Hey. I'm 14 and I've never fingered myself. I've done other things, but the thought of fingering myself just seems gross. A couple times, I've tried to, but then I get to thinking about how gross vaginas are, and I chicken out. I know this is irrational, but do you have any advice on getting over this? Thanks.
I'm a girl and I've been with my boyfriend for 8 months. I'm 18 and he's my first boyfriend. We've never had sex (he has had it before) but we've done other things. I have a problem though, I'm really scared to orgasm. Like we'll be doing something that feels so good and I know that if we just continued a bit longer I would get there (I feel the muscles contracting, the heart pumping, the intensity building and all that) but then I chicken out and make him stop. He's fine with it and very supportive and respects that I'm so scared, but it bothers me. Why can't I just let myself get there? It's the same deal if I um, "pleasure myself." Is there any way I can or he can help myself get over this fear of the unknown?
im a girl, im 15 and im scared or any kind of sex. (fingerbang, hand job, blow job, or sex) the thing is all of my friends have gone farther than me or have even had sex,i live in a small town so we are always finding things to compete over and this happens to be something all the girls are doing. when i think about being sexually active with my boy friend im okay with it, i actually want to, but when i have the chance to i back out... i think the main reason is i dont know how to do it..
i would really like to plessure my boyfriend and be plessured by him, but i get scared. if you have any ideas or anything i should try to overcome this fear of not doing it right or to loosen up and just relax it would be really appreciated !!!! thanks soo much ! (:
My boyfriend and I have been going out for more a than a year now and we have grown extremely close. We use to have sex regularly and then he just kind of halted it. I want to have sex but he does not want to because of the potential of pregnancy. I suggest using condoms but he still refuses. Is there any way I can convince him to have sex again or will it seem like I am desperate? Please help!
I'm a 16 year old boy, and for as long as I can remember I have been attracted to girls and yet rarely able to feel comfortable around them and get to know them. I've always been a nice person (the friendly guy) but without that many actual close friends who are girls. Recently I've noticed I am turned on (and everything that follows that) with the thought of receiving anal. Yet when I actually tried to see what anal was like through porn (I know this isn't realistic) I really didn't like it (to be polite). People have sometimes quietly thought of me as homosexual as I've never had a girlfriend and now I'm really not sure about myself? There are so many bad stereotypes and public jokes about gays I don't think its worth considering? I guess if I could fall in love with a girl and kiss her I would be far more confident...but I shouldn't need this! Advice please?
My partner and I have been together for about 6 months now. He's 17 and I'm 16. We have unprotected sex sometimes, and I think I might have gotten pregnant. I won't be able to tell until next week, but I'm kind of crampy and bloated already. I don't know if those signs are too early to be pregnancy symptoms or not, but I have no clue how to tell my mom I am pregnant if I am. What are ways to tell her that will be easier on me and my boyfriend?
If you’ve been reading Scarleteen for a while, you might already know that for many years now, we've heard from a good deal of young women who are deeply ashamed of and disgusted by these parts of their own bodies.
Some have feelings so negative that they are afraid to show loving partners their vulvas, or worry a lot about partners they haven't even met yet and that unknown person's reaction to the appearance of their vulva. Others don't get sexual healthcare they need because they don't want a doctor to see their vulvas: in other words, for some, distress about vulval appearance may be putting not just their emotional health and self-esteem, but physical health at risk. Some are so fearful, disgusted or negative they won't even use a mirror to get a better look at their vulvas alone, or won't touch their own vulvas because their feelings of disgust are so strong. Some even find it hard to feel comfortable around other women in non-sexual ways or to hear other women talk about their bodies because their discomfort extends beyond feelings about their own vulvas to the vulvas of everybody.
Plenty have expressed a desire for cosmetic surgery, even when healthcare providers and others have assured them that their ideas their vulvas look or are atypical are not founded in reality. Some have feelings so negative they have asked us how to remove or dissect their labia themselves and have voiced earnest intent to do so, or even having already tried doing so.
While we have always had more users with vulvas than those with penises, I can count on less than one hand how many people have ever stated intent to mutilate or amputate their own penises or foreskins because they feel they’re ugly, abnormal or sexually unappealing, while I’d estimate we have heard from at least 100 people over the last few years in email or on the website who have stated that kind of intent about their vulvas. Sometimes those feelings are based in, or have been amplified by, guys who these young women are sexual with or are considering being sexual with making negative, ignorant and really out-of-order comments about their vulvas or the vulvas of other women (usually as the imagine them or see them in porn, rather than from real-life experience). While we have yet to hear from someone with a sexual partner who is a woman making the same kinds of negative comments, sometimes those feelings and perceptions have come from the ways they have read or heard other women talk about vulvas, and not just women they see on plastic surgery shows getting labiaplasties, but their mothers, sisters, friends, even women who claim to be doing some kind of work out of love for other women, but whose love clearly doesn't extend to women's bodies, including their own.
Sometimes people feel negatively about their vulvas even when partners and other people in their lives have been nothing but positive, even complimentary. When that's the case, it's usually because that person is just so convinced their bodies must be wrong, or when they have given messages from media or internet forums or hallway gossip more weight than what people who they value in their lives have to say.
You don’t need me to tell you that all of this is seriously distressing.
We take this very seriously, and have always wanted to do everything we could to try and help dispel all kinds of body shame or hatred, including that of the vulva. To help counter these kinds of feeling and attitudes, we’ve done a lot of one-on-one talking with people who feel that way, continue to provide accurate, positive, body-loving information about sexual anatomy and to debunk some of the kinds of myths, ignorance, oppression or negativity that are or can be part of fear and shame around the vulva, vagina and bodies on the whole, as well as some pieces that directly address worries, concerns or negative feelings about labial or other vulval appearance. We've supported the work the New View Campaign has done around this issue. We have a page here on the site with some of Betty Dodson’s rad vulva illustrations to show some vulval diversity.
Up until now, everything we've had at Scarleteen that has depicted genitals have been illustrations, not photographs. In part, that’s been because often photographs available aren’t done well, don’t depict much diversity or clearly are for entertainment, not education. That's also been about thinking of people who are viewing our site in a public place. But an even greater influence than both of those things has been that we already tend to take a good bit of flack for just having illustrations, or even talking with young people at all about body parts. Having photographs has seemed like it would open us up to a whole new circle of hate mail hell.
However, we remain deeply concerned about this, and want to try and do all we can to dispel all of these negatives and drum up more body-positive, real-deal information and attitudes. And that’s why over the next couple of months, we’re going to go ahead and take the risk of publishing some photos of real-person vulvas, because we’ve found something we think is beautifully done, very much needed, and that we think can be of great benefit to many of our readers, whether they have vulvas themselves or not.
What we found, and what the select images and stories we’ll be sharing with you in a series are from is I’ll Show You Mine, an educational resource book created to debunk society’s artificial and unrealistic standards for normalcy and beauty with the vulva, and to help people really get a sense of not only what vulvas can look like, in all their diversity, but the diverse ways people who have them can feel about them. The book is a collaboration between exotic dancer Wrenna Robertson and photographer Katie Huisman. 10 percent of profits from the sale of the book are donated to local and international women's charities and free copies are available for educational and public use.
I’ll Show You Mine is a unique public resource. Sixty women are represented in the book, each with two large, true colour photographs. The photos are paired with in-her-own-words stories of each woman’s experience of the shaping forces of her sexuality; the stories range from heart-wrenching to celebratory, from angry to sensual. Women from a variety of ethnicities, ages spanning from 19 into their sixties, and all walks of life are represented: students, doctors, artists, academics, sex workers, mothers, grandmothers, housewives, entrepreneurs and more.
Wrenna says – and we agree – that the book is not intended as erotica or as art. It is, quite simply, reality. Before we roll out a new series based on the book, I wanted to share some of Wrenna’s own thoughts, feelings and words about the book and the process of creating it.
Wrenna has worked for half of her life as a stripper. She says that “since the time I began in the industry, plastic surgery has been very common, with women opting for breast augmentations since long before I started. Recently, however, I began to notice a trend I found quite troubling. Numerous co-workers spoke to me about the insecurities they had regarding their labia minora. Two of them asked if they could show me their vulva, wanting my opinion on whether or not I thought they should seek labiaplasty. Three others indicated that they, too, were uncomfortable with the appearance of their genitals. They were too shy to display their labia in the brightly lighted change room.
"Every woman was uncomfortable with the topic, choosing to bring it up with me only when no one else was around, each speaking in apologetic tones, as if this was such taboo topic, it was a burden to be placing upon me. Remember - these are strippers I am talking about. Women who are often thought by many to be among the most sexually liberal in our society. I realized that if these women had such a hard time talking about their labia, found it so challenging to show their genitals to a friend, then there was likely a whole bunch of women out there who felt equally shy. And I wondered, if women are so shy talking about vulvas, too shy to take the opportunity to share with friends what their bodies look like, where were they getting this idea of what theirs should look like?
"I recognized that there was a dearth of resource material which allowed women to view other women’s genitals. Certainly there is no shortage of porn available on the internet, but I don’t feel the images are presented in a way which allows a woman to fully view the vast diversity and beauty of female genitals, nor are all women comfortable watching pornography. I decided to make a book which would display life-size and full color photos of a diverse range of vulvas, all shot from the same camera angles and in the same lighting conditions. I also recognized that this was an incredible opportunity for women to share their experiences surrounding their bodies and their sexualities. I believe our inability to share openly about this part of our body is a very large part of the problem. I saw this as an opportunity to encourage women to examine how they feel about their bodies, about their sexuality, to uncover the root of those feelings. I recognized that being able to glimpse into another woman’s experience can be such a powerful way to learn about ourselves and they way society has shaped our feelings and beliefs."
I asked Wrenna who she intended the book to be for. She said that she "made this book primarily for young women, but see[s] it as valuable for all members of society. Gaining an appreciation of the diversity of the vulva is crucial to men as well as women, and the depth of experience shared by the 60 models is a powerful lesson for everyone. There is so much conveyed in the short stories that it would be hard to close the book unchanged in some way. It was truly revelatory for me, to gain a more complete understanding of how our culture shapes our beliefs regarding sexuality and shame."
I found that the stories of the women who took part in this project to be unusually earnest, real and powerful. So, I incredibly curious about the experience they had not just taking part in the project, but ultimately, being the project. After all, if looking at a book like this could be as radical and pivotal as I think it can for many people, especially those who haven't had the chance to see an array of other vulvas before, being part of it was probably even more powerful.
"The women who so bravely chose to take part in this project have conveyed that they benefitted immensely from their participation. Many faced very deep fears in deciding to have their genitals photographed, then dispayed in a book. Almost all found the process of writing a narrative even more difficult. It is an exercise I encourage everyone to undertake. Numerous women told stories they have never shared before, and found it to be cathartic. For myself, it was the starting point for my continued examination of the role of society and my upbringing in my feelings of shame."
The only other book I'd seen that was at all like this was only photographs, with the only text being written by the photographer himself, not by the people whose bodies were photographed, which struck me as problematic, especially since the person doing that book didn't have a vulva himself. I thought the stories added so very much to the table that I wanted to hear a bit more of what Wrenna thought about them.
Wrenna said that, "The stories bring such an important depth to the book. As women began submitting their stories, I felt more and more amazed at the power of the book. It evolved into something of our collective creation, far greater than I could have imagined or created on my own. The stories serve to connect the reader with the person represented by the photos, to relate to the model through shared experiences, and to grow through new and deeper understanding. I continue to go through the book and read the stories, and new revelations continue to emerge. I hope the stories encourage discussion and sharing among friends, set up the understanding that these topics are okay to speak about, provide a starting place for such discussions. A book of photos would certainly be valuable, but the accompanying stories make this essential reading for all women. And while I see the stories as vital to the book, the stories alone would not have same impact as when couple with the photos. The book is about shedding the impropriety of displaying one’s genitals, about being courageous enough to look at other women’s bodies without feeling shame."
When Wrenna and I talked on the phone, she told me about how her expectations of her co-workers were not sound. She’d expected them to feel very comfortable about participating in the project, as people who share their bodies and performance of sexuality for their living, and was very surprised to find that that wasn’t at all the case. We often hear young women voice that they are so, so very sure that women in sex work and pornography must be more comfortable with their bodies than anyone. I’ve known myself that wasn’t a sound assumption at all, and I think Wrenna’s experiences with women in those fields with this book illustrate that well:
"When I first conceived of the idea, I imagined the book would feature strippers alone. I knew many, and I assumed that each would be willing to take part. I thought it would send a strong message to those with body-issues - that women with diverse body types are all able to make money and be appreciated for their unique and beautiful bodies. I was quite surprised to discover that most of the strippers I asked to take part said no. Reflecting on this, I came to recognize that strippers, often admonished for setting unrealistic expectations in other women, are in fact among those most influenced by societal expectations of bodily “perfection”. These women, as a group, tend to undergo a disproportionate number of cosmetic procedures, highlighting their own insecurities and perceived deficiencies."
She then talked about who did participate in the book, how she found those participants and how it was working together: "Instead of photographing only strippers, I sought participants throughout Vancouver and the surrounding area by utilizing social media, presenting at universities and colleges, displaying posters where I could. The response was incredible, and the range of women who responded allowed for a book with a greater breadth of experience and age than I would have captured by limiting the project to strippers alone. Most of the women were strangers to me, so we met at a coffee shop nearby Katie Huisman’s studio. The immediate connection and openness I shared with each of the women was incredible. I recognized that women truly long to speak openly about these issues, really want to make change and help others, but are rarely provided with a venue to do so. I was so lucky to be able share in the experience with each model - for some a pivotal moment in their lives. I got to witness firsthand how difficult it is for many women to share this part of themselves, even in a non-sexual, fully consensual way. I was able to witness the transformation that occurred so quickly in so many of them. Katie is such a wonderful, professional photographer that she made the shoot very comfortable for each woman, and numerous ended the shoot remarking that it was far easier than they had anticipated."

Wrenna, Katie, and eight of the women who are part of this book have very generously given us the rights to reprint some of these photos and personal stories. Over the next two months, once a week we'll be sharing a different set of photos and the accompanying worlds of the woman in them here in the blog. Most of the women whose photos and stories we are reprinting have also offered to take part in a conversation in the comments with anyone who wants to talk with them about their experiences and their feelings about their bodies. We hope that being able to talk directly with some of them can help some of you to be involved in some of the earnest, supportive conversations about genital appearance you might not be finding anywhere else yet. We are greatly looking forward to sharing all of this with you, and can't thank all of these women enough for being willing to do such a cool thing with us here.
Because we do understand that not everyone looks at this site at home, for each of these entries, we will put the story first, and then follow with the photographs beneath, with a reminder right at the top of the page that it contains photos of vulvas.
So, stay tuned! We really look forward to sharing some of this excellent book with you, and encourage you to get your hands on a copy to take a look, and have one for yourself, or for anyone else in your life who you think could benefit, whether that's about dispelling shame and negativity or celebrating an already-awesome vulval self-image.
I'm a 19 year old lesbian ("Lipstick") and my girl friend is a "Dyke" and I know she has had previous partners and well so have I but never a Dyke. I'm scared of what may happen when we actually do have sex. What if I do something she's not comfortable with? Matter of fact what do I do if I do? I'm scared that I'll completely blow it and ruin our sexual relationship.
When we're quality sex educators; when we are or aim to be inclusive, forward-thinking and do sex education in ways that can or do serve diverse populations, we will tend to define sex very broadly, far more so than people who don't work in sex education often tend to, even if and when their experiences with sex and sexuality have been broad. Often, the longer we work as sexuality educators, and the longer we also just live and experience our own sexual lives, the more expansive the definition becomes. If we live and/or work on the margins, like if we or people we serve are queer, gender-variant, culturally diverse, have disabilities, the diversity in our definitions of what sex can be will become even greater. I'd say that for me, at this point, I'd love to be able to define sex by simply saying "Sex could earnestly be absolutely anything for a given person." While I think that's ultimately the most accurate way to define it, something like that is also not going to be very useful for people a lot of the time.
Human sexuality is incredibly diverse, so much more so than any one person's sex life as they experience it usually is. We can't miss that when we work as sex educators for a long time because we see and hear about so many people's varied sex lives and sexualities.
So, if we want to be as accurate as we can when we talk about sex, a wide, flexible definition is important, especially if and when we are only using that word. It's important to be inclusive and express the real diversity of human sexuality, and also to help people have a sexuality and a sex life that is not only authentic and unique, but which doesn't limit them or feel limiting because they're only seeing it or hearing about it within the bounds of a box far smaller than truly fits all sex and sexuality can be, or which is the wrong size or shape for them as people, for their sex life and sexuality.
Of course, sex educators won't often tend to use the word sex, all by itself, very often the way that people often tend to do in daily life. We usually are and have to be much more specific with our language. When any of us are talking about specific kinds of sex, we will tend to make that clear: we may talk about genital sex versus non-genital, for instance. We'll use specific terms for certain kinds of sex so that, for example, when we're talking about penis-in-vagina intercourse, we'll say that, not "sex." People we counsel or talk with will often use "sex" as shorthand, and when they do, we usually have to ask them a lot of questions to find out what they're talking about. If they're asking about what kind of sexual healthcare they may need or what their health risks may have been, for instance, then knowing things like what KIND of sex they're talking about, what body parts and functions they have, what body parts and functions any partners may have is all vital information to answer questions correctly. If they're asking how to "have sex," we have to ask a lot of questions in order to answer that question with anything more than a glib, "However you want."
Often people we're providing education for want to talk about what "sex" is, and sometimes our broad definitions are problematic with their current conceptualizations of sex, their sexual ideals, religious beliefs, relationship borders or boundaries or in other areas. Obviously, some of those issues are not about a broad definition of sex being a problem, or even that person's personal views, but about a limited social or cultural definition or view being problematic. In other words, that's often about the world as a whole needing to keep changing and expanding how it views and presents sex and sexuality. But that doesn't mean we can just figure the world will catch up to us, because the people we educate live in and are influenced by that world. We need to work to try and strike a balance as best we can where we're accurate but where our language and terms also work well for people and the world they live in.
The fact of the matter is that it is sometimes, if not often, easier for those of us who are sex educators to use the term "sex" broadly in work than it is for people to use the term "sex" broadly in life. Most of us are already put on the margins just by virtue of our jobs, because a whole lot of people consider our jobs sexual deviance -- or the people who would do this job, sexual deviants -- already. We also often have more people in our lives, at work and outside work, who assume broad definitions of sex than people who don't work in sexuality. We usually are, as my friend Cory so often likes to say, non-representative of the general population.
I'm probably going to be stating the obvious, but one of the biggest issues with broad definitions of sex for many people is that socially, interpersonally, and in a lot of places, culturally, who has "had sex" and who has not "had sex" matters. Often, it matters a whole lot and can be seriously loaded. How it matters varies, but for example, someone who says they "had sex" and means that they engaged in clothed frottage (dry humping) or masturbation, and has someone else interpret that as them having had anal intercourse, can wind up with consequences like being accused of lying, being accused of cheating, being made to worry about health risks they likely didn't even have, or having gossip spread about their sexual status to many people that isn't true and can result in social stigmas or even, in some areas or situations, in violence.
By all means, I'm always going to be a fan of using more specific terms, and using more specific terms would be helpful for everyone to do so I always want to encourage people to do that and help by using specific terms as often as possible so they can have them to use for themselves. Understanding how broad sex is can help people understand why being more specific is often so important. For instance, if someone makes an agreement with a partner about not "having sex with" other people, they're going to want to talk specifics lest one or both of them wind up breaking agreements they didn't even realize they made, and causing strife in their lives and relationships they likely could have avoided. Does "having sex" that mean only genital sex? Only physical sex: what about cybersex or phone sex? Only sex with someone of a given gender? Does that include masturbation or pornography use? Defining what sex is and is not is also major when it comes to defining the difference between sex and sexual abuse. Defining all of what sex and healthy sexuality can be well also plays a big part in acceptance and tolerance for people whose sexuality or consensual sex life is or has been marginalized, viewed or treated as hypersexual, dysfunctional or "frigid," "perverse" or "deviant," categorizations which are often radically inaccurate with what we know about the diversity of sex, or based in bigotry or bias.
Defining sex and sexuality well is vital not just to sexual inclusion, tolerance and visibility but to inclusion, tolerance and visibility -- and compassion -- in general.
But in plenty of situations in life and especially with sexuality, people will use shorthand -- especially when it comes to privacy -- something we have to make and leave room for.
We've heard sometimes from readers and users who have been frustrated with the fact that our broad definition doesn't always work with their own specific one. Now, often, this is about having limited sexual or even general life experience and conceptualization, or limited exposure to all of what sex can be for people, something that will often change with time and more experience and exposure, but, we also want to always be refining what we do to explore ways that we can define sex and use that word in a way that is as inclusive as possible but which is also as useful as possible for diverse people.
I think it's entirely possible there is middle ground between the way educators like us define sex very broadly and the way some folks do so in a more limited way that we aren't seeing or haven't yet thought of yet, despite that fact that we tend to talk about this as educators all the time, and talk or think about this in some ways every day in what we do with the people we serve. Sometimes, a very targeted conversation can do things more general thinking or talking mostly with colleagues cannot, so I'm asking all of you to take part in that with us here.
I don't have the answers, nor would I suggest I know what the absolute "right" ones are. What I have is constant questioning, and I'd love to hear what you think about this and just read and listen to what you have to say to help advance and further inform my own thinking about it.
I'd love to hear about the ways you think defining sex broadly is helpful, but also the ways you think it can or may be problematic. I'd love to hear about your ideas of ways to bridge some of these gaps, and define sex in ways that are accurate, diverse and inclusive, but which also take into account the fact that most people live in a world where who has "had sex" and hasn't matters, and where it can be easier or more comfortable to just say "sex" in some situations. All of this is often especially weighty for groups like young people, people abstaining from certain kinds of sex, people in sexually exclusive relationships and agreements and people who are in cultures or members of cultural groups where having "had sex" in certain situations can carry serious social consequences. I'd love to hear from our teen and young adult readers, but also from our older adult allies.
Per usual, I just ask that everyone be mindful about making statements that may or do define other people, their sexualities or their sex lives, or make judgments about others. For instance saying "Sex is only intercourse, of course!" is not only not helpful, and not true for many people, it can also make folks who feel differently feel locked out of the conversation or made invisible. Saying "I have only defined sex as intercourse because..." is a lot more useful and also leaves room for people who have different experiences, conceptualizations and definitions. Talking about how someone else's definition doesn't work for you is okay, but please do so in a way that's respectful and kind and that can further conversation, rather than stopping it.
Because most of the discussions we have at Scarleteen happen on our message boards, rather than on the blog, there's a copy of this piece, and likely some discussion on it soon, posted there, if you have a preference in where you like to talk.
Thanks in advance for your important feedback, input and help!