How Can I Enjoy Sex as an Intersex Person?

Longing for intimacy is not just normal; it’s literally part of being human.

– Kelli Dunham RN BSN

Sex can be fun, overwhelming, beautiful, embarrassing, difficult, easy, confusing, liberating, activating, clarifying, intimidating, and silly.

Sex can be a place to let go and show a playful side. Sex can be a place to relax. Sex can be a profession. Sex can be a site of pain, representing or revisiting past hurt. For some of us, sex⁠ (sex: Different things people choose to do to actively express or enact sexuality and sexual feelings; often this involves genitals, but not always. ) isn’t easy. Even if we want to enjoy it, the layers of emotion can tangle up.

Sex means different things to different people. Within this article, I’m using “sex” as a broad term for consensual, intimate physical connection between people.

How is sexuality different for intersex people?

I’m an intersex⁠ (intersex: Having reproductive and/or sexual anatomy that doesn’t seem to, or isn’t understood to, fit typical definitions of female or male, and/or chromosomal combinations other than XX or XY.) writer who’s worked with hundreds of other intersex people around the world. The bitter truth is that many of us grow up feeling like our sexuality was stolen. 

Sometimes that taking has been literal, like surgeries that happened to us without our consent⁠ (consent: To freely and actively agree to do a specific thing with someone else with all the information about what that thing is, and the right to change your mind.) to cut a phallus or clitoris⁠ (clitoris: A sexual organ both external and internal on the vulva and inside the pelvis of those often assigned female at birth that is similar to the penis, but serves no other known purpose besides providing sexual pleasure.) , move a urethra⁠ (urethra: The urinary tract, where people pee from. On a penis, the opening to the urethra is at the head of the penis; on a vulva, the opening is above the vaginal opening and below the external clitoris.) , remove testes⁠ (testes: Reproductive glands of people with penises. They sit outside the body and are contained within the scrotum.) , insert prosthetic testes, or make a vagina⁠ (vagina: The internal passage leading from the opening of the vulva to the cervix of the uterus.) . Since most of these major genital surgeriesexternal link, opens in a new tab are offered to parents before a child turns two, we don’t get to weigh any costs or benefits to our adult sexuality. And so we carry grief.

Some of us had surgeries to change our bodies as teenagers. There’s a common thread of survivor’s guilt to having escaped “the worst of it,” compared to peers who were violated as young children. Having intersex-related surgeries as a teen means getting some opportunity to understand your own body, but continuing to wrestle with a very complicated relationship to medical consentexternal link, opens in a new tab. While some of us are okay with the surgeries we had as teens, some aren’t, and we don’t always feel the same way about it from one day to the next.

Even those of us who have never had surgery carry our own shame. Being judged for having a body that some people think makes you “not enough of a man” or “a broken woman” sticks with you. Having your genitalia or intimate development scrutinized, especially by adults⁠ (adults: People whose age in years exceeds the legal age of majority, people considered to be adults by law, or people who a culture or individual considers to have reached an adult stage of life.) you’re supposed to trust, leaves a person feeling more like a specimen than a sexual⁠ (sexual: About or relating in some way to sex or sexuality.) being. It becomes hard to believe you could be wanted. It becomes hard to want, too.

“How do I enjoy sex?” is hardly a question that’s unique to intersex people. Scarleteen hosts a wealth of resources on sex and the insecurities it can dig up, including but not limited to: having body hair, feeling ashamed of inexperience, navigating disability, expanding ideas about pleasure, and deciding if you feel ready to have sex at all.

“How can I enjoy sex as a ____ kind of person?” becomes more complicated. The question speaks to the power shame holds over us. As if the addition of who we are changes what’s available to us.

All kinds of people have sex. All kinds of people find ways to enjoy themselves. And, when we talk about exploring sexuality – as intersex people, specifically – we also have to be honest about the unique pains we might face:

1. Physical scarring. Any deep cut also makes a scar. Scarring from genital surgery can become hard or painful, especially if it grows with a person from the time they were a baby. Internal scarring – sometimes called stenosis – can make vaginal sex hurt. Scars from infant clitoral or penile surgeries can make erections painful. Scars anywhere can make it harder to feel another person touching you, because nerves have often been damaged by what caused scars in the first place.
    
2. Extra care needs. Sex is about emotions. When you’ve faced medical abuse⁠ (abuse: Purposeful harm or mistreatment of another person, which can be verbal, emotional, physical or sexual. An ongoing pattern or cycle of such mistreatment or harm can characterize an abusive relationship.) , sexual trauma⁠ (trauma: A serious or critical physical and/or emotional injury or physically and/or emotionally painful experience.) , or other issues that are unfortunately common for intersex people, it can be hard to feel through to the positive emotions that can come with sex.
    
3. Shame about infertility. Many intersex people can’t have children. This adds the stress of deciding how or what to tell any partner⁠ (partner: In a sexual context, a person with whom someone is having some kind of sex. The term “partner” can be used for all kinds of relationships, not just serious ones. “Partner” can also mean the person someone is with in a romantic or familial partnership.) /s, when conversations about birth control⁠ (birth control: Any number of methods people use to intentionally prevent unwanted pregnancy, including the condom, the cervical barrier, the implant, the patch, the pill, the rhythm method, the ring, the shot, the IUD, spermicide and withdrawal.) often already feel challenging.
    
4. Shame about unique anatomy⁠ (anatomy: The body, parts of the body, or physical structure of organisms like people, animals or plants.) . Some intersex people can’t and/or don’t want to have some kinds of sex. No matter someone’s surgery status, most of us have been made to feel like our bodies are wrong. No matter your sex traitsexternal link, opens in a new tab – whether you are a cisgender⁠ (cisgender: Describes people who have a gender identity which is traditionally thought to “match” their assigned sex. For instance, someone who was assigned male at birth who identifies as a man. Often used in relation to transgender.) man with breast⁠ (breast: Glandular tissue, fat, connective tissue and skin on the chest.) tissue (gynecomastia), a cisgender woman with facial hair (perhaps from PCOSexternal link, opens in a new tab), a cisgender woman with internal testes, a nonbinary⁠ (nonbinary: A gender identity that is outside the gender binary. Enby is the phonetic spelling of “NB,” and is a shorthand word for nonbinary.) person with ovotestes, an intersex man or a transgender⁠ (transgender: Describes people who find that the gender applied to them because of the sex they were assigned at birth is incorrect.) femme⁠ (femme: Describes a person who is intentionally feminine in appearance, behavior, dress, identity or sexual attitude. Often used in relation to butch. Most often used in the LGBT community, but can refer to people of any orientation.) who’s undergone hypospadias surgery, etc.–hurtful past experiences might show up in bed. This is true even if you are not “visibly” intersex, e.g. a partner would only know about internal anatomical differences if you told them.

I want to avoid clichés and fake optimism. Sex can be hard. Intersex people face a lot of bias and social weirdness. There’s no easy recommendation for a subject so big – especially not one that cuts across differences like race, class, culture, sexual orientation⁠ (sexual orientation: A term – like homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, queer, straight, lesbian, gay, asexual – used to describe a person’s usual or current pattern of emotional, romantic and/or sexual attraction to other people as it relates to or is about gender.) , and geography. ´

This article offers starting points. Read it alone, with a partner, or anyone who’s on your team.

…every consensual orgasm⁠ (orgasm: An event typically in response to physical or intellectual sexual stimulation, controlled by the involuntary nervous system. ) I achieve as a queer⁠ (queer: In the context of sexuality, a broad term for sexual orientation that can describe any number of orientations which are not heterosexual. People who identify as queer may be bisexual or pansexual, gay or lesbian, questioning, asexual or more.) , intact intersex person is basically an act of resistance.

– Hida Viloria, intersex author and activistexternal link, opens in a new tab

How can I feel more confident with sex as an intersex person?

Probably 90% of the work it takes to enjoy sex happens before, or independent of, having a specific partner. This is true for anyone, intersex or not.

Physical technique, body parts, or gear come way, way later – because enjoyable sex is about feeling safer in your body.

It might not be easy. It probably won’t be fast. It took me over a decade to feel comfortable enough to work with my medical trauma and pick partner/s who could honor my needs. I firmly believe that any intersex person who wants to enjoy sex can find a way to get there.

Here are some general suggestions:

Understand more about your body’s own “yes” and “no.”

At first, I was surprised to learn how much intersex medical trauma has in common with childhood sexual abuse, or CSA. In both cases a person receives inappropriate attention on their genitalia or sex traits from trusted adults. In both cases an adult has to deal with the unfair addition of processing these emotions once they approach consensual sex with a partner. While intersex surgeries affect a very small percentage of the population, CSA affects every 1 in 9 to 1 in 20 U.S. childrenexternal link, opens in a new tab – that’s 5-9%.

I bring up this horrifying statistic because I’ve yet to see a resource on sexuality specifically for intersex adults. There is, however, a wealth of resources by and for CSA survivors. Books and resources by authors like Shena J. Youngexternal link, opens in a new tab, Aishah Shahidah Simmonsexternal link, opens in a new tab, Sujatha Baligaexternal link, opens in a new tab, and Staci Hainesexternal link, opens in a new tab, can offer warmth and support. CSA books tend to talk about helping people re-learn how to trust, after that trust was damaged by someone else.

Niki Khanna, a therapist who specializes in working with intersex adultsexternal link, opens in a new tab, led me to Staci’s book, which offers exercises toward connecting with your own body. One great example is to learn more about your body’s cues. How do you know if you want a hug from a friend? How do you know if you are thirsty? How do you know if you’re done listening to music? Maybe you remember that hugs feel warm and start to feel that in your chest. Maybe you notice your throat is dry, or you have a headache. Maybe you start to feel impatient or hear other sounds in the room.It can help to understand more about your own signals of desire⁠ (desire: A feeling of wanting something. In the context of sex or sexuality, desire can be a feeling of a physical and psychological want for any kind of sex or way of being sexual.) , way before sex enters the picture. The same can be true even if you are currently partnered.

Build a relationship with discomfort.

Some popular advice about sex and trauma says that “feeling uncomfortable” means you should always stop anything sexual immediately. This idea comes from a caring place, but it can be more complicated than that.

Some of us may never feel fully comfortable with sex, but we’re still interested in trying with the right person. Sometimes engaging with discomfort, under safer conditions, can help us come out⁠ (out: Short for ‘out of the closet’. When someone’s LGBTQ+ identity is known to other people.) on the other side learning new tools. Asking yourself questions about what your discomfort means is an important skill, and not just for sex. For example, discomfort matters when it comes to behaviors like yelling or pressuring you to have sex. This kind of discomfort might be telling us who is not a safe person to be around. But discomfort around an experience that might always be a little awkward or challenging—say, receiving a vaccine in your arm—is something we have good reasons to endure. We can begin to learn strategies for dealing with this kind of discomfort—because the medicine or human connection on the other side might be worth it.

It’s often hard to decide what feels like too much, and usually it depends on what’s happening in a given moment. Even before a partner enters the picture, you might make a plan in advance. What can you do if discomfort shows up during sex? Some people use the “traffic light” system. This comes from kink spaces, but can be a great tool for anyone. “Green light” refers to any feelings or behaviors that are an easy yes. “Red light” refers to any feelings or behaviors that are a hard stop. “Yellow light” leaves room to continue alongside discomfort, negotiating as you go on a case-by-case basis, and switching to green or red at any time you want or need to.

Seek healing around shame and consent violations.

The opposite of shame is feeling seen. That’s where real healing happens. 

“Healing” can be a complicated buzzword. Some people benefit from working through shame and sexuality with a professional, such as a licensed therapist. Some people might be distrustful of this type of healing work. Talk or 1:1 therapy helps some people feel seen but not others (and this also can depend a lot on the individual therapist), and not everyone can access these kinds of professionals.

Other ways to feel seen might include writing about your experiences, engaging with other types of community or cultural healing practices, doing activism, talking through fears with loved ones who are not sex partners, and getting in community with other intersex people.

Get in community with other intersex people.

Intersex peer support groups on platforms like Facebook tend to be private or hidden for safety. Get connected through national support networks such as interConnectexternal link, opens in a new tab, interACT’s external link, opens in a new tabInterSpaceexternal link, opens in a new tab youth group for ages 13-29, or an intersex organizing group in your countryexternal link, opens in a new tab.Scarleteen’s message boards are another resource for discussing this article and connecting with others.

Seek help managing any physical issues. 

Many medical professionals aren’t educated about intersex genital surgeries and their impacts. Solutions like additional surgeries might promise to help with sexual function, but there’s no way around the fact that cutting creates more scar tissue, literal and emotional.

Intersex surgery has a lot in common with female genital cutting, which affects a much larger number of people in the world. Resources around FGC, sexual function, and possible medical and non-medical options may offer ideas.

For survivors of infant intersex surgeries, work with the genitals⁠ (genitals: Body parts that are generally, culturally, scientifically or personally considered to be external sexual or reproductive organs.) might feel intense. This process asks for a lot of gentleness. It may benefit some survivors to wait or move very slowly on any healing work below the belt. The emotional piece alone takes a lot of time and care.

Some intersex survivors work with professionals like pelvic floor physical therapists. A physical therapist can help identify options for feeling more relaxed during sex. Their study of human anatomy can also help identify the root cause of pain or problems. A lot of answers depend on if the problem has to do with scarring, muscles, fascia, nerves, emotions, or all of the above. Some intersex people might find educational resources geared at other groups with pelvic floor issuesexternal link, opens in a new tab helpful.

Remember that sex is all about exploration. 

If you’ve landed on this article, you’re probably thinking about why you want to have sex. I encourage you to think of any sexual experience–whether it ends up feeling amazing or mediocre– as a learning project. You’re guaranteed to learn at least one new thing about what you like or dislike.

Maybe what you will learn is that all people and genitals are vastly different. Appreciating difference is a big part of what makes sex fun.

Maybe what you will learn is that not all sex involves genitals. There are ways to explore and learn just by kissing⁠ (kissing: Pressing one’s lips against someone else’s lips or some other body part to express affection and/or to seek out or provide sexual pleasure. May also include the tongue.) or touching other parts of the body.

Maybe what you will learn is what scares you about connecting with another person.

Honesty is one of the sexiest things of all. If you do decide to explore partnered sex with a person who feels safe, talking about what you’re afraid of can invite them to do the same. You’re in it together, after all. 

Love, luck, and pleasure to us all. – Hans