Jared, a 24-year-old queer artist who lives in Bushwick, had his first consensual sexual experience at 17, when he was still in high school. He met with someone from Grindr who was approximately his age and they hooked up at the back of the guyās car. After being assaulted at 16, losing his virginity helped him gain back his confidence, and despite the physical pain, he recalls a deep sense of happiness.
āI felt empowered, I felt like a bad bitch, I had a lot of confidence,ā he told LGBTQ Nation.Ā
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Seven years later, sex has grown to be an integral part of his life, something that has helped him grow confident with other people and himself, a way to feel sexy and desired. Growing up in a traditional Christian family, he was unable to express his attraction to other men, a common repression that, in his opinion, explains why sex is so essential for many queer and gay men. āWe never got to fully be comfortable in our sexuality, in ourselves,ā he said. āSo now that we are adults, thatās why weāre such a hookup culture.ā
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Like many other young people, he has embraced terms formerly used as slurs, like āwhoreā or āslutā to define his sexual relationships with other gay and queer men. āI do think it’s great to be a slut. We only get one life to live, [and] thereās so many beautiful people,ā he said. āYou should connect with whoever you want to connect with, just protect yourself.āĀ
Youth sex frequency has been declining for years and, as professor of psychology Jean M. Twenge published in 2017, Americans born in the 1990s āhad sex about six times a year less often than the average American born in the 1930s.ā This trend, however, differs among non-straight men. According to a 2020 study by Peter Ueda, from the Swedish Karolinska Institutet, surveying US adults: āAn increase in sexual inactivity and having no sexual partners among men was observed in most sociodemographic subgroups but not among gay or bisexual participants.ā Additionally, gay and bisexual individuals āwere more likely to report 3 or more sexual partners.ā
Sex has traditionally been a central feature of gay and queer communities. During the 70s, the gay liberation movement embraced a positive vision of sexual relationships that spurred the rise of social institutions like bathhouses, said Phillip L. Hammack, Professor of Psychology and Director of the Sexual and Gender Diversity Laboratory at the University of California, Santa Cruz. āThe real triumph of that movement was the emergence of this very vibrant sexual culture,ā he said.
As a bonding mechanism, sex has allowed gay and queer men to find shared pleasure, establish connections, and form lasting relationships. āSex is a physical release [and] a way of forming community,ā said Michael Bronski, Harvard Universityās Professor of the Practice in Media and Activism in Studies of Women, Gender, and Sexuality. āItās a way of meeting partners, whether a partner for 20 minutes, two months or for life.āĀ
The Lifechanging Magic of PrEP
This favorable vision towards sex was cut short by the AIDS epidemic in the 80s. What was once considered a freeing tool against the constraints of a heteronormative society was suddenly rejected by many due to a widespread fear fueled by governmental inaction. For around three decades, Hammack said, there was a sex-negative pendulum swing against the revolutionary achievements of the previous decade. āPromiscuity did become very frowned upon, it was a real setback for the liberated sexual culture that queer men had created.āĀ
And for Black gay and queer men, they had to navigate a community that further marginalized them. Historically, white culture has depicted Black men as hypersexual beings, a racist conception that, during the worst of the AIDS epidemic, rendered them dangerous in the eyes of white people, said JesĆŗs G. Smith, Assistant Professor of Ethnic Studies at Lawrence University. āBlack men became the exception of whatās too promiscuous,ā he said. āLots of people were associating HIV and AIDS with Black men. White men were saying āwe can be promiscuous as long as we cut out Black people.āāĀ
The widespread adoption of PrEP during the last decade has contributed to a renewed sense of safety, said Hammack, and for many younger Millennial and Gen Z men who havenāt experienced the horrors of the epidemic, this medication is another layer of protection to celebrate their sexuality.
Tully, a 26-year-old man who started taking PrEP around two years ago, is one of them. The Chicago native had his sexual awakening at 12, when he was in middle school, at a sleepover. Although he knew he was into guys before then, that night he was joking around with his friend, pretending to go under the covers to make out, when he realized he was gay. āWe played it off as a joke, but it had underlying truth with me,ā he said.Ā
His first shared sexual experience came when he was around 15 with a āsignificantly older man,ā he met through an off-brand dating app. He wasnāt fully out at school and thought that meeting someone older would be more comfortable for him. Afterwards, he felt liberated, and it wasnāt until he found out that the guy, a teacher, had been arrested for having sex with a minor that he grasped the gravity of the situation. āI kinda went into a celibacy phase and I had to work my way back out of that,ā he said.Ā
Once he recovered from that trauma, he had different āslut phasesā that allowed him to explore his sexuality freely, experimenting his preferences while getting to know other people. āLearning who to exchange my energy with or who I want to have sex with, I donāt know how I would have done it if I didnāt have these slut phases.āĀ
Thanks to PrEP, the fear of catching HIV is no longer a constant worry, allowing him to explore his sexuality more freely. The medication has allowed him to get all the sexual experiences that he wanted while still keeping himself and others safe. āThat was a really good feeling, it took this anxiety off.ā
In the future, however, he sees himself engaging in a closed relationship, putting an end to his āslut phasesā once he fulfills his āf**ket listā of sexual experiences. āWhen I’m in a relationship, I would actually want to be monogamous,ā he said.Ā
The power of being a slut
For other young men like Tully, the heteronormative shadow of monogamy as the apex of any relationship, especially after Obergefell, still looms large. But despite the expectations to conform, the historical exclusion of gay and queer men from socially sanctioned institutions has allowed them to develop relationships outside of the monogamy axis.
2021 research by Amy C. Moors, Assistant Professor of Psychology at Chapman University, found that āmen, compared to women, were more likely to have previously engaged in consensual non-monogamy. Moreover, lesbian, gay and bisexual individuals had previously engaged in consensual non-monogamy at a higher frequency than heterosexual individuals.ā Consensual non-monogamy has many facets, from polyamory to open relationships, but a constant pattern is that gay and queer men are practicing it at a higher rate than their straight counterparts.Ā
āIf you don’t fit into the social norms that are prescribed in society, you are likely to critically think, āhow do I want to live my intimate life,āā said Moors. āPeople are buying out of social norms, particularly gay men, and probably engaging in different types of sex and relationships.ā
Harrison, a 27-year-old gay man from Pittsburgh, is willing to consider an open relationship with a partner in the future. His first sexual experience happened when he was a college senior in 2018, at 22, a ācatharticā encounter tarnished by regret. ā[I felt] a lot of shame, of having sex in any capacity,ā he said. āThere was initially a lot of guilt behind it. Itās something culturally ingrained in us, to feel bad about it.ā He grew comfortable with himself thanks to a more sexually-active friend who helped him normalize sex-positive behaviors and, eventually, he embraced terms like āslutā or āwhoreā to define himself. āItās almost like an accolade,ā he said.Ā
40 partners or so after that initial encounter, casual sex has been a tool for him to release a physical need, no strings attached, but moving forward, he thinks he will seek stronger emotional connections to feel more satisfied in the long term. Although he pictures himself in a closed relationship, he is open to exploring other sexual arrangements. āI can totally understand wanting to have an open relationship, keeping the sanctity of your partnership with that person but also still being able to explore and express yourself with people that you find attractive,ā he said.
Andy, a 23-year-old gay Brooklyn resident, is also open to the idea of exploring intimate non-monogamous relationships. He lost his virginity at 17, when he went to the apartment of a 22-year-old guy he met on Grindr. Gradually, he embraced an open sexuality, which felt liberatory. āIt was powerful being a slut, having sex a lot, being promiscuous,ā he said. āSex can be a way to create community and find relationships with other queer men.āĀ
Despite still struggling to brush off the monogamous canon from hisĀ future, he pictures himself in a polyamorous relationship, something that will allow him to ethically explore different connections. āI love the idea of polyamory, I love that you can love multiple people and share loving, romantic, sexual energy with many people at once.ā
The Pressure of Societal Sexpectations
An open sexuality might also come with its own set of challenges. Andy thinks that there are high sexual expectations among some queer communities, setting an unattainable standard for many not-so-sexually active men. āI feel that thereās a pressure to be promiscuous, to be slutty,ā he said. āI think people who are more sexually active are more respected in the queer community.ā
Sam, 24, who lives in Pennsylvania, echoes his words. At 17, he had oral sex for the first time with a āmuch older guyā from Grindr. Growing up in a rural area, all of his friends āstraightā had been having sex since middle school, but it took him some time to discover how to accept himself and embrace his sexuality. āMy last year of high school, I was working towards accepting being gay, which meant that I was able to freely explore sexual experiences,ā he said.
Constantly talking about sex while surrounded by gay friends while being exposed to hypersexual influencers on Twitter has taken a toll on him, especially when he was going through less sexually active periods of his life. āAt times, I felt like I wasnāt fitting the status quo,ā he said. āI almost felt like there was a quota to keep up with. There are implied peer pressures.āĀ
For Christopher Stults, Assistant Professor of Psychology at Baruch College, the key to successfully dealing with this social expectation implies embracing the sexual diversity intrinsic to the gay and queer community in its multiple expressions.
āFor some people, sex positivity means having one partner that they are monogamous with; for another person, [it] means youāre currently not having sex with anyone but you have a healthy outlook on your own sexuality,” he said.
“For a third person, sex positivity means that they are having five sex partners today at a sex party. There shouldnāt be any expectation that thereās one way to be sex-positive, to be slutty or to be promiscuous.āĀ
āDo whatever you want to do as long as youāre not hurting yourself or other people,ā said Tully. āI think that is the key to having a really healthy sex life.ā