I Want to Have Sex With a New Man—but He Won’t Tell Me His Name. I Can’t Tell If That’s a Problem.

How to Do It Photo illustration by Slate. Photo by Aleksandr Pykhteev/Getty Images Plus. Our advice columnists have heard it all over the years—so we’re diving into the How to Do It archives to share classic letters with our readers. Have a question? Send it to Stoya and Rich here. (It’s anonymous!) Dear How to Do It, After 10-plus years in a monogamous, mostly stale marriage, I (a 42-year-old woman) am separated and hoping to have amazing sex again. For me, that means returning to the kinky, D/s sex I used to enjoy. I’m not looking to date or have casual sex with vanilla partners. Recently, I’ve been chatting with a dominant man I met on a kink site, and we’d like to get together in-person. We have had frank discussions about expectations, limits, and mutual respect. But I don’t know the first thing about navigating a hookup with someone I met online. To start, we are anonymous—no names, phone numbers, or other details. It’s sort of a “don’t ask, don’t tell” situation, and I’m OK with that. I’ve seen several face pics and chat with him often enough to feel he’s likely trustworthy. But am I crazy to consider meeting up with a man who won’t tell me his name? How can I keep myself safe if I don’t want to tell anyone where I am, what I’m doing, or who I’m with? He also lives about five hours away, so we can’t get together first for a “prescreening.” If we arrange to meet, it’s with the intention of having D/s sex. Where and how should we do that? Do I just give him the details of my hotel room and hope for the best? What about STIs or the potential that he’s married and has a partner who might try coming after me? What level of transparency should I demand? I’d really like to make this happen, but I clearly have no idea about the rules of the game. —Kinky but Cautious Dear Kinky but Cautious, This is unsafe. Anonymous encounters are inherently dangerous. It is completely reckless to meet up with a stranger in a hotel room five hours away from your support system for submissive BDSM play—especially since you don’t want to tell anyone where you are, what you’re doing, or who you’re with. There are numerous ways this could go very wrong, some of which you identify in your letter. There are no ways to ensure your safety in this situation, and I strongly encourage you not to meet up with him. Ten years is a long time to live in a stale marriage, and I imagine you’re excited to engage in a fulfilling sexual interaction, but this is not the one. Keep swiping till you find someone who is—at minimum—willing to give you some background information and travel to your area for an in-person prescreening talk. —Jessica Stoya From: I May Have Lied to My Boyfriend About My Real Relationship With My Best Friend. (May 25th, 2021). Please keep questions short (<150 words), and don‘t submit the same question to multiple columns. We are unable to edit or remove questions after publication. Use pseudonyms to maintain anonymity. Your submission may be used in other Slate advice columns and may be edited for publication. Dear How to Do It, I’m a woman in my mid-30s who grew up in a very conservative Christian community. This is pertinent because it may be the reason I’m just not really that into sex, although when I left that community I spent a lot of time reading erotica and sex-positive material and getting in touch with my sexuality, such as it is. I don’t think I’m asexual, because I masturbate with a vibrator once a week or so and do enjoy sex from time to time. I’ve only had three partners, all in long-term relationships, and have been married for eight years. My husband would like to have a lot more physical affection than we currently have—not just sex, but also fondling, cuddling, etc. I don’t think my disinterest in sex is because of him, because he’s a very attentive lover, and I’ve never been all that into sex even with previous partners. It’s so much work for not much payoff, in my experience! I just don’t experience a lot of fulfillment or satisfaction from sex and rarely crave it, except in special moments like reuniting after a separation or other times of emotional closeness. I feel guilty because I know my husband’s physical needs aren’t being met and it’s hard on him. I would fake it, but faking it feels wrong, because he wants the intimacy and emotional connection, and he’s trying to kiss me and gaze into my eyes while I’m mentally composing my grocery list. Should I talk to a sex therapist about this? Is it even something I can reasonably expect to improve on? — Not Feeling It Dear Not Feeling It, There are absolutely ways to improve the erotic connection with a mate. Ian Kerner’s So Tell Me About the Last Time You Had Sex lays out several, including guidance for psychological stimulation. His rationale goes: “There are two powerful pathways for creating arousal—the physical and the psychogenic—and if you’re only using one channel, then at best you’re only using 50 percent of your capacity for arousal.” The two categories of psychological stimulation he explores are face-to-face (things like sharing a fantasy or watching a partner masturbate) and side-by-side (reading erotica together or watching porn with a partner). Does any of this sound remotely appealing or even feasible? It’s OK if the answer is no, it just makes everyone’s jobs a little more complicated. The thing is, you have determined you are not asexual using uninformed criteria. It may seem counterintuitive, but asexual people masturbate and enjoy sex. Typically, what is considered to divide allosexuals from asexuals is desire or lust; the former have it, the latter don’t. There are plenty of reasons for enjoying sex without said desire (for release, for example), but if you aren’t experiencing desire for other people (or, in the case of objectum sexuals, objects), you may be asexual. Reading Angela Chen’s Ace may open your eyes to your own experience, or it may help you clarify why you aren’t ace. It’s worthwhile, either way. In any event, what do you want to do about your husband if you determine that sex will likely remain a rarity? Is it fair to ask him to go at your pace? Do you want to consider allowing him alternate outlets for his own desire? You will, in all likelihood, have to confront this issue. Better to get in front of it now than have it sneak up from behind later. —Rich Juzwiak From: I’ve Kept a Secret Sex Life From My Wife for Years. She’d Be Devastated to Learn the Truth. (September 26th, 2021). Dear How to Do It, I am a cis woman and in my mid-40s. I have never been in a relationship, and I’ve only had one sexual relationship, which was a short-term friends-with-benefits situation over 10 years ago. Since I was a teen, I thought I’d have a meet cute, and that’s how I’d meet a partner. That never materialized, so I tried a few dating apps over the years, which were disappointing. Fortunately, I have a satisfying and enjoyable masturbation life. I’ve worked through a lot of my baggage in recent years and discovered how overwhelmingly sensitive I have been to the concepts of patriarchy, toxic masculinity, and fear of sexual assault. On top of that, almost all my girlfriends and female family members have married men that make me ask myself, “Is that institution worth it for me?” I have always been attracted to men and considered myself heterosexual, but at this stage in the game, I don’t know that I have it in me to try to find that needle-in-the-haystack renaissance man. I have had “girl crushes” about women I find attractive, and I joked with a friend recently that I was ready to be pansexual, bisexual, or lesbian if it meant I could find a companion, and I’ve started imagining sex with a woman. I wouldn’t even know where to start to dating women when I’ve never really dated before at all! At this point, I feel like my sexuality is more fluid than ever, and I’m seeking an intellectual, emotionally intelligent human with a wicked sense of humor. I feel alone in this predicament, and while I love myself and think I’m pretty amazing, I can see how I would look weird from the outside to any potential partners. What do I do? —Le Sigh Dear Le Sigh, I hear from people in their 40s or older who are newly exploring some facet—or the whole—of their sexuality at least a couple of times a year. Many people consider sexuality and gender to be fluid, in the shape of a spectrum or even constellation. And political lesbianism (not that that’s necessarily what you’re describing) has been around since the ’60s. It’s unlikely that someone out there has had near exactly your life, but there are perspectives out there with overlap that you can look to for insight. Dating, whether we’re doing it for the first time, the first time in a while, or the 500th this year, is a process of getting to know someone. Sure, there’s the assumption that we’re looking for long-term companionship, sexual interaction, or both, but in the process of evaluating whether we’re a match for either we’re getting to know each other, which is something I think you’ve already got some idea of how to do. And when you describe what you’re looking for, it’s all personality—which is great, and an indication that you’re looking for a significant intangible connection. Sexual experience does tend to confer a certain ease in experimenting with a partner’s body, communicating what feels good, and general technique. But each new partner means learning a person’s sexual response anew. And hormonal fluctuations, context, and the progress of time may all change an individual’s response and desire. You’ve probably seen this in your own body—different things feel good at different times. To figure out where to start, think about what feels good for you and err on the side of teasing or being gentle. As for the perceptions of others, try to remember the plurality of that. Someone, somewhere, maybe even reading this right now, is going to think you’re weird. Someone else is going to think you’re brilliant and delight in your quirks. I’m hoping they’re somewhere near you. —J.S. From: I May Have Lied to My Boyfriend About My Real Relationship With My Best Friend. (May 25th, 2021). More Sex Advice From Slate This might sound odd, but I’m a 35-year-old woman, and I just found out that the female screaming orgasms you see in movies aren’t actually typical… Never miss new Slate Advice columns Get the latest from Prudie and our columnists in your inbox each weekday, plus special bonus letters on Saturdays. Advice Dating and Relationships Sex