or live.

Can two switches have sex? I think so, and I think there is something beautifully different about having sex with someone with whom sexual options are truly abundant.

I was always thinking about them — what I’d bring, what I’d wear, what we’d do when we saw each other next. I wanted to dote and caress every moment of every day. I was willing to do damn near anything for them. I was consumed by what I can only term “I want to buy you a matte black Audi” energy.

The thing is: sometimes I like feeling disposable, like I’m just a bunch of holes that someone else is using for their pleasure. I know I’m fucking powerful, so sometimes I like to release control, let someone else do the work and have the power. That only works, though, when my boundaries are respected.

When I teach Rachel how to tie me up and fist me, when I ask her to tell me what to do, when I teach her exactly how I want to submit, I give her permission to go on a journey with me and dive into an expanding world of pleasure.