I’ve Taken a Necessary Measure to Protect Myself During Sex. Uh, It’s Going to Be Hard to Explain.

How to Do It I’ve already gotten weird looks. Photo illustration by Slate. Photos by Getty Images Plus. Sign up for the Slatest to get the most insightful analysis, criticism, and advice out there, delivered to your inbox daily. How to Do It is Slate’s sex advice column. Have a question? Send it to Jessica and Rich here. It’s anonymous! Dear How to Do It, I’m non-binary, assigned female at birth, with no current hormone replacement therapy (HRT) or gender affirming surgery. I sleep with men, women, non-binary people, trans or not, and have multiple partners at a time. I’ve been thinking of getting on pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP) for a while. I just got my first prescription after two condom breaks in the same night. As I often still read as a woman, even if I wear a binder, a shirt, and jeans, and because I work in the healthcare industry, I’m scared of judgment, both from regular providers and from my colleagues if they find out, even though I’m pretty open about my private life if people are that curious. The criteria for AFAB is having multiple partners a month—I’ve already got weird looks for asking for throat and anal swabs. Like, how do you explain you don’t need HIV post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) when you get a little bit of blood on a mild scratch or a bit of fluid in your eyes from a patient with a positive viral load and can still provide the patient with care rather than having to be replaced while you go to occupational health? I think more people should be on PrEP than are currently, and I know I should encourage that in my personal life. But there’s also that stigma that comes with being AFAB with multiple partners, including bi men with other partners, in a largely conservative culture. I’m so happy to start it, but I’m at a loss as to how to navigate any potential social stigma. I knew more than my generalist did about how to prescribe it when she made that prescription, and I wasn’t even told about the injectable options. —Perplexed About PrEP Dear Perplexed About PrEP, Stigma is real, and historically it’s been a barrier to PrEP, but don’t let the idea of it daunt you. Other people’s opinions are not more important than your health, and PrEP is an effective way with few side effects to remain HIV negative. That’s really what it comes down to in your case, at least given what you’ve experienced so far. People won’t necessarily understand why you’re on PrEP, but their ignorance does not trump your awareness of what is right for your body. Are you going to stop having sex with multiple partners because people who don’t get laid as often or straight-up hypocrites wouldn’t like it? Obviously not. The same thinking applies to what comes with that sex, which for you is the protection of PrEP. I’m not sure whether you’ve been in a situation at work where you’ve had to explain why you don’t need PEP or if your example was purely hypothetical, but saying, “I’m on PrEP,” seems sufficient to me. You don’t have to explain beyond that. People may draw their own conclusions, but only you can confirm whether they’re right. If you don’t, they can just as easily assume that you’re being extra careful. To already be protected and not need an emergency PEP medication is an asset in your line of work, not a liability. I understand that you being AFAB and perceived as a woman adds another layer of stigma to the typical men who have sex with men PrEP narrative, which can be difficult to navigate in its own right. I know that some people may think less of you when they find out that you think enough of yourself to own your behavior and mitigate the health risks that come with it. Those people are small-minded, and you are smart. A little bit of self-satisfaction here is warranted; realize that you know better than those who’d tear you down simply for having a sex life. 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 recently broke up with my partner of 11 years. Our relationship had been on the rocks for a good year before we finally called it quits. It was a very painful but necessary breakup. It’s been three weeks, so I’m definitely still in mourning. But I’ve been feeling a bit curious about getting back out there. When is too soon to start dating and having sex again? I don’t want to skip past the important work of healing by filling it with distraction, but honestly, I could use a little distraction. —Taking a Look Dear Taking a Look, There is nothing wrong with a little distraction. Life is such a burden at times that you need to find relief where you can: a dumb movie that allows you to turn your brain off, an indulgent dessert, a good time in bed. Having sex is not at odds with healing; you simply can’t be focused on healing 24 hours a day. Throwing yourself into a life filled with sex so that you are only distracted would be another matter. There’s a big difference between that and getting laid from time to time. Moderation is key. Listen to your body. If you’re horny, do something about it. If you find yourself stuck in a space where you are constantly having or searching for sex, especially before you feel fully healed, rethink your choices. Then reintegrate your proactive attempts at healing, in whatever form that takes, be it therapy, journaling, mindfulness, exercise, some combination of them, or more. Try not to use sex as an escape from life, but as an enhancement for it. But truly, it’s never too soon. Sex can be a positive way to get back in touch with yourself, especially after a rough relationship, and particularly one where the sex was underwhelming and/or rare. There’s a lot of good to glean from connecting with another person and being kind and giving to them (in whatever form you both see fit), even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. Share Your Story With How to Do It! Readers often have great suggestions for our letter writers, occasionally disagree with a point our How to Do It writers make, or simply want to provide some additional advice. Each month, Jessica and Rich will be replying to some of these comments and suggestions from readers. Write to us! Dear How to Do It, Most people in my life are in strong and healthy long-term relationships. I am gay and trans in a small town and feel forlorn, having never had this. I am likely going to move quite far after I graduate from university, and so I don’t anticipate any relationship in the next one to two years just due to the difficulty of the arrangement. I’m only 21, which I know puts these feelings in the teenage angst realm of rationality, but I’m amongst family, friends, and peers my age who are engaged, married, and/or have kids, and I can’t help but feel like I am missing out on a facet of life that I am horribly unacquainted with. How do I quell these feelings and learn to feel content while I’m single? —21 and Sad Dear 21 and Sad, Hold onto hope. Right now you are in a small town, and small towns are notoriously LGBTQ+ unfriendly. Generally speaking, the smaller the population, the less likely it is to contain members of sexual minorities, so the numbers may just not be on your side right now. Many queer people experience a so-called delayed or second adolescence once they leave the limitations of their upbringing for bigger cities with more options. Know that this may very well be your future. Your youth doesn’t make your angst any less real or painful, but try to let it also put things into perspective for you: You have your whole life ahead of you. You may be more relationship-oriented, but understand that your future may hold the opportunity to date, find your tribe, even be slutty, if you choose. Your situation is temporary, and things may change once you venture out. You don’t have to be completely passive, though. If you don’t have a sense of community in your immediate vicinity, cultivate it. Join on-campus LGBTQ+ clubs and activities. Visit the nearest off-campus spaces for queer people: centers, bars, clubs. If none of this is accessible to you, try meeting people online. Apps might be helpful, though they can be more geared toward finding sex than romantic connection, so be clear in your profile about what you are looking for. You can also seek out message boards specific to your identities for a sense of online community. There is basically a subreddit for every label you could ever think of applying to yourself, so find what applies. There is no guarantee you’ll make a romantic connection online, and even if you do, they may be far away, but I think any kind of interaction could make the void that you feel you’re staring into seem less vast. —Rich More Advice From Slate I’m a straight, divorced woman in my late 50s. I’m not actively seeking a relationship or sex partner, but I would definitely not be opposed to either if the opportunity presented itself. My last sexual relationship was two years ago, when my ex-husband and I attempted to rekindle things after having been divorced for six years. It limped along for a while, but he broke it off. When we got back in bed during that time period, I was surprised to find that he had shaved the hair on his genitals—not a very happy surprise, I must add… Advice Sex