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“Was It Good For You?”/Is It Good For Us?: Implications of Sexual Scripting for

Pleasure and Violence

Dissertation

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Doctor of Philosophy

in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

By

Emma Marie Carroll

Graduate Program in Sociology

The Ohio State University

2019

Dissertation Committee

Korie Edwards, Advisor

Steven Lopez

Kristi Williams

2

Copyrighted by

Emma Marie Carroll

2019

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Abstract

Quantitative research on sexuality suggests that sexual satisfaction is important for

physical health, mental health, and relationship outcomes, but most of this research fails

to capture the subjective ways that sexual satisfaction is perceived and achieved. In this

study I employ in-depth qualitative interviews to explore the ways that women and men

understand both “good” and “bad” sex. I employ sexual script theory as a framework to

explain the ways that sexual expectations and behaviors are patterned in reference to

cultural, interpersonal, and intrapsychic understandings of sex. In the first chapter I

explore the role of novelty as a factor in “good” sex and the tensions that exist between

the predictable and the unfamiliar. In the second chapter I delve into the role that gender

plays in constructing perceptions of sexual satisfaction and the ways that the narratives of

men and women converge and differ. Finally, in the third chapter I address the prevalence

of sexual violence reported by the women in my sample and explain how this is a product

of the gendered norms embedded in cultural-level sexual scripts. Overall, my research

suggests that women and men have similar expectations for what makes sex “good,” but

dominant norms surrounding sexuality disproportionately place women in subordinate

roles, and therefore greater risk of violence, during sex.

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Dedication

For everyone who has supported me throughout graduate school. This would not

have been possible without the support of my wonderful community.

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Acknowledgments

I would not have been able to complete a project of this magnitude without

extensive support from my community. First, I would like to acknowledge all 70 people

that participated in an interview. Thank you for being so open and vulnerable and for

giving me insight into some of the most private aspects of social life.

My partner Brian has been an incredible source of support throughout this entire

process. We met during my first semester of grad school and he has stuck by me during

all the challenges I’ve experienced. Thank you for celebrating my successes, boosting me

up after failures, and picking up the slack at home when I’ve been overwhelmed by work.

Overall, my experiences in grad school have been positive and this can largely be

credited to my amazing advisor Dr. Korie Edwards. She is someone I can look up to not

only professionally, but personally as well. Thank you for consistently giving me incisive

feedback and supporting the decisions I made about my research and my life without

reservation.

I greatly appreciate the members of my committee, Dr. Kristi Williams and Dr.

Steve Lopez from the sociology department, as well as my graduate faculty

representative Dr. Julia Jorati from the philosophy department. They sacrificed a lot of

time and energy to facilitate my dissertation defense and I am so grateful. Thank you for

your time, your advice, your feedback, and the valuable perspectives you brought to my

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project. Special thank you also to Dr. Corinne Reczek, who despite not being able to

serve on my committee was willing to offer her insight on my dissertation proposal and

made sure I started this endeavor with a clear sense of direction. The feedback you gave

me on my proposal helped shape my entire project in a positive way and I thought about

your comments the entire time I was writing, thank you.

The most bittersweet part of finishing my dissertation is no longer working among

the wonderful friends I have made in the sociology department. It’s been a joy to meet so

many thoughtful, compassionate, and supportive people and build relationships with

people who can directly relate to the challenges I’ve faced. Thank you for listening to my

grievances, sharing your own, and drinking with me for the last seven years.

A huge part of why I wanted to come to Ohio State for grad school was the

existing network of friends I already had in Columbus. I’m happy to say that at the end of

this process those relationships are still just as significant as they were when I made that

decision, and they were instrumental in supporting me. To all my friends both here in

Columbus and elsewhere thank you so much for being who you are, for being in my life,

and for helping me emotionally through this process. I love you so much.

Finally, the biggest thank you to my parents who are at the root of everything

good in my life. Thank you for reading to me every day, for helping me make lifelong

friends, and for loving and supporting me unconditionally always.

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Vita

2012…………………………………….B.A. Sociology, Ithaca College

2014…………………………………….M.A. Sociology, The Ohio State University

2014-2019……………………………...Graduate Teaching Associate, Department of

Sociology, The Ohio State University

Fields of Study

Major Field: Sociology

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Table of Contents

Abstract ............................................................................................................................... ii

Dedication .......................................................................................................................... iii

Acknowledgments.............................................................................................................. iv

Vita ..................................................................................................................................... vi

List of Tables ................................................................................................................... viii

Chapter 1. Introduction ....................................................................................................... 1

Chapter 2. Novelty ........................................................................................................... 38

Chapter 3. Gender ............................................................................................................. 65

Chapter 4. The Scripting of Rape and Sexual Assault ...................................................... 94

Chapter 5. Conclusion ..................................................................................................... 118

Bibliography ................................................................................................................... 133

Appendix A. Methodology ............................................................................................. 141

Appendix B. Complete List of Respondents................................................................... 154

Appendix C. Interview Guide ......................................................................................... 157

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List of Tables

Table 1.1 Sample Demographics………………………………………………………...29

Table 2.1 Novel Locations……………………………………………………………… 50

Table 2.2 Novel Behaviors………………………………………………………………52

Table 2.3 Frequency of Pornography Use……………………………………………….56

Table 3.1 Factors of “Good” Sex………………………………………………………...66

Table 3.2 Perceived Impact of Gender…………………………………………………..84

Table 4.1 Non-Consensual Sexual Encounters…………………………………………..99

Table 5.1 Relationship Status…………………………………………………………..119

Table A.1 Sample Demographics……………………………………………………....146

Table B.1 List of Respondents Part 1………………………………………...…...……155

Table B.2 List of Respondents Part 2…………………………………...……………...156

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Chapter 1. Introduction

Sex has always been inherently interesting to me. It is at once ubiquitous and

taboo; almost universally acknowledged as important but simultaneously an inappropriate

topic of conversation in polite company. This is what initially attracted me to the study of

sexuality- I don’t like being told what to talk about and if something is socially

significant I’m going to discuss it regardless of if I’m deemed profane, prurient, or

unfeminine. The same drive for intellectual and social rebellion is what led me to

employment in an adult bookstore during my undergraduate years. Shortly after being

doubly engrossed in sexuality within academia and employment my interest deepened. It

became clear through my studies that sex was a powerful and under-researched social

experience, and the conversations I had at and about my job reinforced that people cared

about sex but were often unclear about how to contextualize what felt like deeply

personal and individualized experiences. Because I worked in the sex industry I was

identified by friends and acquaintances as someone who was open to talking about sex,

and during the course of my employment people would often ask me, seeking

reassurance, “is this normal?” Is it normal that I experience anxiety surrounding sex? Is it

normal that I like this? Is it normal that my partner said that? The answer is, of course, if

something is consensual and experienced positively that normalcy is irrelevant, but there

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are clear patterns in how people experience sexuality both from an anecdotal and

sociological perspective.

I put these issues aside for a few years, but while I was working on other projects

I kept coming back to sexuality and the conversations that I had while in undergrad. As I

was talking to men and women about sex I noticed that their experiences seemed

patterned, very much shaped by their gender identity and socialization. Sex is something

experienced on the most personal level, but how it is performed and perceived is

influenced greatly by culture. We look to popular media including movies, books, and

television, to religion, to pornography, and sometimes to the people around us to evaluate

when we should have sex, who we should have it with, and what makes it pleasurable.

These sources frame sex differently for men and women.

When people have sex it’s a reasonable assumption that they want it to be “good.”

A quick scan of Cosmopolitan’s article database reveals a clear market for content that

explores this issue. What “good sex” means can be highly ambiguous and possibly

dictated by individualized psychological and even biological processes. However, I

believe that the foremost strategy we should use to understand what makes sex “good” is

to explore the way cultural messages about sex are embodied in peoples’ sexual

encounters. In my research I set out to speak with as many people as possible about their

experiences with sex to understand the common threads that run through their narratives.

These connections, of which there are many, provide a link to the larger social forces that

shape their experiences. Starting with these individual accounts we can begin to construct

a larger picture of sex that is much bigger than the individual. My research suggests that

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people share a cultural frame of reference for what is expected during sex and how to

achieve sexual satisfaction that has been shaped by their previous sexual experiences,

their family and friends, and especially media including pornography.

So what does it mean for sex to be “good?” For some people, the assertion of

having “good sex” or being “good in bed” is used as currency, a way to promote one’s

relational value and desirability over others (Beggan, Vencill, and Garos 2013).

Similarly, attaching the stigma of being “bad in bed” to a former sex partner can be an

effective shaming strategy that furthers illustrates one’s own sexual awareness and

prowess. The normative use of this terminology suggests the centrality of technical

sexual skills in determining the quality of sexual encounters, but common sense as well

as previous research indicates that we need a more nuanced interpretation of what makes

sex “good” or “bad.” The limited scientific knowledge we have on this topic suggests

that the fulfillment of emotional needs, for example the desire for appreciation and

intimacy, also plays a significant role. This contributes to a more complex picture of

having good sex that goes deeper than simply honing the skills to stimulate yourself and

another person to orgasm. Current research on sexual satisfaction, a close synonym for

the phenomenon of “good” sex, is largely quantitative and relies on Likert scale

measurements to assess attitudes (Haavio-Mannila and Kontula 1997; Waite and Joyner

2001; Peter and Valkenburg 2009; Stephenson and Meston 2010). What we are left with

is a vague framework for how people interpret the quality of their sexual encounters, as

first defined and hypothesized by researchers, but the interpersonal and intrapsychic

processes where good sex is constructed is still obscured. Sexual pleasure is in part a

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social construct that is socially mediated by the messages we receive about what is good

and desirable (Jackson and Scott 2002). My research explores more thoroughly the

interpretive strategies that people use to determine sexual satisfaction, or what makes sex

“good,” and link these interpretations to larger gender norms that shape our attitudes,

beliefs, and behaviors. How do people evaluate the quality of a sexual encounter? Do

men and women perceive “good” and “bad” sex differently? What does any difference

tell us about gender at this cultural and historical moment?

Although my research focuses specifically around experiences of sexuality it has

the potential to illuminate facets of the current gender regime (Connell 1987). A gender

regime is composed of the norms attached to masculine and feminine gender identities

within institutions. These norms dictate how gender is performed both individually and

within interactions with others. Although like sex, gender may be experienced as

intensely personal but it is not an unalienable product of our biology. The consistent

patterns that emerge in the performance of gender require an examination of larger social

structures to understand how our expectations for gendered behavior are set. Connell

argues that gender is, “A process rather than a thing… It is about the linking of other

fields of social practice to the nodal practices of engendering, childbirth and parenting”

(1987 p. 140). The way that we do gender ultimately references understandings of

difference in regard to reproductive expectations, which implicates sexuality in a

particularly meaningful way as a site where gender differences are manifested and

naturalized. “Sexuality” refers to, “all erotically significant aspects of social life and

social being, such as desires, practices, relationships, and identities” (Jackson 2006, p.

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106). It includes physical acts but goes deeper than that, encompassing both what people

do and how they see themselves as sexual beings. If gender regimes are centered around

differential reproductive expectations, then sexual ideologies provide a unique window

into the current gender regime as it plays out on the individual level.

Talking to both men and women reveals many similarities in what we’re looking

for from sex. This is not a clear-cut instance of “men are from Mars, women are from

Venus.” When people have heterosexual sex they aren’t attempting to cross a broad

chasm of differential expectations. Women and men are both seeking an interplay of

physical pleasure and interpersonal connection that can easily be mutually compatible.

What is significant is that they are entering sexual encounters with different culturally

proscribed gendered roles and power levels. These differences become clearest when

examining sex that is had out of obligation, because interpersonal and dominant sexual

scripts suggest that sex should be happening despite individual desire.

Literature Review

Sexual Script Theory

Sexuality, comprised of a person's sexual orientation, sexual beliefs, desires, and

experiences, is performed on an individual and interpersonal basis. Consequently, it can

seem like a deeply personal phenomenon. Although the intimate nature of its enactment is

undeniable, the construction of sexual identity and beliefs is greatly influenced by

broader cultural factors. To focus on sexuality as an individual phenomenon is to obscure

the significant role that social structure plays in its development (Esacove 2013). Gagnon

and Simon's sexual script theory provides a useful framework to understand the multiple

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social levels where sexuality is constructed. It helps us understand the who, what, where,

when, and why of sex. The key idea underlying sexual script theory is that sexual

encounters are patterned, following a relatively consistent and predictable flow of action.

People do not enter sexual encounters as blank slates with off-the-cuff sexual expression

flowing freely out of them. Rather, people enter every sexual interaction with

preconceived notions of what will take place and the social significance that underlies

their actions (Simon and Gagnon 1986). It's no coincidence that a majority of

heterosexual people identify the progression of a sexual encounter as kissing followed by

manual stimulation of the breasts followed by manual genital stimulation followed by

oral sex followed by penetrative vaginal intercourse (Jackson and Scott 2002; DeLamater

and Hyde 2004). This linear escalation was learned from previous sexual interactions,

friends, family, and mass media (2004). For many people this has been internalized as

normal, but this is a product of socialization and is not an inherently natural sequence.

My research highlights the scripts that people are drawing from to define “good” sex, and

the way that these scripts are gendered.

The first level of sexual scripting is cultural, and this is the broad framework that

guides sexual behavior and attitudes. Cultural sexual scripting is largely presented by the

media but extends beyond this one institution. It is our collective understanding of what

normal sex looks like, how it is performed and what it means for the participants

involved. This is the guiding script which all sexual performances reference, whether it

be through adherence or deviance. There are dominant sexual scripts that pertain to an

entire society, for example the United States as a whole, as well as subcultural scripts that

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are only relevant to specific groups, for example college students, but all of these scripts

exist independent from individual actors within the system (Simon and Gagnon 1986;

Carpenter 2010). Dominant sexual scripts are those which are given the largest share of

representation in major institutions and are generally accepted as normal and appropriate.

Media representation is of particular salience in shaping cultural scripts, but media

depictions of sexuality are linked with the sexual scripts presented by other institutions

such as religion. Our understandings of good and bad sex are first and foremost a product

of cultural scripting. We look to broad representations of sexuality such as those in

popular movies or pornography to form conceptions of what is pleasurable and attainable.

Cultural scripting has a profound influence on the second level of scripting, the

interpersonal level. The interpersonal level of sexual scripting relates to the guidelines

that individuals construct with others when engaging sexually. Sexual actors use a broad

cultural understanding of what sex looks like and means to determine the exact shape of

each interaction. There is agency here in that everyone has the potential to evaluate

dominant cultural scripts and modify them as they see fit, although we are constrained by

cultural expectations and fear of social sanctions. Partners can decide together what

works for them, but it is important to remember that they are not doing this in a vacuum

(Simon and Gagnon 1986; Carpenter 2010). Cultural scripting trickles down and

influences interpersonal scripts, as evidenced by the normative progression of

heterosexual encounters (Jackson and Scott 2002; DeLamater and Hyde 2004). It is on

this level that partners determine what “good” sex means for them as a unit. For most

people, when describing “good” sex there is another person involved in the narrative, and

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past experiences with sexual partners are likely an important component of sexual quality

evaluation.

The final level of scripting is intrapsychic. This is the most personal level, where

individuals take what they have learned from culture and partnered interactions to

construct their own understandings of the who, what, where, when, and why of sex. This

is the psychological level where we see individuals making decisions about their

sexuality and its performance. These decisions are personal, to be sure, but again they are

greatly influenced by social structure, making it impossible to separate the psychological

from the sociological (Simon and Gagnon 1986; Carpenter 2010). The intrapsychic level

of scripting is the easiest to tap into empirically by talking to people about how they

understand sex, but it is informed by cultural and interpersonal scripting and needs to be

understood as such. By talking to people one-on-one I explored individual-level desires

but also probed into the sources of those desires, asking questions about reference points

for sexual behavior, history with other partners, and media consumption patterns.

Individual-level data collected via interview about what constitutes quality sex is

a product of all three levels of scripting, particularly the “why” component. Gender is

undoubtedly a guiding principle used to define what behaviors and beliefs are appropriate

as it is a force that permeates all arenas of social life. To be clear, although sexual

scripting is essential for how sex is enacted and understood, this is not something that

people are necessarily doing consciously. Patterned sexual behaviors and interpretations

are deeply embedded on the intrapsychic level so that sex can feel natural, spontaneous,

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and authentic. It is so powerful that people can be following normative scripts to a tee

without needing to explicitly reference them (Simon and Gagnon 1986; Carpenter 2010).

West and Zimmerman’s articulation of how we “do” gender is an important

elaboration on the dramaturgical framework to sexuality that speaks more clearly to how

gender is both performed and embodied in sexual encounters. If we focused just on

sexual scripting, particularly the interpersonal level, it would seem that the gendered

processes surrounding sexuality are purely interactional, and that gender is an optional

display that can be put on when called for by context. However, gender is deeper than

that, it is, “an ongoing activity embedded in everyday interaction” (West and

Zimmerman, 1987 p. 131). Gender is something that is performed so consistently that it

becomes embodied, feeling so normal and natural that most people do not need to

consciously project it. It is not something that is worn only for certain types of

interactions, but something that is omnipresent and important for both identity and

defining situations (1987). Only by talking to individuals and analyzing dominant

messages about sexuality do scripts become apparent, and these scripts can help speak to

larger issues of how gender is defined culturally and embodied within sexual encounters.

The naturalization of “doing gender” helps to reinforce power differences between men

and women (1987) which may play out during sex but also have implications for every

other area of social life.

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Gender

One of the most salient factors that shapes sexual scripts is gender, particularly in

regard to heterosexuals (Oliver and Hyde 1993; Carpenter 2010). Women and men

receive different cultural messages about what it means to be a sexual person, and this

impacts the intrapsychic scripts they develop for themselves as well as the roles they take

in sexual encounters. There are gendered double standards when it comes to sexuality,

where men and women are judged differently for exhibiting the same behavior and

attitudes. Men are encouraged to be more openly sexual and pursue multiple sexual

partners, while women run the risk of being judged as “sluts” for doing to same (Bordini

and Sperb 2013). Men's sexuality is constructed as being based on strong biological

drives that cannot be ignored, while women are expected to take a more relational

approach (Roberts et al. 2005). Men are given more freedom to pursue multiple casual

partners and women are encouraged to connect sexual behavior with a monogamous

romantic relationship. The anxiety that some women in my sample expressed when asked

about their number of sexual partners clearly reflects this double standard. This is striking

considering that the women I was talking to were, due to their willingness to speak to a

stranger about their sex lives, inherently the most likely to be open and comfortable with

their sexuality! These gendered cultural sexual scripts inform belief and practice, creating

different normative interpersonal and intrapsychic sexual scripts for men and women.

Studies show this dynamic played out in men's and women's experiences of

sexuality. Carpenter's qualitative research on virginity loss suggests that double standards

influence the way this sexual transition is perceived. Men are more likely to see virginity

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as a burden they are happy to shed in the facilitation of developing an appropriately

masculine sexual identity. Women are more likely to view virginity as a gift to be

preserved until they meet a worthy partner. Giving it too freely does not conform with the

dominant construction of feminine sexuality (2010). Oliver and Hyde's survey research

reveals that men tend to report more sexual partners and have an understanding of their

role as being open and active regarding sexuality. Conversely, women to report anxiety,

guilt and fear surrounding sex as well as lower rates of masturbation. Additionally, the

salience of gender differences in sexuality vary according to the strength of sexual double

standards that individuals have internalized (1993). The more people accept the idea that

it is appropriate for men to be openly sexual the more they gender their sexual scripts.

Sexual double standards also influence the way that sexual pleasure- the physical,

mental, and emotional enjoyment one gets out of sex- is perceived and expressed in

gendered terms. For men, experiencing sexual pleasure seems to be taken for granted and

therefore unproblematic, but for women the connection between sex and pleasure can be

more complicated (Carpenter 1998). Sexual pleasure has not been culturally naturalized

for women in the same way that it has for men, and women are encouraged to see their

role in a sexual interaction as pleasing their male partner. Consequently, Jackson and

Scott argue that there may be a disconnect between women's performance of sexual

desirability and actual sexual desire and pleasure. These authors talk about the difference

between an objectified body that is oriented towards pleasing a partner and an

experiencing body that is reaping the full benefits of sexual pleasure. When this happens

sex becomes a gendered performance, where “Men make a mess; women make a noise”

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(2002 p.107). The physiological process of ejaculation makes men's pleasure a clearly

visible part of sexual scripts, while women are expected to make a convincing

performance of pleasure that may or may not reflect their actual experience.

The research done by Roberts and colleagues on female orgasm further illustrates

this disconnect. These Women’s Studies scholars interviewed men and women about sex

and orgasm and found that while faking orgasm is a foreign concept for most men it is a

common practice that women engage in. In fact, the majority of women in their sample

reported faking an orgasm on at least one occasion, with motivations including making

their partner feel sexually competent and desiring to conclude a sexual encounter. They

also frequently reported engaging in exaggerated moaning and providing untrue

affirmations of orgasm when asked directly by their partner if they came. Ironically, the

men who were interviewed rarely reported knowledge of ever having a partner who faked

an orgasm (2005). This research is a powerful indication that sexual scripts surrounding

the experience of sexual pleasure are gendered.

Women do not accept sexual double standards uncritically, even though they are

often acutely aware of them. In one of the few studies that directly tackles the meaning of

“good” sex Elmersteig and colleagues interviewed teenage women about their sexual

desires and found that their expectations for “good” sex challenged the dominant script

they were presented with. They desired sexual situations where both power and pleasure

were shared equally. “Bad” sex was with men who thought that the woman's role was to

satisfy the man, an idea that they rejected personally. However, they still believed that

sexual double standards influenced their experiences of sexuality and implicated

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pornography as a key socializing agent that sent the wrong message about gendered

sexual roles (2012). Mainstream pornography is a place where men's sexual agency and

pleasure is prioritized with women being presented as a vehicle for masculine sexual

expression. This cultural-level sexual script provides a framework of inequality within

sexual encounters that privileges the pleasure and subjectivity of men.

Pornography

Why does the sexual messaging in pornography matter? Do people really

internalize the content of pornography or are we able to leave it in a separate fantasy

realm? There has been ample research conducted on the impact of pornography viewing.

The advent of the internet and the associated ease of access to pornographic materials

means that there has been an increase in adolescent exposure to sexually explicit material

(Doring 2009; Peter and Valkenburg 2009). Peter and Valkenburg's review of the data on

the impact of sexual media suggests that it reduces sexual satisfaction, specifically

regarding how sexual partners are received. Viewing pornography can result in reduced

satisfaction with a partner's appearance and perceived levels of affection, sexual curiosity,

and performance (2009). Their own experimental work confirms this (2009), and

suggests that viewing pornography is associated with an increase in recreational attitudes

towards sex when the sex seen is viewed as realistic (2006). If participants thought they

were seeing a believable portrayal of sexuality they saw sex as more of a vehicle for

pleasure than an inherently relational act. Significantly, the impact of pornography

viewing did not seem to differ by gender (2006). This is not to say that pornography is

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gender-neutral in its' sexual messaging, rather that men and women are both susceptible

to it. The role of pornography as a source of cultural level sexual scripting is significant,

and must be examined when exploring how people construct their ideas of good sex.

Pornography was indeed an important socializing agent for the people in my sample,

although men were more likely to include pornography as a frequent component of their

sexuality.

Sexual Satisfaction

Given the prevalence of sexual double standards that shape sexual scripts on the

cultural, interpersonal, and intrapsychic levels it is reasonable to hypothesize that women

and men enter sexual encounters with different ideas about what makes sex “good.” Men

appear to be more focused on instrumentality and technical sexual performance (Oliver

and Hyde 1993; Le Gall, Mullet, and Shafighi 2002; Zubriggen and Yost 2004; Roberts et

al. 2005). It is important for men to be able to physically please themselves and their

partners, and their accounts of good sex often featured these elements. Women report a

stronger focus on the meaning of sex for their relationships (Oliver and Hyde 1993;

Zubriggen and Yost 2004; Roberts et al. 2005). Their understandings of “good” sex did

include a focus on what sex means for their interpersonal relationships more broadly,

although this element was not absent from men’s narratives. These differences have

significant implications for how gendered sexual scripts influence understandings of

“good” sex. Men and women are entering sexual encounters with slightly different

understandings of what “good” sex means, and there is the potential for incompatibilities

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that must be negotiated on the interpersonal level. These differences are visible within the

specific domain of sexuality but reflect broader ways that women and men are

dichotomized and stratified in regard to power.

The current research on sexual satisfaction leaves much to be desired when it

comes to understanding how “good sex” is socially constructed and scripted. Men and

women both tend to report high levels of sexual satisfaction, but why (Waite and Joyner

2001; Higgins et al. 2011)? Unfortunately, the quantitative methods employed by most

researchers leaves us with a murky understanding of how sexual satisfaction is achieved.

Most studies of sexual satisfaction are examining this concept on a Likert scale that does

not enable an in-depth analysis of the meanings that people construct around sexual

behaviors (Haavio-Mannila and Kontula 1997; Waite and Joyner 2001; Peter and

Valkenburg 2009; Stephenson and Meston 2010). Similarly, research that does attempt to

assess the factors that contribute to sexual satisfaction tends to use survey data that

provides a broad overview of multiple variables but is not equipped to handle the nuance

inherent in people's understandings of sexuality.

Sexual satisfaction is predicated on a combination of biological, individual, and

social factors (Waite and Joyner 2001). Physical and psychological satisfaction are

closely linked (Higgins et al. 2011), and it is unsurprising that much research on sexual

satisfaction includes a focus on orgasm. Orgasms are easily quantifiable and thus easily

researched, and studies consistently show that having at least one orgasm is connected

with positive evaluations of a sexual experience (Hurlbert, Apt and Rabehl 1993, Haavio-

Mannila and Kontula 1997, Waite and Joyner 2001). Consistency is more important than

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quantity, having an orgasm in most or all sexual encounters is more important than

multiple orgasms in a single encounter (Hurlbert, Apt and Rabehl 1993; Haavio-Mannila

and Kontula 1997). The connection between orgasm and quality of sex seems intuitive,

but it is important that this has been confirmed empirically. Frequency of sexual activity

is also consistently linked with evaluations of overall sex life quality. Having sex more

often contributes to more positive evaluations of both emotional and physical pleasure

(Hurlbert, Apt and Rabehl 1993, Haavio-Mannila and Kontula 1997, Waite and Joyner

2001, McNulty and Fisher 2008). Frequency is another factor this is easy to measure and

thus study, and may contribute to how individual sexual encounters are evaluated as well.

The significance of relationship status on sexual satisfaction has also been studied

repeatedly. People in committed monogamous relationships tend to report the highest

levels of physical and emotional satisfaction (Hurlbert, Apt and Rabehl 1993, Haavio-

Mannila and Kontula 1997, Waite and Joyner 2001, Stephenson, Ahrold, and Meston

2011). This is possibly due to the increased levels of communication and empowerment

that are possible with a stable partner. Smith's research indicates that people who feel

autonomous, competent, and emotionally connected report higher levels of satisfaction

than those who do not (2007), and these may be factors that are easier to obtain with a

committed partner. Similarly, Higgins and colleagues reported that people who claim to

be always comfortable with their sexuality are 3.9 times more likely to be satisfied with

their sex life (2007), which may or may not be connected to relationship status.

The aforementioned contributing factors to sexual quality are significant

regardless of gender, but there are some variables that have a gendered influence.

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Stephenson, Ahrold, and Meston found that when women choose to engage sexually

because they are seeking physical pleasure and self-expression they evaluate sex more

positively. When women have sex to try and increase their sexual experience they were

more likely to view those encounters negatively. Men did not appear to be subject to

these same influences (2011). For men, considering sexuality important and using sexual

materials such as pornography have a positive impact on sexual satisfaction, but these

variables are not significant for women (Haavio-Mannila and Kontula 1997). Overall,

there appears to be a discrepancy in the amount of sexual pleasure that women experience

relative to men. Stephenson and Meston attribute this to a disparity in orgasm rate, with

men reporting more frequent and consistent orgasms than women (2010). The women

that I spoke to supported this idea, although they also suggested an acceptance of this

imbalance and the possibility of satisfying sex without orgasm.

All of the preceding studies are making incredibly important contributions to our

understanding of sexual satisfaction. Survey research is a valuable way to get a wide and

generalizable view of sexuality. Broadly, we know that orgasm rates, frequency of

intercourse, relationship status, comfort-level, and autonomy are all important

contributors to overall sexual satisfaction. However, it is time to dig deeper and begin the

work of parsing out the complexity surrounding “good” sexual encounters. Gender and

sexuality are often framed in binary terms- man/woman, straight/gay, good/bad- but lived

experiences are more complicated than this. People take in cultural messages about sex

and then interpret and apply them, allowing room for variation. Qualitative work has the

18

potential to illuminate the nuance surrounding the complex interplay between gender and

sexuality.

Going beyond the quantitative, Beggan, Vencill, and Garos (2013) conducted

valuable experimental research on how college students create identities of being “good

in bed.” As a part of their experiment they asked participants to list qualities that make

someone good in bed. The lists they compiled referenced behaviors such as exhibiting a

willingness to try new things, making a partner feel good, feeling sexy yourself, allowing

roughness, communicating desires, practicing safe sex, passionate kissing, promoting

foreplay, and knowing how to turn someone on. The correlating list of behaviors that

make someone bad in bed included being too quiet, being too rough, being too drunk,

focusing solely on one's own pleasure, and being self-conscious. Ultimately, the goal of

this research was to understand how people rate their own sexual skills relative to other,

and Beggan, Vencill, and Garos found that people tend to see themselves as better in bed

than others, and this effect is stronger for men than women (2013).

I expand on this research with a stronger focus on the dynamics- the interplay

between cultural, interpersonal, and intrapsychic factors- underlying “good” sex. I heard

narrative accounts of what makes for quality sex, and not just itemized lists. Although

lists are an excellent starting point they do not allow for a thorough exploration of why

specific behavior are desirable or undesirable. For example, what does “a willingness to

try new things entail? How are people doing this? Are some types of novel behaviors

valued over others? Why do people say trying new things matters? In the answers to these

questions lies a deeper understanding of sexuality as well as larger gender norms. I focus

19

on how social location, particularly gender, impacts assessments of desirable sexual

encounters and try to locate the socializing agents that have helped to shape

contemporary sexual scripts. What are the features of a sexual encounter that someone

labels as “good,” as opposed to sex that is presented as “bad” and unsatisfying? How do

people use their social environment to construct these definitions?

Recent research by Fahs and Plante (2017) begins to answer these questions. They

interviewed 20 women about their understandings of satisfying sexual encounters and

found that “good” sex can be contingent on physical pleasure, emotional connection,

feelings of comfort, and having control over sexual scripts. The significance of physical

pleasure affirms the importance of technical sexual skill and achieving orgasm for

women’s enjoyment of sex, but for many women this was not the only criterion. Half the

sample indicated that “good” sex facilitated a shared emotional experience with a partner

and made them feel closer as a couple. Others believed that “good” sex was defined by

feeling relaxed and comfortable with a partner such that the encounter felt natural and

easy. Finally, over a quarter of interviewees valued the ability to control sexual scripts,

either during sexual encounters or in the verbal sharing of their experiences. The latter

refers to the pleasure that some women received from describing their sexual encounter

to another person, they wanted an experience that made for a good story. These categories

are not mutually exclusive, many participants reported factors extending across these

categories that defined “good” sexual encounters (2017). I used their research as a

starting point for further investigation. Most significantly, by including men in my

research I am able to understand the extent to which “good” sex is a gendered

20

phenomenon and connect this to larger systems of gender and power. Fahs and Plante

noted that in particular, “[The] emphasis on feeling natural, calm, relaxed and

comfortable suggests that the power imbalances and patriarchal dynamics of ‘bodice-

ripping sex’ do not always appear in women’s sexual happiness stories” (2017 p. 39).

Men also experience variation from this particular vision of sex, but there are other ways

that patriarchy is manifested in both men and women’s narratives.

So What? Why Does Sex Matter?

Through sexuality gender differences are naturalized. Hegemonic patterns of

sexuality assume sexual difference. Masculinity and femininity are constructed as binary

opposites, and “opposites attract” (Connell 1987). On the cultural level of sexual

scripting men and women are expected to bring different qualities to sexual interactions.

Where men are aggressive women are passive, where women are emotional men are

stoic, where men are full of unbridled desire women are capable of temperance. This

dichotomy impacts intrapsychic scripting as well, imbuing men and women with

gendered expectations of what makes for a good sexual encounter. Unfortunately, this

binary is not one of equal exchange. Differential expectations for sexual expression are

indicative of social stratification, both within the domain of sexuality and within other

institutions. Constructing masculine sexuality as aggressive attributes more agency to

men and places women in the role of sex object. A sex object is desired but not desiring

and thus is not granted the fullness of humanity that comes with being an agentic sexual

being. Women’s expected temperance and role as sexual gatekeepers who put the brakes

21

on an imprudent sexual encounter subjects them to sexual double standards that

ultimately give men power. Women are judged for expressing sexual desire and are thus

inhibited, trying to balance cultural expectations of purity and their own subjectivity. Men

are free to pursue heterosexual encounters with limited cultural restrictions, which gives

them the power to shame their partner should she displease him. This can be a tool of

control that extends beyond sex to include a woman’s perception in the other domains of

her life such as the home, work, and school.

Although I set out to research sexual satisfaction, an attention to the inverse

became immediately apparent. Our understandings of positive sexual experiences are

mediated by our worst encounters. For women especially, rape and sexual assault often

came to the forefront in our conversations as stark examples of the worst kind of sexual

encounters. I conducted research at a time when the Me Too Movement was gaining

traction and highlighting the personal depth and cultural scope of sexual violence.

However, the way this issue is addressed in the media is often at odds with the way it was

experienced by the women in my sample. Harvey Weinstein’s case has become symbolic

as a representation of men in power abusing their position and taking advantage of the

women they have authority over. He is presented as a monster, an aberration of

masculinity to be publicly vilified and removed from the system. In contrast, when

“Grace’s” account of her assault at the hands of Aziz Ansari was reported she was met

with public skepticism about if this was even assault at all. She went on a date with the

comedian, consuming an ample about of wine, before returning to his apartment and

being repeatedly pressured for sex despite clearly expressing disinterest. Eventually, she

22

conceded and performed oral sex, stating “He sat back and pointed to his penis and

motioned for me to go down on him. And I did. I think I just felt really pressured. It was

literally the most unexpected thing I thought would happen at that moment because I told

him I was uncomfortable.” (Way 2018). For his part, Ansari responded by saying, “We

went out to dinner, and afterwards we ended up engaging in sexual activity, which by all

indications was completely consensual…upon further reflection, she felt uncomfortable.

It was true that everything did seem okay to me, so when I heard that it was not the case

for her, I was surprised and concerned” (Thomas 2018).

Interpretation of this situation is murky. On the one hand, we have a woman who

clearly felt violated, who wasn’t violently forced into a sexual situation but who found

herself performing oral sex out of obligation without the enthusiastic consent being

upheld by the Me Too movement as the definitive prerequisite standard for a healthy

sexual encounter. On the other hand, we have Ansari, an active participant confused by

how this interaction was perceived as non-consensual. He’s not easily written off as a

monster, his public persona comes across as genuinely compassionate and concerned

with the rights of others. What’s missing from this conversation is a serious look at how

sexual exchanges like this are a normalized part of heterosexuality, how alcohol and the

aggressive pursuit of sex on behalf of men are written into our dominant sexual script.

It’s hard for us to accept a problem with Ansari’s behavior because it is viewed as

normal. I saw this in my conversations with women, some of whom had difficulty

framing their non-consensual experiences as rape or sexual assault because they

happened according to the rules of the sexual script. For some it was years after the fact

23

that they recognized that the sex they had after a party in college, when they were barely

conscious and by definition unable to give clear consent, was a violation and not an

indication of their own moral failing. It is our task to understand how the dominant sexual

script encourages encounters like “Grace” and women in my sample have experienced.

Narratives about “good sex,” and its counterpart, “bad sex,” are not divorced from

larger social structures, and are constructed with an awareness of dominant cultural

sexual scripts. They have the potential to tell us how these scripts are embodied on a very

personal level, shaping an individual’s experience of gender and desire. The differences

in women and men’s experiences demonstrates larger inequalities within the gender

regime. It is possible to link these different narratives to larger cultural forces that dictate

how we do gender and perpetuate gender-based inequality. Although I set out to

understand sexual pleasure, the differences in experiences with rape and sexual assault

illuminate a pervasive and culturally supported source of gender inequality.

I am interested in exploring ideologies, but ideologies are not merely abstractions

with no implications for lived experiences. As Connell writes, “discourse and symbolism

are themselves practices, which are structurally connected with other practices… They

too have to be analysed with attention to context, institutionalization, and group

formation.” In other words, the expectations and idealizations that we develop

surrounding sexuality are deeply connected to larger gender regimes which are played out

in peoples’ lived experiences. If men and women have different expectations about what

constitutes “good sex” and “bad sex” that will play out in their sexual interactions but

also suggest something about how they position men and women relative to each other.

24

The way a person frames their sexual desires and experiences speaks to their sexuality of

course, but it also speaks to their experiences living in a gendered world and how they

has come to understand femininity and masculinity as a whole. Sexuality is one arena

where people “do gender,” but the gendered embodiment here is also manifested in other

institutions such as politics, the economy, and education. All of these are locations where

inequalities can develop and shape the life trajectories of men and women in stratified

ways.

Methods and Sampling Strategy

To develop a more thorough understanding of how people construct ideas

of “good” and “bad” sex I employed a qualitative strategy using in-depth one-one-one

interviews. The essence of this research is an attempt at understanding how people are

interpreting their sexual encounters and what is meant when labels of “good” or “bad” are

attached to sexual experiences. I wanted to understand this on the individual level, with

attention paid to how external influences such as friends, family, sexual partners, and the

media contribute to narratives about sex. These types of questions require a depth of data

that can only be accomplished through qualitative methods (DeLamater and Hyde 2004),

but the deeply personal nature of sexuality complicated decisions regarding appropriate

methodology. Sensitive questions such as those regarding sexuality raise concerns about

disapproval or other negative consequences that will be a challenge when collecting data

(Tourangeau and Smith 1996). It’s important to balance the need for responsivity to the

25

experiences of respondents with an awareness that the presence of a researcher can have a

profound impact on the way that sexuality is framed. The quality of Laura Carpenter’s

data regarding virginity loss for both men and women suggested that this issue is not

insurmountable (2001), but I believed that an added layer of anonymity may facilitate

more open dialogue. To this end between July 2016 and April 2018 I conducted a series

of in-depth interviews either over the phone or in person, interviewee’s preference,

allowing me to follow conversational cues and explore relevant issues as they were raised

by participants while hopefully removing some of the pressures of talking about sex to a

stranger.

Of particular concern was my ability as a female researcher to make men feel

comfortable sharing intimate details regarding their sexual lives. Indeed, I experienced

differences when speaking with women as opposed to men. When I spoke to women the

conversations flowed more smoothly. We shared an understanding of context that

sometimes led me to nod my head in agreement at statements before checking myself and

remembering that as a researcher just because I thought I understood what someone was

saying I still needed to ask clarifying questions to make sure we were on the same

wavelength. Some women told me after the interview that they were so comfortable they

felt as if they were speaking to a friend and not a scientist. With men there was more of a

barrier. I sensed more obvious discomfort and had moments when I had to assure them

that it was safe to share their true experiences and feelings and that I would not take

offense to anything they said. Although I experienced occasional reserve from both men

26

and women, it was more frequent that I had to pull answers out of men and ask them to

tap into and expand on their feelings.

Gender was a key element in my sampling strategy, and my sample was also

restricted by age. Often the groups that are a primary focus of sexuality research are

adolescents and college students (DeLamater and Hyde 2004). College students are an

easy group for academics to access, and they experience a unique sexual culture that is

worthy of exploration. Hookups, or casual sexual encounters not predicated on a romantic

relationship, dominate the college sexual landscape (Hamilton and Armstrong 2009).

This means that college students experience sexuality in a way that other sectors of the

population do not. I want to develop our understanding of sexuality throughout the life-

course by focusing on the cohort of people aged 23-36 (I did end up interviewing two 22-

year-olds, but they were not college students). These are post-college adults in the

Millenial Generation, also referred to as Generation Y (Ng, Schweitzer, and Lyons 2010).

Although the boundaries between generations are debatable, academics generally agree

that it begins with people born in 1980 and extends through the 1990s (2010).

The cultural environment that people born into each generational cohort share is

key in shaping their sexual expectations (Carpenter 2010). For example, people in the

previous generation, Generation X, grew up with the HIV/AIDS epidemic, increased

LGBTQ visibility, the resurgence of morally conservative sexual education, and backlash

against 2nd wave feminism which created a unique set of tensions between sexual

empowerment and caution (2010). For Millenials, developing a sexual identity in

conjunction with the increasing availability of the internet means that they had the

27

potential to be exposed to a wide variety of sexual information and thus socialization that

is unprecedented. My research confirmed that access to the internet is significant for this

generation. Only 11 people reported learning about sex through the internet as a child and

adolescent, but 46 said that the internet is the primary way that they gain information

about sex as an adult, either through pornography consumption or concerted Google

searches.

The Millenial cohort is also experiencing a new life stage, particularly those

middle class or higher. For the first time in history there is a strong self-development

imperative, where young people are encouraged to delay marriage and children to focus

on themselves and their career (Hamilton and Armstrong 2009). This undoubtedly

influences perceptions of sexual interactions as they are less likely to be in service of

creating a long-term partnership and more likely to relate to self-actualization, especially

for those at the lower end of the range. Now is the time to build our understanding of this

phase of life and how it impacts sexuality for the Millenial generation.

I was interested in how relationship status plays a role in how one is evaluating

“good” sex considering the bearing it has on sexual satisfaction overall (Hurlbert, Apt and

Rabehl 1993, Haavio-Mannila and Kontula 1997, Waite and Joyner 2001, Stephenson,

Ahrold, and Meston 2011). Being in a relationship may shift sexual priorities to more

partner-oriented goals and I wanted to see how relationship status impacts the types of

sexual practices that are determined to be “good.” Relationship status category came

from self-identification. If someone said that they were single they were coded as such,

even if they were currently engaging in one or more dating/sexual relationships.

28

Similarly, a relationship is what participants define it as, and there was some diversity in

my sample regarding the importance of romantic and sexual monogamy. Ultimately,

relationship status did not appear to be a significant determinant of how participants

understood “good” sex, but it did have some bearing on how participants interjected

novelty into their lives as I will discuss briefly in the next chapter.

I found my respondents using purposive snowball sampling. I initially wanted to

utilize both my existing social network as well as external recruitment, specifically

Craigslist following the lead of Plante and Fahs (2017). Unfortunately, the latter strategy

proved unfruitful. Perhaps unsurprisingly, people did not seem enthusiastic about

reaching out to a stranger on the internet to discuss the most intimate aspects of their sex

lives. I was only able to achieve success by asking people who already knew and trusted

me to find participants, both by word of mouth and several Facebook posts. By starting

with people I had network connections with I believe it was be easier to induce comfort

with me as a researcher despite the personal nature of my line of questioning. From there,

I was able to start snowball chains where participants referred more people who were

interested in being interviewed. The unfortunate consequence is that my final sample of

70 people is reflective of the people I surround myself with and is not as diverse racially,

economically, and religiously as I would have liked (See Table 1.1 for complete

demographic information). My interviewees range in age from 22-37 with a mean age of

28.3. The number of sexual partners they reported ranged from one to about 1100, with

an average of 21.2 (I excluded the man with about 1100 partners for this calculation).

This is higher than the national average of 11.22 (Twenge, Sherman, and Wells 2015),

29

which may indicate that my sample has different attitudes about sex than the general

population, but it comes with the advantage of my interviewees having varied

experiences to pull from. My sample is disproportionately female, white, educated, and a-

religious (some religious demographics are missing) limiting the extent to which my

findings are generalizable.

Table 1.1

Sample Demographics

Women Men Nonbinary Total

Single 16 10 1 27

Partnered 27 13 1 41

Relationship Anarchist 0 2 0 2

Polyamorous 7 3 1 11

Race-White 37 20 2 59

Race-Black 1 2 0 3

Race-Latino/a 1 2 0 3

Race-Biracial 0 1 0 3

Straight 26 20 0 46

Gay/Lesbian 0 3 0 3

Bisexual/Pansexual/Queer 16 2 1 19

Education- High School 3 1 0 4

Education- Some College 9 4 0 13

Education- Associate's 2 0 0 2

Education- Bachelor's 20 12 2 24

Education- Master's + 9 8 0 17

Religion- Christian 6 3 0 9

Religion-

Agnostic/Atheist/None 23 13 1 37

Religion- Other 5 0 1 6

30

Interestingly, although 19 of my interviewees identified as bisexual or pansexual

(one woman identified as queer generally and one nonbinary respondent refused

identification) the vast majority of the sexual experiences they related were with

differently gendered people. This enables me to discuss the dynamics of heterosexual sex

but prohibits me from making claims about LGBTQ sexual scripts. Fifteen of these

people were in relationships, and with two exceptions all of them were partnered with a

differently gendered partner. One exception was a woman who was in a polyamorous

triadic relationship with both a man and a woman, and the other exception was nonbinary

person who was in a relationship with a woman. The latter is a differently sexed

relationship but it would be inaccurate to categorize their relationship in the same way as

a relationship between a cisgender woman and a man. The trade-off in the homogeneity

of my sample is that I believe I was able to get quality in-depth information that is

generally kept private which establishes a foundational knowledge of how “good” and

“bad” sex are constructed which can be expanded on with future research.

A more coherent understanding of how “good” sex is constructed is important not

just academically, but also socially and politically. We know that sexual satisfaction is

correlated with general life satisfaction (Smith 2007, Peter and Valkenburg 2009), and a

more complete understanding of the components of sexual satisfaction has the potential

to help educate people about how to improve the quality of their lives through sexual

intentionality. Additionally, contraceptives are a powerful tool for preventing STIs and

unwanted pregnancy, but concern about their impact on sexual pleasure can be a barrier

to use (Roberts et al. 2005, Esacove 2012, Fennell 2014). Research into how people are

31

framing “good sex” can help policy makers understand how to effectively present

contraceptive options, as well as what kinds of advances in contraceptive technology

would make their use more appealing.

The significance of this work does not end with sex. My research builds on past

studies of sexual satisfaction to help us create a stronger understanding of what makes

sex “good,” which ultimately has implications for domains outside of sexuality. The

different expectations about sex that men and women embody are indicative of a larger

gender regime that establishes divergent norms for men and women. The different roles

that men and women are expected to take are not valued equally and result in

stratification in the workforce, the education system, religious institutions, and the family

(Connell 1987, West and Zimmerman 1987). Sexual double standards that empower men

to seek pleasure and shame women for doing so attribute power and agency to men that

carries over into other areas of social life. Sex can be an intimate representation of larger

inequalities, a snapshot of persistent differences in gender socialization that are

meaningful in and of themselves but also speak to social stratification more broadly. My

research peers into gendered sexuality on an individual level. When viewed collectively,

individual narratives can coalesce into a story that is bigger than the sum of its parts.

They can tell us about the cultural-level sexual scripts that shape our thoughts, beliefs,

and behaviors and give us an image of current gender regimes and how they impact our

lives on the most personal level.

In some ways, it’s unfortunate that my questions about sexual satisfaction led me

down a path where I was forced to address sexual violence. Academic research, the Me

32

Too Movement, the experiences of women I love, and my own personal experiences all

suggest that this is a common occurrence, but it was always disheartening when

conversations with women about pleasure would transition into explorations of deep

personal pain. I know that this is normal, and I also know that this is wrong and an

indication of a society where women have still not achieved full equality relative to men.

But it’s not all doom-and-gloom. With the understanding that sexual coercion and

violence against women are a component of our dominant sexual script is the potential

for a critical examination of that script and a movement towards change. Within my

research is insight for how to improve the quality of sexual encounters and collectively

increase the number of sexual experiences that both women and men deem to be “good.”

33

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Chapter 2. Novelty

Sexual script theory suggests that sexual interactions are patterned in predictable

ways to make a socially risky act run smoother. Sex inherently comes with some

vulnerability in the process of taking off your clothes and expressing intimate desires, and

scripts increase the chances of mutually agreed upon actions. People reference cultural-

level and interpersonal-level scripts to provide a shared baseline for what exactly is going

to happen and how. When I asked my interviewees what made sex “good” for them, a fair

number of people cited factors that are enabled by strong shared scripts. When people

talked about wanting sex to feel comfortable or natural they were referencing a feeling

that comes from knowing what to expect. It is possible for sex to flow in a comfortable

and smooth way because of sexual scripts (Wiederman 2005). Without scripts sex would

require continuous communication and potential interruption, the feeling of sex being

“natural” comes from an awareness of scripts. There is nothing inherently natural about

the dominant cultural-level sexual script. It is not a biological imperative that sex entail

kissing followed by manual stimulation followed by oral sex followed by penetration, but

cultural-level scripts establish this as the proper protocol for intercourse (Jackson and

Scott 2002; DeLamater and Hyde 2004).. Cultural-level scripts are particularly important

when partners are having sex for the first time, before interpersonal-level scripts can be

established. For people that were in committed relationships, they sometimes talked

39

about their partner “knowing their body.” Over time, an awareness of an individual

partner’s desires and physical responses can create interpersonal-level scripts whose

adherence enhances sexual satisfaction. Following sexual scripts, whether they be

cultural or interpersonal-level, can be a meaningful factor in sexual satisfaction.

Regardless of how important scripts are, novelty routinely emerged as an

important component of sexual encounters that stood out as particularly “good” or “fun.”

Despite the need to rely on scripts to an extent to make sex go smoothly, my respondents

seemed to value experiences where something happened that was outside of the norm.

While the benefit of scripts may be that they make sex comfortable, the cost is that they

can make sex routine or monotonous. When I asked directly what makes sex “good” in

the abstract novelty was mentioned only infrequently, but when asked about specific

encounters that were remembered as “good” it was a common element. Sexual

satisfaction requires breaking out of the script, at least occasionally, to keep sex fresh and

interesting. However, what stood out to me was how even novelty itself is scripted to an

extent. There was a significant amount of consistency in how people chose to break out

of their sexual routines, generally either in different behaviors or locations. It appears that

when deciding to try something new, people are looking to cultural-level sexual scripts to

determine appropriate ways to spice up their sex lives.

Feeling “Natural” and “Comfortable”

When respondents discussed “good” sex feeling “natural” or “comfortable” they

were referencing a feeling that comes from following shared sexual scripts. It’s possible

40

for sex to flow naturally or comfortably because both (or all) participants are on the same

page about what is appropriate and comfortable. I had 25 interviewees explicitly

reference these factors when describing what makes sex “good” for them. Eileen

(Woman, 31, Single, Straight) recounted the following feelings about a sexual encounter:

We got back to his house and he’s like… and then we were just kissing,

and it kind of just, like we kind of got undressed on the couch and then

he’s like okay let’s go upstairs, so we did, and it was just, I mean it was, to

me it was natural progression, it wasn’t forced, it was just comfortable.

She was talking about an encounter with a new partner that was particularly

satisfying because it felt organic. They followed a familiar script where kissing is

followed by undressing and sexual touching before moving to the location that cultural-

level sexual level sexual script establishes as the appropriate location for sex: the

bedroom. Her male partner followed normative gendered roles and took responsibility for

escalating the encounter. Everything went as expected, and that in-and-of itself made the

sex stand out as particularly positive. Luke (Man, 31, Partnered, Straight) also referenced

the importance of feeling comfortable, and also the desire to not have to communicate

excessively about how to achieve this:

I don’t think, like I guess that that’s maybe the best way about it, is we don’t

have to have a lot of conversations about it, but we’re open about it, and

everything feels compatible. Uh, preferences… just, everything about it is

comfortable. Uh, but, in its being comfortable it makes it frequent.

Luke prioritizes comfort but appreciates when that feeling comes organically. He

doesn’t want to “have a lot of conversations about it,” forcing that comfort to come from

both partners having expectations that come from shared cultural-level scripts. If they

were both figuring out how to engage sexually from scratch conversations would be

41

necessary to negotiate their individual desires. He doesn’t want to discuss personal

preferences, necessitating that sexual desires are mutually rooted in shared scripts.

Cultural-level scripting helps ensure that both Luke and his partner have relatively similar

expectations that don’t require extensive dialogue. For Luke and his girlfriend, this helps

them have sex more frequently. Comfort can be particularly attainable within the context

of a frequent sexual partner as Dan (Man, 27, Relationship Anarchist, Straight) relates:

I guess that's what's so great about having sex with people that I do know

well, is that we both pretty much have like a very high, um, you know, I'm 95

percent sure that this is going to end well for both of us. When that number

drops to like 50 or 60 percent, it's pretty, uh, pretty sketch. Not my cup of tea.

Dan is referencing the ability of interpersonal-level sexual scripts to make sex feel

even more comfortable, and therefore pleasurable. If two people know each other well

and have had sex before they have the benefit of pulling from both cultural-level sexual

scripts and expectations for what happens during sex that have been built together based

on past experiences. They’ve had time to develop an interpersonal-level script that

incorporates both of their desires and allows for modifications of the cultural-level script.

Knowing what factors have contributed to “good” sex with a partner in the past increases

the chances of future success. Dan even goes so far as to quantify this, saying that if he

knows his partner his chances of having “good” sex increase by at least 35%. Carrie

(Woman, 29, Single, Bisexual) referenced a specific way that she and her partner have

built a shared interpersonal-level sexual script:

If I wasn’t able to get off when we were having sex, he would just go

down on me and I didn’t have to ask for it. He just kind of knew that was

going to work.

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Carrie felt that sex with her current partner is particularly satisfying because their

interpersonal-level script has included a way for her to consistently reach orgasm. Their

script entails that if penetrative intercourse isn’t getting her there they switch gears and he

performs oral sex. She appreciates that this is expected to the point that she doesn’t need

to verbalize her desires in each separate encounter, their script is written so that her

physical desires are automatically met. This is a similar narrative to the 10 participants

that cited a “partner knowing their body” as a key component to experiencing “good”

sex. Interviewees like Destiny (Woman, 25, Partnered, Bisexual) said things like:

Yeah, like, I think that, like [partner] can be really good in bed, but it’s

because he knows my body, and he knows like how I’m responding to

things, and he knows when things feel good for me, and when they don’t

feel as good, you know, and I don’t know that that would like translate to

another person.

Through repeated sexual encounters Destiny and her partner have been able to

establish an interpersonal-level script that results in consistently satisfying sex for her.

Her partner is able to understand the idiosyncrasies of her body and provide her with

more physical pleasure than a new partner would be able to without the benefit of those

scripts created over time. She is able to focus more on experiencing pleasure because she

doesn’t have to exert energy verbalizing her feelings and desires, her and her partner have

already established a shared sexual language. For Destiny and other participants, “good”

sex can be achieved through feelings of comfort, naturalness, and shared intimate

knowledge that come with an element of scripted predictability.

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Importance of Novelty

When I was talking to people about what makes sex “good” for them I started to

notice an interesting dynamic. Although comfort frequently emerged as an important

component of sexual satisfaction, when interviewees talked about their “best” or “most

fun” sexual encounters they often referenced experiences when cultural-level or

interpersonal-level scripts were broken. It appears that there is a tension between wanting

sex that feels comfortable, while also desiring an interjection of novelty. If sex follows

sexual scripts too closely it can become mundane. Interestingly, novelty was cited

relatively equally as an important factor regardless of relationship status, suggesting that

this isn’t only a concern for people in long-term relationships looking to “spice things

up.” Single people valued novelty as well, and could appreciate moments when sexual

scripts were broken. For all participants, much of this emerged when citing specific

encounters that stood out as particularly satisfying, but 22 people referenced novelty

specifically when asked what makes sex “good,” such as Brittany (Woman, 32,

Partnered, Straight):

I think just feeling comfortable with that but also being pushed outside of

my comfort zone.

Brittany’s quote in particular highlights the tension between comfort and novelty

that I’m talking about. She wants to feel comfortable, which comes from relying on

shared sexual scripts. At the same time she wants to be pushed outside of her comfort

zone, to experience sex that is novel and goes beyond even her own intrapsychic-scripts.

In the inverse, Jeff (Man, 24, Partnered, Straight) talks about the power of novelty to

keep sex from being “bad.”

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If it feels routine, same position, same location, same everything… That

could lead to it seeming like bad sex.

Jeff wants to break up the sexual script to keep sex feeling fresh and “good.” If

the script is followed too closely, and he specifically highlights the same behaviors and

locations, sex can be routine and therefore “bad.” Although scripts have an important

function in helping sex run smoothly, an overreliance on scripts can also reduce sexual

quality.

When asked directly about what makes sex “good” novelty wasn’t a dominant

theme, but much of the importance of novelty became apparent when people were asked

about particular encounters that stood out as especially “good” or fun”. When these cases

are factored in 62 out of 70 respondents cited some form of novelty as a factor in

satisfying sex. It’s entirely possible that these encounters were particularly memorable

and therefore reported to me because their novelty helps them stand out in respondents’

memories, so although I can’t claim that novelty is more important than other

considerations of satisfaction such as physical pleasure or connection it is clear that for

some encounters to stand out as “good” it is an important element. There were two key

ways that novelty was frequently reported, either in the form of different locations or

behaviors. Cultural-level scripting establishes the who, what, where, when, and why of

sex, and when these scripts are broken the “where” and “what” seem to be the most

frequently interrupted elements. In regards to “who” that script was rarely broken. People

frequently cited having sex with a new partner as being particularly exciting, but that

partner was rarely outside of their script for what type of person they would generally

have sex with, the exception being the two people who reported a satisfying encounter

45

with someone who was a different gender than they were normally attracted to and the

one person who enjoyed sex with someone significantly older. The dominant sexual

script establishes sex as something that happens at night, and only five respondents

discussed a change in time of day as an important element in making a sexual encounter

satisfying. In contrast, 43 people cited a change in location as an important factor in

satisfaction, and 32 people referenced a new behavioral element being introduced.

Location

Outside the Bedroom

Bridget (Woman, 28, Partnered, Pansexual) was one respondent that referenced a

change in location as an important factor in making a sexual encounter satisfying. She

had recently started having sex with a co-worker and she said:

I have a huge office with couches and, like, all sorts of things. So it's, like,

there's also this dynamic of it's really common to be behind closed doors

with a coworker because we have confidential stuff all the time. So, like,

him sitting in my office for twenty minutes with my door closed is, like,

completely ordinary. So it just kind of lends itself. Sometimes we're the

only two people, like, in the building, so it’s a lot of fun. It’s a lot of fun.

For Bridget, the novelty of having sex in her office, and feeling like she’s getting

away with something, makes sex with her co-worker particularly “good.” Although they

aren’t doing anything outside of their normal interpersonal-script, the fact that it’s

happening in the office and not a bedroom increases the quality of those encounters. This

is normally a space where they conduct business, and having sex there defies the

proscribed purpose of her office. Additionally, the fact that she’s having sex with a co-

46

worker, someone who would normally just be a professional connection, makes these

encounters unique and therefore satisfying. For Ethan (Man, 23, Partnered, Straight), a

different location also made some encounters with his girlfriend stand out as especially

satisfying:

I mean, we lived with roommates before we moved here, so the ones that

were the most fun were when we could venture outside the bedroom

because the other roommate wasn’t around for whatever reason that might

be. I think being able to be a bit more adventurous as to where we had sex

helped a lot with the fun factor of it.

Ethan and his girlfriend were keeping their interpersonal sexual script relatively

consistent, they weren’t doing anything fundamentally different when they ventured into

other areas of the house, but because those areas were typically off-limits it made

otherwise routine sexual encounters feel “adventurous.” Their living situation dictated

that spaces shared with roommates were generally inappropriate for sex, so the limited

opportunities to have sex in rooms like the kitchen and living room were special and fun.

When this happened they were violating both household norms dictated by sharing space

and cultural-level scripts that suggest sex is a bedroom-specific activity. Rian (Woman,

32, Partnered, Bisexual) also found leaving the bedroom to be enough novelty to make

sex satisfying:

The night that my husband and I moved in together because we had sex all

over our house and in every room. We didn't have roommates, so we spent

the entire day and night naked just wandering around our house and

randomly having sex in places.

Like Ethan, the absence of roommates freed Rian and her partner to have sex in

different rooms of the house, making those encounters especially exciting. Their newfound

privacy was an important factor in encouraging them to break dominant sexual scripts and

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have sex in novel locations within their house. Having sex in an area of the house other

than the bedroom was a common way to deviate from sexual scripts. In total, 13 of 54 cases

of different locations (some respondents had multiple satisfying encounters in different

locations) took place in the house but outside of the bedroom. This is a relatively low risk

way to alter the “where” component of the sexual script and still benefit from novelty.

Hotels

Hotels were also a popular place to break up the script and have “good” sex.

Madison (Woman, 25, Partnered, Straight) had an especially satisfying encounter with her

boyfriend after attending a wedding together:

He actually picked out my dress. We were both like really into each other

that day. He looked really good and he thought I looked good but had the

pride of picking my dress. Being around a lot of family and having fun and

having a hotel room adds intrigue because it’s not the usual routine. It was

just really connected and fun.

There were emotional components to her sexual satisfaction. Attending the

wedding together reaffirmed their connection to each other and validated their identity as

a couple to their loved ones. However, the element of having sex in a different location, a

hotel room, was significant. That took their sex out of “the usual routine” and allowed them

to experience the encounter differently than they would have otherwise. Nothing else

happened that was outside of their norm, but being in a new location was exciting, as it

was for Kelsey (Woman, 22, Single, Bisexual)

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It was one time closer to the end of our relationship that was good. I don't

know what had changed. I think we were staying at a hotel and so we had

a little more privacy. And I remember actually experiencing some level of

pleasure for a few minutes.

Kelsey overall did not enjoy having sex with her ex-husband, but this break in

script is what enabled her to enjoy that sexual encounter, to an extent. Although he was

still not the attentive partner she desired, taking their overall unsatisfying sex to a

different location, a hotel room, was sufficient to improve the quality of sex. For Kelsey,

the novelty of a hotel room was particularly significant because it allowed for her and her

husband to have sex in a private space, away from her parents with whom they lived.

Outside

The most significant way that that respondents broke the “where” component of

the sexual script was by having sex outside. This was typically in areas where detection

was unlikely, but the slight risk of getting caught when considered along with the novel

location made these encounters particularly satisfying. Maya (Woman, 28, Partnered,

Straight) said:

We have also have had sex out in the woods and that's definitely fun as

well, and that probably stand out more…I think it's just the thrill of it. I

mean I love being outside so there's kind of like more peaceful tone to it or

kind of just being one with nature it a different way but then there's a thrill

of being out in the open and being exposed that makes it a little more

exciting.

The change of location is key. The setting of the woods changes the tone of the

encounter because it is both a place she enjoys being and an environment radically

49

different from where she is used to having sex. The potential of being caught adds to the

excitement. She also feels engaged in a different way, both with her partner and with

nature itself, a sensation not possible within the confines of her bedroom. A change in

setting works to modify the tone of the sexual encounter. Stephanie (Woman, 29, Single,

Bisexual) is another respondent that enjoys changing location by being outside:

I like having sex outside, sometimes when I’m with a partner, we’ll go

hiking or on a trail and sneak out and have sex, I also like to, you know-

houses around construction, I like fun locations, strange locations, it’s just

fun.

For Stephanie, having sex outside makes sex feel more fun and spontaneous. It’s

removed from the norm and the change in location allows for what might be another

routine sexual encounter with her partner feel fresh. Location change overall may be

particularly common because it’s a way to shake up sexual scripts and interject novelty

while maintaining all other familiar elements. By changing location it’s possible to keep

the same expectations for behavior while still feeling the rush of something new different.

You can keep doing what you’ve been doing but now it’s in a hotel, or on the couch, and

suddenly it feels new and fresh! There’s not much risk here (aside from detection if sex is

happening in a semi-public place) because you don’t need to figure out how to

understand desires that deviate from the norm and incorporate them into understandings

of sexual preferences and identity. It’s particularly striking that there is so much

consistency in where people are going to change the “where” component of the sexual

script. Out of 54 reported locations for sex, 46 of them take place either outside, in the

house but not the bedroom, in a hotel, or in a car (See Table 2.1). This consistency

suggests that there is still some scripting at play. When people are seeking out novel

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locations for sex these are still

referencing subcultural-level scripts

regarding what different locations are

desirable. The outliers in my sample

demonstrate that it’s possible to have

sex in many unique locales such as an

amusement park, a public restroom, or

a mini-golf course, but few people are

opting to utilize these spaces. Instead,

there appear to be subcultural-level scripts regarding deviance that is paradoxically

somewhat normal; ways to break cultural and interpersonal-level scripts while still

staying within some boundaries of what is acceptable.

Behavior

BDSM

Although a change in location is the safest way to break up scripts and add sexual

novelty, different behaviors were still relatively common, with 32 respondents enjoying

altering scripts and trying something new. The normal “what” of sex includes kissing,

fondling, manual sex, oral sex, and penetration, and there were a variety of other

behaviors that people included in their encounters that made sex “good.” Aiden (Man, 30,

Partnered, Bisexual) said that his best sex included:

Table 2.1 Novel Locations

Location Number

Outside 15

House-Not Bedroom 13

Hotel 11

Car 7

Work 3

Classroom 2

Mini-Golf Course 1

Public Bathroom 1

Amusement Park 1

Total 54

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Playing into kinks that I normally don’t get to play into, like really dirty,

hot, primal sex.

Aiden felt that in general, when he was having sex he was inhibited regarding

what kinks he could express. He demonstrated an implicit awareness of sexual scripts and

the way they can constrain behavior. He valued interactions when he could deviate from

those scripts and incorporate more “kinky” elements. Carson (Nonbinary, 27, Partnered,

Bisexual) also found value in incorporating novel behavioral elements with their partner:

Well, I like trying new stuff and trying new stuff in the context of friendships

or relationships where I feel really safe. I enjoy something like friendly

bondage every now and again, and that is consistently fun and a good time.

It's fun to do something new because there seems to always be this moment

when you and your partner, or when I and my partner look at each other and

we're like, "We're enjoying this so much," but then when you take a step

back, it's just so silly. Sex is just really silly. When you have those moments

of realizing how goofy it all is, it's really good.

For Carson, different behaviors such as light bondage helped remind them that sex

can be silly and fun. It allowed for enhanced enjoyment of sex by experiencing something

new together with a trusted partner. When trying something new, moments of connection

opened up where they could share the excitement of novelty with their partner. It also

provided an opportunity for reflection on sex, and how the boundaries of what is “normal”

and what is “deviant” are established. Carson thinks that sex is sometimes taken too

seriously, and novelty opens up space for fun. Bondage, and other behaviors within the

BDSM framework (bondage/domination, domination/submission, sadism/masochism)

(Barker 2013) was the most common way different behaviors were introduced. Out of 39

reports of novel behaviors that made sex enjoyable (some people reported multiple

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different behaviors) 11 of them fell under the BDSM umbrella (See Table 2.2). Miray

(Woman, 26, Partnered, Queer) described one of her best sexual experiences:

What I liked about it, it was my first

experience being a little more rough,

like they were really into scratching

and biting, and I thought that was

really fun.

On the spectrum of BDSM what

she’s describing is relatively mild, and

she enjoyed the experience of sex

having an element of aggression

beyond the norm. She was used to

having sex that was softer and less

physically forceful, and having a

partner that scratched and bit her was

perceived as novel in an enjoyable

way. She felt like this behavior change opened her up to new and pleasurable physical

sensations. Jen (Woman, 26, Single, Straight) was surprised by a partner with even more

explicit domination:

One time, he tied my hands and legs behind my back, like hog-tied me, and

he put a blindfold over my eyes, and he put headphones over my ears, then

he double penetrated me. He fucked me in the ass while he also penetrated

me with a cucumber. It was fucking awesome, it was fucking great.

As I got more details about this encounter it was clear that none of this had been

orchestrated beforehand, and she was caught off guard when her partner tied her up.

Although she communicated to her partner that she liked rougher sex, this particular

manifestation of dominance was outside of their interpersonal-level script, and she

perceived it as a welcome deviation. Part of her pleasure was rooted in the element of

Table 2.2

Novel Behaviors

Behavior Number

BDSM 11

Threesome/Group Sex 8

Anal Sex 3

New Position 3

Toys 2

Drugs 2

Role Playing 2

Filming 2

More Foreplay 2

Fisting 1

Personal Orgasm 1

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surprise- sexual scripts encouraged her to expect gentler sex and it was exciting when those

scripts were broken.

Threesomes/Group Sex

The second most common way that novel behaviors were introduced was through

threesomes (or group sex more generally). Eight respondents reported having and

enjoying multiple partner sex, from here on out referred to as “threesomes” for

simplicity. This is the farthest deviation from the cultural-level sexual script that any

respondents reported. Cultural-level scripting establishes the “who” of sex as one man

and one woman, so there is a significant script alteration there. I decided to include this

under different behaviors because for respondents the act of having a threesome was seen

as a behavior different from their one-on-one sex. Kenneth (Man, 22, Relationship

Anarchist, Straight) highlighted a threesome as some of the best sex he’d had:

The first time I had a threesome which was with [partner] and a mutual

friend. The mutual friend started masturbating in front of us and I

remember a moment where [partner] was looking at me with a grin on her

face. I remember thinking it was exactly the kind of thing that mystifies

me about monogamy. When someone you love looks at you with a huge

grin on their face to me is like be happy for them. In that moment, I

remember thinking… There was vindication like this is the feeling that

I’ve never experienced before. Philosophically, it was like that was the

test. But that was an example of something that was fun. Usually, you

don’t have a big grin on your face during sex. It’s a different kind of thing.

The thing that makes threesomes fun is that you’re also co-conspirators.

Having a threesome was a different experience for Kenneth, and he was initially

concerned about how he would feel. This behavior is so far outside of the norm that he

was afraid it would be unsettling. It was possible that he would be overwhelmed with

jealousy and have a hard time sharing his partner sexually. Instead, he found it validating,

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and enjoyed the way it felt to be a “co-conspirator” in a delinquent sex act. He stepped

outside of cultural-level scripts with his partner and a friend, and this shared act of

deviance bonded them together. This was an encounter that was novel and immensely

pleasurable because it included so many unique behavioral components. It was also

pleasurable just for the sake of being deviant. The same was true for Naomi (Woman, 35,

Partnered, Straight):

Like actually, a couple times I had a group thing, a threesome, whatever

you want to call it with a couple of friends, and then my husband and I

went to a swinger party with our friends, and those have been super fun,

like just really wild fun times, you have to have some expectations laid

out, but at the same time have no expectations.

Attending a swinger party was a different behavior for Naomi and her husband,

and it was rife with novelty. She enjoyed that although some boundary setting was

necessary there was so much unpredictability. This was a space where she couldn’t rely

on either cultural-level or interpersonal-level sexual scripts, and the unknown element

made it particularly invigorating. Unlike her other sexual encounters with her husband

she didn’t have a strong framework for what to expect, and the unpredictability of these

encounters was invigorating. Like Kenneth, she also enjoyed a sense of shared deviance

with her husband, a feeling like they were doing something transgressive together.

Notably, six of the people that reported threesomes also identified as polyamorous or

relationship anarchist. Broadly, polyamory is a non-monogamous relationship perspective

that allows for multiple romantic/sexual partners (Klesse 2006), while relationship

anarchy completely rejects the primacy of romantic partners and the expectations that

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come with different relationship labels (Nordgren 2006). This suggests that the threesome

script variation more accessible within the polyamorous/relationship anarchy community.

Pornography

Overall, although there was not as much consistency in the different behaviors

people utilized to alter the “what” component of sexual scripts, the overrepresentation of

BDSM and threesomes suggest that like location, behavior variations too have a scripted

element. There are culturally established ways to have “deviant” sex that are likely

heavily influenced by pornography. Bridges and colleagues conducted a content analysis

of popular mainstream pornography and found evidence of pervasive violence. Of the

304 scenes they analyzed, 88.2% included physical violence, particularly spanking,

gagging, and slapping. Typically, these acts were performed by a man on a woman, who

appeared to respond either with pleasure or neutrally (2010). Additionally, BDSM has

gained some traction recently with the commercial success of the Fifty Shades of Grey

franchise bringing the dominant/submissive relationship into the public eye with both

books and movies (2013). Porn is an important sexual socializing agent, and 48 people in

my sample reported viewing pornography at least once a month, with 30 reporting

watching at least once a week (See Table 2.3). Due to the ubiquity of violence in

pornography, BDSM is a particularly accessible variation from the cultural-level script.

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There is less available data regarding the prevalence of threesomes in

pornography, but there is some research linking the behavior with viewing threesome

porn. Morris, Chang, and Knox examined college students who reported having had a

threesome and found that over 2/3 of them had viewed pornography depicting a

threesome, suggesting a correlation between viewing porn featuring threesome and

engaging in one personally (2016). In my sample, when asked what kinds of porn the

respondent frequently viewed 20 people identified a pull to porn depicting threesomes.

Although more research is needed regarding the prevalence and impacts of threesomes in

pornography, it is a potential source of scripting for acceptable sexual behavior

variations.

Risks of Novelty

Script deviations paradoxically require some scripting, or culturally established

reference point, because any deviation from pre-established cultural-level and

interpersonal-level scripts comes with significant risk. If something is unexpected your

partner may not respond well to it, and the quality of the sexual encounter or even the

relationship may be threatened. By relying on relatively familiar ways to alter the

locations of sex and the behavior within it people are able to enjoy the benefits of novelty

Table 2.3

Frequency of Pornography Use

Pornography Women

(43) Men (25) Nonbinary

(2) Total (70)

At Least Once a Month 26 21 1 48

At Least Once a Week 9 20 1 30

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while also being grounded in the (relatively) familiar, ensuring that both partners have a

frame of reference to understand this new behavior. If one partner tries to push too far

into unfamiliar territory it can undermine sexual satisfaction. To that point, 19 people in

my sample referenced incidents where something novel happened that reduced or even

eliminated the pleasure they experienced from sex. Sometimes the consequences of novel

behavior were relatively minor, a learning moment about personal preferences. Tess

(Woman, 25, Partnered, Bisexual) learned that although BDSM is part of a familiar

subcultural-level script she has personal limits for how rough she likes sex:

Yes. It was kind of my fault. In one of those periods where we wanted to

do new things, we tried being tied up and blindfolded. I didn’t

communicate what I was looking for out of that very well, so he took it in

a rougher direction and I didn’t talk about it beforehand. It freaked me out.

I got upset and then he felt really bad and apologized. It was dissatisfying.

I wasn’t expecting it to get as rough as it did.

Tess and her husband wanted to deviate from their sexual routine and believed

that bondage would be a way to do that. Without developed interpersonal-level scripts for

how this should play out her partner overstepped boundaries and this stood out as a

particularly negative sexual encounter. In retrospect, Tess felt that if they were going to

try something so far outside of their comfort zones they needed to communicate more

explicitly beforehand about what that mean for each of them. Sometimes, something

unexpected happening contributed to my respondents experiencing enhanced pleasure,

but in this case it backfired and “freaked [Tess] out.” Although she and her partner did

not suffer long-lasting relational consequences, this example highlights the way that

breaking sexual scripts comes with risk. In a casual or developing relationship breaking

scripts may be particularly risky because there is not as strong of a relational foundation

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to encourage partners to work through any discomfort that arises when novelty goes

awry. For Jen (Woman, 26, Single, Straight) one unusual phrase was enough to terminate

a casual relationship:

We were having sex and right before he came, he groaned, and he was just

like, "I'm going to give you my cum." [laughs] It took everything in my

power to not laugh out loud when he said that. it was the most awkward

thing I have ever had a guy say to me. It was so fucking gross and awkward

like, "Okay," and he came. I was like, "That's cool." Then he texted me like

a week later…and I just ignored him. That was fucking weird. That was the

number one most awkward, awkward thing I've ever experienced sexually.

Jen’s partner didn’t come out of left field with a completely unfamiliar sexual

practice, the only variation from cultural and interpersonal-level sexual scripts was the

phrase, “I’m going to give you my cum.” This break from the expected scripted dialogue

was only momentary, but so significant that it turned Jen off to both sex in that moment

and this man overall. She found this phrase to be so shocking that it was challenging getting

her to stop laughing enough to share it during the interview. Just seven unexpected words

was enough to embed the encounter and person in her memory as “fucking weird,” and,

“awkward.” Earlier, I referenced a sexual experience of Jen’s where she found novelty to

be immensely pleasurable, but clearly this is not something that was consistently true for

her. For Jen, like others, the connection between novelty and pleasure was contingent on

the context and the specific script deviation. Breaking scripts comes with the risk that what

you do or say will be met with rejection. A script transgression may be received positively

and make an otherwise mundane sexual exchange memorable and exciting, or it can spoil

an encounter and even a relationship. Betsy (Woman, 24, Single, Straight) experienced a

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sexual encounter with her first boyfriend that was so far outside of familiar sexual scripts

it was ultimately a factor in her ending the relationship:

I guess my angriest moment, and also probably slightly shameful too was

my first boyfriend… he was very sexually explorative so you know he

went online and bought all the toys and all the fun things and he always

had new toys every month or whatever to try out and he was- I think he

was bisexual and kind of like coming to terms with that and he wanted me

to fuck him up the butt with a strap on... Yeah, that was just a really weird

moment to me and then I was like, “You know what, I’ve been his

girlfriend for two years I can do this one thing for him that’s fine.” So we

went through with it and it hurt him a bit so he was like whimpering and it

was ugh, it was so opposite what I’m attracted to that afterwards I was just

pissed off that he would ever ask me to do something like that to him and

at that point I knew our relationship was over. It was never ever going to

be the same. That was a turning point for me and I was pissed off that he

had ruined everything good in our relationship for me in like two minutes.

Pegging, where a woman penetrates a man anally with a strap-on dildo (Aguilar

2017), is not a part of cultural-level sexual scripts, nor was it a part of Betsy and her

boyfriend’s interpersonal-level scripts. Betsy wasn’t personally interested in this

particular form of sexual novelty, but she was open to it for the benefit of her partner.

The script change proved too much for her, and she struggled to come to terms with

herself as the active penetrating partner and her boyfriend as the passive recipient. The

experience was so profound that it caused her to question her boyfriend’s masculinity and

her attraction to him. This particular reaction to novelty was unique in my sample, no one

else reported a script deviation that resulted in the dissolution of a long-term partnership.

Notably, she was open to other interjections of novelty. Her boyfriend had a pattern of

purchasing sex toys to use together, and up until the point that he bought a strap-on she

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perceived these as “fun.” Again, she was open to novelty, but not in every aspect,

reinforcing the risk of violating already agreed upon sexual scripts.

Role of Relationships

For the most part, it appeared that my respondents were introducing novelty, in

the form of both different locations and behaviors, within the context of a romantic

relationship as opposed to a casual partner. When recounting past experiences of script

deviation, 38 out of 43 people who had sex in a novel location were in a romantic

relationship with their partner at the time, as were 30 out of 32 people who discussed

different behaviors. There are a couple reasonable explanations for this pattern. First, the

longer a relationship goes on the more the novelty of having a new sexual partner wears

off, requiring novelty elsewhere. The longer a couple is together the more firmly

developed their interpersonal-level scripts are, an intimate knowledge which may come

with the benefit of knowing how to physically satisfy a partner but that can also become

predictable and monotonous. Having sex in a new location or incorporating new

behaviors may be a strategy used by couples to mitigate the possibility of mundane sex.

The second explanation for why most people who reported novelty did so while they

were in relationships is that an element of trust may be required when trying something

new. Breaking the script by having sex outside or tying up your partner requires revealing

personal desires that you might be reluctant to disclose to a casual partner. Within a

relationship, alterations of the “where” and “what” components of sexual scripts may be

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possible both because of the level of comfort between the partners and because of the

desire to interject novelty as interpersonal-level scripts become more deeply entrenched.

Conclusion

Violating sexual scripts is not without risk. Discomfort may occur, as it did for

Tess. For Jen an emerging romantic and sexual connection was severed. Altering their

sexual script with pegging caused Betsy to see her partner in a fundamentally different

and unattractive light. This is an extreme manifestation of the risk inherent in breaking

sexual scripts: it can potentially end even a long-term relationship. The stakes aren’t

always this high, but deviating from what’s expected when it comes to sex can have mild

to serious consequences. Sexual scripts exist to provide comfort and consistency. In a

vulnerable moment people like to know what is expected of them, and the emphasis

many of my interviewees placed on sex feeling “comfortable” and “natural” highlights

the way that sexual scripting can enhance the potential for pleasure. However, following

scripts too closely can lead to sex that feels routine or mundane. People often want sex to

feel exciting and to occasionally break outside of their comfort zones. The challenge

when it comes to introducing sexual novelty comes from the need to balance desires for

comfort and familiarity with unpredictability and freshness. Novelty can be risky, but

scripts can get stale, and “good” sex straddles this fine line. “Good” sex can be a product

of partners successfully negotiating tensions between wanting sex that is comfortably

predictable and wanting sex that feels fresh and exciting. Although there is clear utility in

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cultural and interpersonal-level sexual scripts, both men and women valued script

deviations with relative consistency, as long as those deviations were within acceptable

parameters.

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Works Cited

Aguilar, Jade. 2017. “Pegging and the Heterosexualization of Anal Sex: An Analysis of

Savage Love advice.” Queer Studies in Media & Popular Culture 2(3) 275-292.

Barker, Meg. 2013. “Consent is a Grey Area? A Comparison of Understandings of

Consent in Fifty Shades of Grey and on the BDSM Blogosphere.” Sexualities

16(8) 896-914).

Bridges, Ana J. Robert Wosnitzer, Erica Scharrer, Chyng Sun, and Rachael Liberman.

2010. “Aggression and Sexual Behavior in Best-Selling Pornography Videos: A

Content Analysis Update.” Violence Against Women 16(10): 1065-1085.

DeLamater, John, and Janet Shibley Hyde. 2004. “Conceptual and Theoretical Issues in

Studying Sexuality in Close Relationships.” in The Handbook of Sexuality in

Close Relationships edited by John H. Harvey, Amy Wenzel, and Susan Sprecher.

Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc: Mahwah, New Jersey.

Jackson, Stevi and Sue Scott. 2002. “Embodying Orgasm: Gendered Power Relations and

Sexual Pleasure.” Women & Therapy 24(1-2): 99-110.

Klesse, Christian. 2006. “Polyamory and It’s ‘Others’: Contesting the Terms of Non-

Monogamy.” Sexualities 9(5): 565-583.

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Morris, Hannah, Joyce Chang, and David Knox. 2016. “Three’s a Crowd or Bonus?:

College Students’ Threesome Experiences.” Journal of Positive Sexuality 2: 62-

76.

Nordgren, Andie 2006. “The Short Instructional Manifesto for Relationship Anarchy.”

The Anarchist Library http://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/andie-nordgren-the-

short-instructional-manifesto-for-relationship-anarchy.pdf

Weiderman, Michael W. 2005. “The Gendered Nature of Sexual Scripts.” The Family

Journal: Counseling and Therapy for Couples and Families 13(4): 496-502.

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Chapter 3. Gender

I went into this project expecting pronounced gender differences in in how

women and men evaluate “good” sex. We know that there are significant differences in

how men and women are socialized surrounding sex (Oliver and Hyde 1993; Roberts et

al. 1995; Jackson and Scott 2002; Le Gall, Mullet, and Shafighi 2002; Zubriggen and

Yost 2004; Carpenter 2010; Elmersteig et al. 2012), and I expected that this would

significantly influence how sexual satisfaction is understood. If men are encouraged to

embrace desire and pursue sex unfettered by social restraints and women are expected to

be coy with their sexuality and confine sex within committed relationships it makes sense

that these differing sexual narratives would result in different perceptions of what makes

sex “good.” Specifically, I thought that women would prioritize emotional connection,

while men would prioritize physical pleasure. Although there were subtle ways this

dynamic manifested among my respondents, men and women appeared to value physical

pleasure, emotional connection, and novelty in relatively equal proportions, extending

some of Plante and Fah’s findings (2017) to men. However, they were acutely aware that

gender is a factor that shapes their sexual experiences, with only one respondent denying

the salience of gender in understanding their sexual history.

The largest gender differences pertained to experiences of “bad” sex, with men

and women having different issues with partner engagement, feelings of obligation, and

66

consent. Men were more likely to report having a partner who was so physically

disengaged it interfered with their personal pleasure, while women were more likely to

report experiences where their partner was active but seemed to be unconcerned with

satisfying them. Both men and women discussed a fair number of experiences with

obligatory sex, but I believe the motivations behind acquiescing to a less-than-wanted

encounter differ by gender. Finally, the biggest gulf in experience between men and

women emerged in regards to rape and sexual assault, with women’s experiences of

“bad” sex more likely to be characterized by a lack of consent. In this chapter, I will

discuss the ways that men and women share mutual understandings about the factors that

make sex good. I’ll also begin to highlight how their negative experiences differ before

directly addressing sexual violence in the following chapter.

Emotional Connection

As I discussed in the previous chapter, novelty was the most frequently occurring

factor in descriptions of positive sexual encounters for both women and men, but it didn’t

often come up when I asked directly, “what makes sex good?” When interviewees were

thinking in the

abstract about how

they evaluate sexual

quality the most

frequently reported

factor was a sense of emotional connection, followed by physical pleasure. Interestingly,

Table 3.1

Factors of “Good” Sex

"Good" Sex Women(43) Men (25)

Novelty 38 (88.4%) 24 (96.0%)

Emotional Connection 37 (86.4%) 21 (84.0%)

Physical Pleasure 19 (44.2%) 15 (60.0%)

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men and women were both likely to value emotional connection as a component of

“good” sex, despite gender stereotypes and roles that suggest this concern is in the

feminine domain. 37/43 women said that emotional connection was important for sexual

satisfaction, or 86.4%. Similarly, 21/24 men, or 83.3%, also said that emotional

connection was sexually important to them (See Table 3.1). Maya (Woman, 28,

Partnered, Straight) describes why this is a significant factor for her:

I think a lot of it has to do with just emotional connectivity for me just

feeling like I'm really wanted by somebody and that I want them too and

that we can be with each other. I think it's a good way for people to

connect and I mean there's always the physical act, it feels good, but I

think for me a lot of it is just having undivided attention and devotion

towards pleasing one another that I enjoy the most about it.

For Maya, there are the physical components of sex that she enjoys, but she’s also

trying to use sex for social fulfillment. She values the reciprocity of sex, the feelings of

both wanting and being wanted. It’s important for her to take time away from other

distractions to focus completely on one person and put her relationship at the center of

her attention. Relationships are often competing for attention with other life demands,

and she sees sex as a moment where she can tune everything else out and completely

engage in an emotional way. The concern with emotional connection wasn’t just relevant

for people in relationships, some respondents like Audra (Woman, 29, Partnered,

Pansexual) acknowledged that emotional connection was important regardless of the

relational context:

Just that connection with a partner, even if it’s not a love connection it can

be a casual encounter we still have that connection and satisfaction.

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When interviewees talked about the importance of an emotional connection to a

sex partner we would be remiss to assume that this is always occurring within a romantic

relationship. It’s easy to assume that because there is no prior romantic relationship

casual encounters are primarily about the physical aspects of sex, but my data suggests

that this dynamic is more complicated. Audra is describing the possibility of

experiencing a bounded emotional connection, where sex partners are sharing an

emotional experience and present with their feelings in the moment, even though they

may not transfer those feelings outside of sex. Regardless of the type of relationship sex

partners have, sex can be a moment of interpersonal connection even if that connection is

fleeting. Valuing an “emotional connection” is not necessarily the same as valuing

romantic love as a component of “good” sex. Ben (Man, 29, Single, Straight) concurs:

I think just that [you connect] with somebody more when you’re in that

space. I think that connection is more enjoyable with somebody you know.

Ben was my one interviewee who had never been in a romantic relationship, so

when he’s describing sexual encounters they inherently do not include that component.

He thinks sex is always an emotionally intimate experience, and throughout the interview

he expressed a lot of anxiety about this. He didn’t always feel comfortable with the

vulnerability of having sex but felt much more at ease if he was having sex with someone

familiar, like a friend. Even without a romantic relationship, he sought to connect

emotionally with partners and sought out sexual encounters where he felt safe being

vulnerable. His experience adds an important piece to the discussion of emotional

connection. Although it is certainly possible outside of a committed romantic

relationship, prior non-sexual experiences with a sex partner can help establish a context

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where more emotional connection is possible. Connection during sex can be facilitated by

a variety of factors: a romantic relationship, a pre-existing friendship, or the passion of a

casual encounter, but regardless of gender it was a consistently important way that people

were achieving sexual satisfaction.

Physical Pleasure

The second most frequent factor that emerged when asked what makes sex

“good” was physical pleasure. For women, 19/43 identified this as an important factor in

a positive sexual encounter, or 44.2%. Men were a little bit more likely to state the

importance of physical pleasure, with 15/25 men, or 60.0% implicating this as a factor in

“good” sex. Although these numbers are both relatively high, I have concerns that they

may understate the importance of physical pleasure. It’s entirely possible that many

people took it for granted that “good” sex feels good physically and did not feel that it

was important to explicitly make this point. What my data tells us is that both men and

women value physical pleasure in sex, and that men are slightly more likely to emphasize

this. Sometimes when I asked what it means for sex to be “good” I got answers like

Paul’s (Man, 27, Partnered, Gay):

I mean, it just means that it like felt really good.

In his voice you could almost hear him saying, “Well, duh. What kind of question

is that?” Obviously, “good” sex is sex that feels good physically. He had a hard time

thinking about “good” sex in a deeper way because to him it was so clear-cut that sexual

satisfaction and physical pleasure were inherently linked. This does seem intuitive, but

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sometimes participants highlighted the surprise they felt with individual encounters that

were satisfying for purely physical reasons. Heather (Woman, 26, Single, Straight)

recounted an encounter where that was the primary source of satisfaction:

That one was really different in that he wasn’t very intellectual, so we

didn’t connect on that level, but at the risk of sounding shallow, he had a

good body and a big penis. We just had good sex, but there wasn’t

anything emotional or special about that. He was very good at moving and

had a really good rhythm.

At no point did Heather indicate that she thought “good” sex doesn’t have a

physical element, but this narrative suggests that relying on physical pleasure alone to

make sex “good” was an aberration in her experience. She was used to sexual satisfaction

having an emotional component and was surprised that she could have such a positive

sexual encounter without that. Overall, there isn’t anything earth-shattering about the

finding that physical pleasure is an important component of sexual satisfaction, but it is

significant that this was a pervasive finding for both men and women. Men were slightly

more likely to emphasize this factor, which is in accordance with other research

suggesting that women are not encouraged to embrace physical desire (Oliver and Hyde

1993; Roberts et al. 1995; Carpenter 1998; Jackson and Scott 2002).

Men were also more likely embrace a biological understanding of their

sex drives, making claims about desiring sex being “natural” or “primal.” For example,

Xavier (Man, 31, Single, Straight) says that he has sex because:

It’s one of the core motives of being human beings so it’s like, it’s not

quite as important as you know, breathing or water and food and all those

things. But it is a drive.

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Xavier has an understanding of his sexuality that it rooted in assumptions about it

being something that his body physically craves. Maybe not to the extent that he needs

oxygen, food, and water, but worth mentioning in the same breath. It’s an urge that exists

beyond control and drives a lot of his decision making. He believes he has sex because he

is compelled by his physiology to do it. His sexuality is a force of nature he sees as

outside his control. Dan (Man, 27, Relationship Anarchist, Straight) feels similarly:

Because it regularly provides me some of the heights of my human

experience. Why? Because I'm human. I feel a great drive and desire to do

so. And when I do it is gratifying. So the cycle repeats because other

people want to have sex with me. There are many reasons. Yeah. I mean I

guess I just don't really try to narrow that down too much. I'm totally

happy with it being just this kind of biological black box because my

humanity tells me to. And it's good when I do, um so I keep doing it.

That's why.

Dan doesn’t feel compelled to explore too deeply why he’s motivated to have sex.

He takes it for granted that he pursues sex because of a biological imperative. Sex for him

is normal and natural, a desire that is controlled by forces outside of his being. He enjoys

the mystery that attributing sex drive to biological forces allows. This attitude was more

common for men than for women. In total, 11 men, or 44.0%, explained their sexuality at

least in part as a primal force outside of their control. Only five, or 11.6%, of women had

a similar understanding. This gender difference is reflective of larger social trends that

frame men’s sexual desire as somehow more innate than women’s, granting them more

latitude to explore sexual urges (Carpenter 1998; Jackson and Scott 2002).

Understandings of sex as a biological imperative may shape men’s feelings about what

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makes sex “good” in ways that I wasn’t able to fully unpack in this study, but this is

worth taking into consideration.

The order that men and women mentioned emotional connection and physical

pleasure is telling of some other subtle gender differences in how good sex is

conceptualized. When asked what makes sex “good,” the first response is the most

cognitively accessible and possibly the factor given the most priority in intra-psychic

level scripting. As I was coding this data I excluded cases where respondents said

something to the effect of “it feels good” without clarifying if they meant that in an

emotional or physical sense. As gender norms would predict emotional connection was

most likely to be mentioned first by women, with 13/43 women (30.2%) giving this as

their first answer for what makes sex “good” compared with 4/25 men (16.0%). Physical

pleasure was mentioned first by 10/25 men (40.0%) and 17/43 women (39.5%). The latter

is hardly a meaningful difference, men and women were similarly likely to prioritize

pleasure in their explanations of satisfying sex. However, women were more likely to

mention the emotional components of sex, suggesting that women may be more invested

in the emotional component of sex.

It’s possible to parse out subtle gender differences in how men and women

conceptualize “good” sex, but the largest takeaway from my findings in this regard is that

men and women have relatively similar goals for sexual satisfaction. The three most

significant factors that emerged throughout my interviews were novelty, connection, and

physical pleasure, and these were all reported with relatively high frequency among both

men and women. When a woman and a man enter a sexual encounter together there is

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solid potential for overlap in shared expectations for what will make that experience

satisfying. The different socialization of men and women regarding sex has not

manifested in incompatible or conflicting assessments of what makes sex “good.”

“Bad” Sex and Gender

The most striking gender differences emerged when interviewees discussed

sexual experiences that were not satisfying. All participants had at least one sexual

encounter that they classified as “bad.” Sexual scripts establish different roles for men

and women, and when these scripts are functional the result is two people working

towards a common goal of satisfaction in complementary ways. Sometimes those scripts

fail to produce pleasure, however, and result in participants getting stuck in roles that are

not conducive to mutual satisfaction. For women, this meant a partner that was in

command of the sexual interaction but not concerned with the woman’s pleasure. For

men, this meant a partner that embraced feminine norms of passivity so fully that they did

not seem engaged.

Partner Doesn’t Care

Nineteen women and only two men referenced sexual interactions where a partner

did not appear to be concerned with their pleasure. Julie (Woman, 28, Partnered,

Bisexual) had experiences with an ex-boyfriend where she felt like her presence was

inconsequential:

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Yeah, I mean like he wasn’t trying. I think he was a very selfish lover. He

was like a jackrabbit. I always felt like he was masturbating with my body.

She had recurrent experiences with this boyfriend where she felt like her

personhood didn’t matter. It felt as though he just wanted to get off and he was using her

body as a vehicle for his self-satisfaction. His movements may have been satisfying for

him but they failed to produce pleasure for her. This made her feel more like a sex toy

than a valued partner, like he was just “masturbating with [her] body.” In this example

her boyfriend is performing the masculine role of dominance dictated by cultural-level

scripts. He was guiding the sexual interaction but in a way that didn’t accommodate for

Julie’s desires, and the power granted him by dominant sexual-scripts gives him the

option of disregarding her satisfaction. Liz (Woman, 27, Single, Straight) had many

experiences similar to this, to the extent that she developed an accommodation in her

intrapsychic-level script for this behavior:

70% of the time I had sex with a guy, there was a point where I could go

numb and lay flat and they’re just fucking me. It has nothing to do with

me, so I’ll just let them finish and leave. It’s hard to have good sex with

somebody who doesn’t care.

Liz felt that in a majority of her sexual experiences with men they were

indifferent to her physical satisfaction. It’s very clear from her language that the men

were taking active sexual roles. The phrase, “they’re just fucking me,” suggests agency

on the part of her partners. They were active, they were doing the fucking and she was

being fucked. She ultimately accommodated her intrapsychic scrips to prepare to

physically and mentally disengage when she perceives this happening. Rather than

communicating with her partner why she felt dissatisfied she found it easier to simply

check out and wait for her partner to be finished. This is another example of when the

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gender norms embedded within sexual scripts are dysfunctional. If the dominant partner

decides to not put energy towards physically satisfying their partner their partner will not

experience pleasure. As Liz says, “It’s hard to have good sex with somebody who doesn’t

care.” For women having sex with men especially, the dominant role ascribed to their

partners meant that if he was unconcerned with her enjoyment her desires would go

unattended.

Partner Disengaged

Several of the men I spoke with experienced a similar problem, but the key

difference was that during heterosexual sex when women had a disengaged partner the

man was still physically active and focused on his pleasure, but when men had a

disengaged partner he felt like the woman was completely checked out regarding both his

pleasure and her own. In total, seven men expressed this concern, compared with only

two women. Jack (Man, 30, Single, Straight) describes a situation that feels strikingly

similar to the dynamic Julie and Liz were describing in that he felt as if he was

masturbating as opposed to having sex with someone else:

Sometimes it’s just, like, “here I am.” And she’s just, like [pantomimes

laying on bed]… Oh, basically, I'm pretty much using you to jack off right

now. Like, it’s just, this is not sex.

Jack is describing a partner laying down (“here I am”) and then not actively

participating in the sexual interaction. These experiences made him feel uncomfortable,

and ultimately unsatisfied. He didn’t want to feel like he was masturbating any more than

the women in my sample wanted to feel like they were being used for masturbation. For

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him, this was so far outside of the social experience he was hoping to have that it doesn’t

even feel like sex. He sees sex as a product of mutual engagement and required some

level of activity and communication from his partner. He didn’t express any discomfort

taking a dominant role during sex, but there was an extreme where the active/passive

gender dynamic was taken too far and did not feel satisfying anymore. Robert (Man, 25,

Single, Straight) felt similarly, and had one sexual memory that stood out as especially

unpleasant:

Laying there and not talking that will shut me all the way down and I will

leave. That’s not for me. Like I said I'm kind of an empath which is weird

for me because it's like, especially if there’s like no movement at all on the

face it weirds me out. That's it. That's the specific cause I didn't- I was one

that was almost like sex is like pizza you know even if it’s bad it's still

pizza you know but really just an unenjoyable experience. No movement

at all.

This was Robert’s worst sexual experience, and one that challenged his

assumptions about sex. Prior to this encounter he thought that having sex was always

better than not having sex, but his partner’s lack of engagement made this an experience

that he would have rather avoided. He said that there was no movement in her body, she

wasn’t open to trying positions other than missionary, and her face wasn’t even

registering expression. The whole experience made him very uncomfortable, and he spent

several minutes unpacking this encounter. At one point he referred to her as a “starfish,”

passively splayed on the bed. Making one’s body sexual available for a partner’s

gratification is embodying feminine gender norms, but such a strict interpretation of

feminine passivity made this sex “bad” for Robert.

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Obligation

Another way that the experiences of men and women were gendered was in

regards to obligatory sex, sex that is had because of internal or external pressure. Twenty-

six women and ten men reported sexual encounters where they felt like they were “giving

in” to some pressure, whether it be directly from their partner or from perceived cultural

expectations that sex would happen. These are still cases where consent was given, but it

did not come from a place of sincerely wanting to have sex. Although feeling obligated to

have sex was a relatively common experience for both men and women, the texture of

their narratives was very different. For women, the pressure came either directly from

their partner or from an awareness that their role in sex and a relationship was to

physically satisfy their partner. Emily (Woman, 27, Partnered, Straight) would sometimes

have sex with her boyfriend when she wasn’t feeling well because she prioritized his

pleasure:

I just push through for the other person, but it's not really for me. It's like,

"Man, I know you want that or need that too. Let's do it." If I'm sick I'm

usually like, "Come on. I don't really want to, but I'll do it because--" Just

knowing that I'm not going to really get anything from it because I know I'm

not going to get off from this because I don't feel 100%. I want to make you

happy, so I'll do it because it makes me happy.

Emily described sexual encounters where she was not feeling motivated to have

sex, she did not believe sex would be physically pleasurable for her, but she acquiesced

anyway. She doesn’t feel violated by these experiences, she states that her partner feeling

good makes her feel good emotionally. In these encounters she perceived her role in a

feminine way, subservient to a man’s desires and putting his pleasure before hers. She’ll

have sex when she’s sick and consequently physically disinterested because she senses an

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obligation to tend to her partner’s sexual desires. She didn’t find these encounters to be

physically pleasurable, but she still got enjoyment out of them from pleasing her partner.

In contrast, Payton (Woman, 23, Partnered, Pansexual) identified feelings of obligation as

a primary cause for her unsatisfying sexual experiences:

Uh, a sense of obligation is one of the biggest reasons I’ve had bad sex.

Uh, sex that necessarily I didn’t, wasn’t head over heels about having, but

I felt obligated to…At one location I was not interested in having sex, but I

was having fun, it was like a public place actually, fucking go figure, it

was on top of a parking garage, and we started hooking up a little bit, and

that was exciting, that was fun, and then we were gonna leave the parking

garage and I asked him to drop me off at home, and he said that it was out

of his way, which is total bullshit, “it was out of his way,” and that if I

wanted a ride I would have to crash at his house, and I just, I kind of was

like, protesting a little bit, but just kind of gave in, and then we ended up

having sex on bleachers near his house, and it was just like cold, and gross,

and I was uncomfortable.

Payton did not want to have penetrative sex with this particular partner, but she

was having fun spending time with him and was open to some sexual interaction.

Eventually she reached a point where she was done engaging with him and wanted to go

home, but he still wanted to have sex. She accommodated him because she felt like the

wheels were already in motion and it was too difficult to stop the trajectory they were on.

They had already begun enacting cultural-level sexual scripts, engaging in traditional

precursors to sex like kissing, and in her feminine role within this encounter she didn’t

feel empowered to put on the brakes. She felt like she owed him sex because she had

consented to other activities earlier in the evening. Her narrative makes it seem like the

pressure was coming from her partner, but this interaction also took place with a cultural

backdrop of women prioritizing men’s pleasure and acting appropriately coy when it

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comes to sex, which makes it challenging to violate scripted gender norms and assert

oneself. Her partner didn’t have to tell her that she was obligated to have sex with him, it

was mutually understood that this was the expectation. Stephanie (Woman, 29, Single,

Bisexual) had the clearest understanding of the prevalence of sexual pressure from both

interpersonal and cultural-level sexual scripts:

I felt an obligation to perform, I felt like I had a physical responsibility to

my partner to fulfill that and kind of the social approval stigma thing like,

it was worse earlier on. I felt like I had to for the person, the culture and

the relationship. Like this is something that people in relationships do

therefore, I need to be doing this thing and if I want to keep this person in

my life I have to do things that I may be don’t want to do or I will learn to

like it eventually. I did not but that’s what I felt like I had to do at the time.

Stephanie was discussing a relationship where she felt pushed sexually to engage

in practices she was not comfortable with. She would often go along with her partner’s

desires, even though they conflicted with her own. There was an interpersonal element

where she cared about her partner and wanted to satisfy him, but she also felt bound by

cultural expectations. She felt that, “this is something people in relationships do.” She

was implicitly referencing cultural-level scripts about sex within romantic relationships

and from those feeling pressure that extended beyond her specific partner. It was both the

person and the culture that compelled her to have sex when and how she didn’t want to in

a way that was particularly feminine. Her partner’s role as the man involved taking

control and setting sexual expectations, and her role as a women involved going along

with his desires for the sake of their relationship.

When men reported feeling an obligation to have sex it was rooted in different

cultural expectations. They didn’t feel that they had to be sexually available to their

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partner for the sake of their partner’s pleasure as much as for the sake of their

masculinity. Hegemonic masculinity, the culturally elevated form of manhood at this

specific cultural moment, is partially oriented around men being heterosexual and

continuously desiring sex with women (Connell and Messerschmidt 2005). To

successfully perform masculinity a man must pursue sex and seize available opportunities

to have it. The narratives of the ten men who reported having sex out of obligation had a

different texture than the analogous narratives of women. They were borne out of a belief

that as men they should be constantly pursuing sex as a component of masculine identity

and status. Jeremiah (Man, 34, Single, Straight) talked about feeling obligated to

constantly seek out sex partners, and consequently had experiences with women he found

unsatisfying:

I certainly spend some, some percentage of my life on the prowl, and I

will occasionally in those cases end up sleeping with somebody who I’m

not particularly attracted to, someone who perhaps… I’d like to think

there’s not much of this sort of uh, the manipulation that’s often associated

with this, but you know, I’ve been aware that somebody is into me and I

am not particularly into them, but I am into this happening tonight. Those

are, those are experiences that I’ve left feeling guilty about.

Jeremiah felt social pressure to acquire sexual partners, to be “on the prowl,” and

in the process had sex with women that left him feeling guilty rather than satisfied.

Although the woman was the one who was more interested in him sexually, he’s the one

taking the reins and progressing their interaction to sex. Not because he wants to have sex

with that person specifically, but because he wants to have sex that night and this is the

person who’s available. He feels some concern about manipulating a woman into

thinking he’s interested in her when in actuality he just wants sex from any willing

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participant, but he wants to reject this possibility. This feeling of wanting to have sex for

the sake of having sex is coming from a gendered place, with women reporting very

different experiences surrounding the accumulation of partners. I asked all respondents

how many people they had had sex with, and 8 expressed anxiety about that number

being too high. All of these people were women, this did not seem to be an anxiety held

by any of the men in my sample. Men seemed to benefit from asserting their masculinity

and asexual prowess and masculinity by accumulating sexual partners.

Jack (Man, 30, Single, Straight) was another respondent who had an unsatisfying

sexual encounter because he felt obligated to concede to sex. He was in college and met a

woman one night at a party who was clearly interested in him. He was too intoxicated to

perform sexually that night but he told her to come to his dorm the following morning.

The next day he’s sitting outside his dorm with his friend when:

All of a sudden we see this train wreck of a person. Like, makeup on from

the night before, hair like- she looked like she slept on the floor and

coming over to my dorm. Like, coming down the sidewalk, I was like, “oh

my god, look at that girl. It’s looking pretty rough.” and then [my friend]

was like, “I think that's the girl,” and I’m like, “no, no, no. It’s not.” And

then, all of a sudden I get a text. She’s almost there, walking up, and I was

like, “oh fuck, it is.” I was like, “what do I do”? And then he was like,

“hurry, just run inside before - just say you can’t hang out.” And then I go

to get up and she goes - and I go, “oh fuck, this is it, I’m trapped. Like, I

can’t do it.” I don’t know what’s going on. Do I say no? I don’t know

what to do right now. So [my friend] was like, “oh, well, have fun,

buddy.” So, she comes up and obviously I’m not attracted to her

whatsoever. I’m like, “fuck.” I was like, “damn it.”... And so we go back

in the room and we start, like, having sex and this time I’m sober and I'm,

like, I - I couldn't get hard just because, like, I was not into it.

Jack was not interested having sex with this woman, but was unsure about how to

extract himself from the situation. He felt obligated to have sex with her since she was

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there and they talked about it the night before. Even his friend’s response, “have fun,

buddy,” suggests that sex is definitely going to happen. It’s as if politely declining is not

an option. Hegemonic masculinity and cultural-level sexual scripts suggest that men be

constantly available for sex, and this norm completely overrides his personal lack of

sexual desire. He doesn’t really know this woman, he doesn’t feel a personal obligation to

her, but an obligation to larger expectations. For him to maintain an erection and fulfill

his perceived obligation he sprints down the hall of his dorm room to another friend’s

dorm, where he watches pornography for a few minutes before returning and successfully

performing penetrative sex to orgasm:

And I was like, “phew.” I didn’t want to, like, hurt her feelings. I should

have been more up front and then she would’ve been, like, “whatever,”

because then both parties would have been fine. She would’ve, like, been

a little butt hurt for a second, then she would have been fine, but i guess

she never knew, she was fine the whole time. It was just me that had the

bad experience, I guess.

Jack was aware that as a man he was expected to want to have sex at any given

opportunity, so he was concerned that rejecting this woman would deeply hurt her

feelings. If he was to refuse sex when it is taken for granted that he is sexually available it

would suggest that there was something fundamentally undesirable about her. This was

an anxiety that the women I talked to were not reporting. When they gave in to sex they

were maybe concerned about damaging their relationship by refusing, but they weren’t

worried about bruising a male partner’s ego by saying no to sex. Women are seen as the

gatekeepers to sex, setting the boundaries for when sex is available (Wiederman 2005).

Jack knew that this expectation was present when the woman he met the night before

came back to his dorm. If he violated his role in the script, to be sexually available for

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any willing woman, it would be clear that he found her unattractive. Considering the

cultural emphasis placed on women’s beauty (Kim and Lee 2018) he knew this would be

hurtful, and decided to have sex with her anyway even if he needed the stimulation of

pornography to make that happen. By doing this, he was able to preserve both her ego

and his own masculinity.

Both men and women reported having sex out of obligation, but they seemed to

have very different motivations for giving in to an undesired sexual encounter due to the

different roles that men and women play in traditional sexual scripts. When women had

obligatory sex they were playing a passive role, going along with a man’s desires because

of interpersonal and cultural expectations that they provide their partner sexual

gratification, particularly if they’ve consented to commonly accepted precursors to sex.

For men, their obligation seemed to come from expectations that men always be sexually

available, just waiting for a consenting partner. When sex was on the table they struggled

to reconcile the cultural imperative that they constantly desire sex with their own lack of

sexual interest. Both men and women were encountering moments where cultural and

interpersonal-level sexual scripts suggest they should be having sex even though they

personally were not interested, but the reasons why differed by gender.

An Awareness of Gender

In many ways men and women had similar narratives regarding what makes sex

“good.” They valued emotional connection, physical pleasures, and interjections of

novelty in similar proportions. The largest differences were when they were describing

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bad sex, particularly feeling like a partner was disengaged or like they were having sex

out of obligation. Both of these were unpleasant experiences for men and women alike,

but the ways they experienced these phenomena differed. This suggests that “good” sex

requires an engaged partner and personal enthusiasm prior to having sex, but the

obstacles to achieving these elements are conditioned by gender. The most salient gender

difference I observed was the prevalence of rape and sexual assault for women but not for

men. This is a product of the most extreme active man/passive woman dynamic

embedded in sexual scripts that I will address in the next chapter.

Table 3.2

Perceived Impact of Gender

Women

(43) Men (25)

Total

(68)

Man Dominant 15 12 27

Women Shame 17 3 20

Women danger 13 3 16

Biological Differences 4 5 9

Women Objectified 5 2 7

Men Less Emotional 3 2 5

More Consequences for

Women 4 0 4

Men's Status 0 4 4

Men Seeming Predatory 0 2 2

Women Gatekeepers 1 0 1

Women Vocal 1 0 1

General 3 1 4

Total Believing Gender Was

Salient 41 22 65

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Most of the gender differences regarding sexual attitudes and behaviors were

subtle, but that doesn’t mean that gender isn’t relevant in shaping experiences of sex.

When I asked directly if gender impacts their sexuality 41 women, 22 men, and both

nonbinary participants indicated that it does shape their sexuality in meaningful ways.

Collectively, they created an extensive list that included 11 ways that they perceived

gender impacting sexuality (See Table 3.2).

Power Differentials

There were an additional four respondents who believed gender was salient but

struggled to articulate how. The most frequently cited gender norm was the pressure

placed on men by sexual scripts to take a dominant role in sex. In total, 28 participants

believed this was an important way that men and women learn to have sex differently; 15

women, 12 men, and one non-binary person. Their descriptions looked like the following:

I guess in sex that the dominant and submissive kind of aspect typically

the women are submissive, sometimes the men are, but typically women

are and so then you kind of play that role. (Asia, Woman, 24, Single,

Pansexual)

Well, like I said, given the heteronormative atmosphere that we operate,

there’s certain roles that are granted to me or almost burdened to me that I

need to do in order to initiate sex or seek sex or make sure sex is a positive

experience for both parties. There’s certain things that come with that,

being a man. (Forrest, Man, 27, Single, Straight)

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The kind of woman I am is a giver and nurturer in every other aspect, so

during sex, I’m more of a taker. I feel like I shouldn’t do anything. I think

you should do it all and I should just lay here and enjoy. I feel like men

should take the lead in certain things and sex is one of them. (Lauryn,

Woman, 27, Single, Straight)

I really don’t like that men hunt and women fish. This idea of men have to

be the ones to go out and initiate. Nobody likes rejection but that’s hard to

do. Part of the whole sexual experience is men having to take the lead and

initiative and bear the brunt of rejection. All my opinion. (Jacob, Man, 36,

Partnered, Straight)

It's hard for me to solidify a gender identity when the kind of sex that I

have with this partner reaffirms the kind of, like, masculine dominance.

(Morgan, Nonbinary, 30, Single, N/A)

When my respondents talked about the different power and agency attributed to

men and women during sex they expressed varying perspectives about embodying those

roles. Some people felt very comfortable with these norms, like Lauryn, and found

cultural-level scripts regarding the relative agency of men and women during sex to be

compatible with their desires. Following gendered roles during sex felt like a comfortable

way to achieve sexual satisfaction. Others, like Asia and Forrest, seemed to accept this as

the social reality of sex and shaped their expectations accordingly. They did not

enthusiastically endorse the gendered elements of cultural-level sexual scripts but did not

feel the need to actively resist them either. There was a tacit acceptance that this is how

heterosexual sex works and they were willing to play their role. Jacob provided an

example of dissatisfaction with the gender status quo and felt unduly burdened by the risk

of rejection. He felt that men shouldn’t be solely responsible for initiating sex and wanted

more opportunities to be pursued and not experience the vulnerability of being open with

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his feelings and desires to a potentially unreceptive partner. Finally, for Morgan, as a

nonbinary person who was assigned masculine as birth and is often taken for granted to

be a man, the way that power during sex is gendered made it challenging to understand

their own gender identity. They feel as if they exist in a gender that is neither masculine

nor feminine, but because sexual scripting is so heavily influenced by gender

(Weiderman 2005) when they have sex with a woman they find themselves pushed into

gender roles that feel inauthentic. They desire a more submissive role during sex, but the

confines of gender often preclude that from happening.

Shame and Judgement

The second most frequently cited way that sexuality is influenced by gender was

the prevalence of shame and perceived judgement surrounding women’s experiences with

sex. Women were significantly more likely to discuss this dynamic, with 14 women and

only three men discussing the ways that women are expected to be discreet about their

desires or risk being labeled a “slut” either by themselves or others. Here are some

examples of how they framed this dynamic:

There’s more shame around women having sex or being slutty. So, yeah, I

feel like we’ve got a lot more to worry about and a lot more stigma around

sex then men do in general. (Caitlin, Woman, 30, Single, Straight)

The social norm would be to like, hide your sexuality, and to be proper

and quiet, and not talk about it. (Payton, Woman, 23, Partnered,

Pansexual)

I guess I feel pretty comfortable being open about how much I want sex

and not feeling any kind of shame in the sex I’ve had. (Cam, Man, 30,

Single, Straight)

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Caitlin and Payton’s quotes represent well the way that other women also

discussed perceived sexual double standards. I didn’t speak with any women that thought

it was fair or reasonable to expect women to be less sexual than men, and they all seemed

uneasy with this aspect of femininity either explicitly or implicitly. There was a sense of

injustice surroundings sexual double standards, and a desire to be able to make

autonomous choices about their sexuality free from judgement. Cam was one of the few

men who recognized that the absence of shame could be a product of gender

socialization. Other men, if they were aware of the ways that they are granted more

cultural freedom to pursue sexual encounters, did not explicitly state this.

Danger

The third most frequently mentioned way that men and women experience sex

differently was in reference to the disproportionate danger that men and women are

exposed to during a sexual encounter. Again, more women than men mentioned this, with

13 women stating that women have heightened safety concerns and only three men

saying the same. These respondents felt like women were more likely than men to be in a

position where they risked physical harm by having sex:

A lot of men aren’t going to be in constant fear of being hurt, raped, or

maimed like a woman. They just don’t understand the danger that men are

towards women. When most women are getting killed, it’s by men.

They’re more dangerous to a woman than bears. Men don’t live in a

society of bears, I guess. I just don’t think men have that knowledge, not

because they’re worse or because they’re dumb, but they’re cultured into a

society that never asks them to rise up and see that. They have a lot more

issues with their gender; there are a lot of malignant masculinity ideas. But

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definitely being a woman, I see how I’m more afraid than men because I

see things that they don’t. (Abby, Woman, 26, Single, Straight)

All of things I don’t have to think about as far as getting murdered on a

date. I don’t have to think that through. The people I’m interested in do.

(David, Man, 36, Partnered, Straight)

Because there is a power differential between cisgender men and women,

you’re going to experience sex a little differently. I don’t know a lot of cis

dudes who are afraid- I mean, everybody is a little bit afraid of getting

catfished or potentially meeting a serial killer on a date, but it’s not as

apparent of a fear. Most dudes aren’t afraid of walking along the street

alone at night, which translates to the bedroom. (Ellen, Woman, 26,

Single, Pansexual)

Sixteen interviewees discussed the ways that women are more vulnerable to

physical harm than women. Abby believed that because she’s a woman she has to be

more vigilant about the possibility of being harmed. She’s living among, and having sex

with, people who might want to hurt her, and she’s been socialized to look for cues that

danger might be present in a way that men have not. She suggests that people generally

recognize and acknowledge the dangers of wild animals (she lives in an area where this is

a relevant concern), but feels that her identity as a woman means she is constantly

surrounded by predators, albeit less toothy ones. David and Ellen both recognize that

when heterosexual people go on dates or have sex men and women have different worst

case scenarios. David doesn’t have to spend much time thinking about if his date will

murder him, but the same can’t be said for women. Ellen attributes this to a power

differential between men and women coming from both differences in physical strength

and different agency in sexual scripts. Women are aware that they may be physically

overpowered and that this is a relatively normative experience.

There were eight more ways that men and women experience sexuality differently

that were highlighted by my respondents, although with less frequency than the former

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three. Some people believed that (i) the different anatomy of cisgender men and women

contributed to different experiences, (ii) that women are more likely to be objectified

during sex, (iii) that men experience sex with less emotional reactivity, (iv) that women

bear a disproportionate amount of consequences for sex, unintended pregnancy in

particular, (v) that having sex can be a source of social status for men and not women,

(vi) that men have to be concerned with seeming predatory, (vii) that women are

expected to act as gatekeepers and decide if and when sex happens, (viii) and that women

are expected to give a more enthusiastic vocal performance than men. Overall, the picture

this gives us is one where men and women do perceive gender to be a salient factor in a

variety of ways regarding how they think about and experience sex. Their understandings

of what makes sex “good” may be relatively similar, but the pathways they follow to get

to satisfaction are profoundly shaped by gender. The different roles established by

cultural-level sexual scripts mean that men and women have significant departures in

how they come to understand their sexuality.

Conclusion

When cultural and interpersonal-level scripts that revolve around traditional

gender roles work they really work. In their ideal form for heterosexual sex there is a

woman and a man playing different but complimentary roles that feel comfortable and

familiar and allow both partners to experience satisfaction, even if they are on different

terms. Although most interviewees believed that gender was important in shaping their

sexual beliefs and experiences there was a surprising amount of consistency in the ways

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that men and women highlighted the importance of physical pleasure, emotional

connection, and novelty. When the sexual script is functional these desires can be met for

both participants. Men and women having sex with each other do not need to bridge a

gap of radically different expectations, they likely have similar sexual goals and have the

potential to utilize their different roles to mutually achieve them.

If the script dysfunctions the effects are felt differently by men and women.

Feelings of obligation can emerge and manifest differently by gender. When the

traditional sexual script isn’t working for men they may encounter a partner that

embraces passivity too thoroughly, appearing disengaged and providing no positive

feedback. For women, with men acting as sexual aggressors and women taking a more

passive role men have more power in determining the extent to which that encounter will

be mutually satisfying. If he cares about his partner’s pleasure he can engage with his

partner and guide sex in a direction that satisfies the woman as well. If not, he has the

power as the primary actor in sex to focus solely on his own desires, which 19 women

reported experiencing. The most extreme manifestation of this dynamic is in sexual

assault or rape, which was relevant to a significant number of women I talked to. Sexual

violence isn’t an aberration, it’s the most extreme way that gendered cultural-level scripts

disfunction. The context for rape and sexual assault is embedded within the gendered

roles that we establish for men and women in (hetero) sex, roles that my interviewees

could readily identify.

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Connell, R.W. and James W. Messerschmidt. 2005. “Hegemonic Masculinity: Rethinking

the Concept.” Gender & Society 19(6): 829-859.

DeLamater, John, and Janet Shibley Hyde. 2004. “Conceptual and Theoretical Issues in

Studying Sexuality in Close Relationships.” in The Handbook of Sexuality in

Close Relationships edited by John H. Harvey, Amy Wenzel, and Susan Sprecher.

Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc: Mahwah, New Jersey.

Elmerstig, Eva, Barbro Wijma, Kerstin Sandell, and Carina Bertero. 2012. “’Sexual

Pleasure on Equal Terms’: Young Women’s Ideal Sexual Situations.” Journal of

Psychosomatic Obstetrics and Gynecology 33(3): 129-134.

Jackson, Stevi and Sue Scott. 2002. “Embodying Orgasm: Gendered Power Relations and

Sexual Pleasure.” Women & Therapy 24(1-2): 99-110.

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Le Gall, Armelle, Etienne Mullet, and Sheila Riviere Shafighi. 2002. “Age, Religious

Beliefs, and Sexual Attitudes.” The Journal of Sex Research 39(3): 207-216.

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Weiderman, Michael W. 2005. “The Gendered Nature of Sexual Scripts.” The Family

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Zurbriggen, Eileen L. and Megan R. Yost. 2004. “Power, Desire, and Pleasure in Sexual

Fantasies.” Journal of Sex Research 41(3): 288-300.

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Chapter 4. The Scripting of Rape and Sexual Assault

The women and men that I talked to didn’t appear to have radical gendered

differences in regard to what they thought was good sex. They wanted physical pleasure,

emotional connection, and a moderate dose of novelty. This struck me as good news. If

heterosexual men and women are entering sexual encounters with similar expectations

for how to be satisfied it seems possible that both parties’ needs can be met in many

situations. The most significant departures in experiences and expectations emerged

when I started asking about their worst sexual experiences. This is the point that many

men started talking about sexual encounters where they weren’t satisfied with their

performance, where their partner was disengaged, or where their experience was simply

flat, for a variety of reasons. For women, this was the point where many of my

respondents started reporting rape and sexual assault.

I wasn’t shocked when this came up for the first time, although I was a little

surprised that this became a relevant issue in the second interview I conducted. I know

that sexual violence is a pervasive issue, and by the time I started my research the MeToo

movement was in full swing, highlighting the need to address it on a cultural level. But I

was surprised when it kept coming up. I learned to emotionally prepare myself for painful

revelations when I started asking women about their negative sexual experiences. This

was supposed to be a study of sexual pleasure, but I realized that my lens had to pivot to

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address the intersections of pleasure and pain in women’s narratives. In total, I

interviewed 43 women, and 31 of them reported at least one incident of sexual violence

or abuse. Out of 25 men, only three reported an incident that could be categorized as

such. This gulf in experience highlights the way that danger infuses itself into women’s

understanding of sex; an awareness of the reality that the potential for sexual pleasure can

come at a cost. It’s not possible to explore what pleasure means for women specifically

without also addressing the fact that for many women their references for pleasure are in

opposition to experiences of coercion and violence (Phillips 2000).

Non-Consensual Sex Identified as Rape

It’s not my goal to titillate readers with stories of violence. I don’t want to parade

women’s most traumatic sexual experiences in an appeal to voyeuristic or prurient

interests. However, their stories are important, and I’m going to share a few of their

accounts with the intent of providing context for a large-scale social problem. Sexual

violence is a social problem reflective of the continued subjugation of women, and it is

also felt deeply on the individual level. Rape and assault don’t always follow the same

narrative, and my interviews highlight this. Victims are frequently blamed for their

assaults, in the public arena the types of sexual assault that are granted the most

legitimacy are generally explicitly violent or committed against a child (Fleming 1998;

Frese, Moya & Megías 2004). Abby (Woman, 26, Single, Straight) recounts the former.

The first time I was actually raped, so that was really horrific. It happened

when I was 20. It was in my church. I’m actually very comfortable talking

about it because it became a police case, so I’ve had to talk about it many

times over the years. I was in university and was salsa dancing then, so I

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still don’t salsa dance. I would say that’s the one thing I haven’t really

overcome. I came back from salsa dance. One of the dancers followed me

into this church that I used to volunteer at and just took advantage of me

there. I remember it being really terrible and I was really traumatized

because one of the worst nurses I ever met in my life said it was only so

traumatic because I was a virgin. I think if you’re raped, it’s traumatic

whether you’re a virgin or not. That was my first experience and then I

was numb for like a year. I at least had my senses about me to get a rape

kit and file a police report. We kind of got the guy. I could only get a

restraining order on him because they couldn’t prove it was

nonconsensual, but they could prove that he broke into the church. If you

break into a place to have sex with someone, I don’t know why that’s so

hard to figure out… but that’s our court systems.

Abby’s account is one of clear violence, where someone used physical force as

the primary mode of coercion. She experienced no ambivalence about her complete lack

of culpability. Still, she experienced immediate questions about the legitimacy of her

victimization, with the nurse responsible for her care suggesting that what happened

wasn’t actually that bad, if only she hadn’t been a virgin. Abby perceived this as an

attempt to minimize her pain, or suggest that in some way she was responsible for the

intensity of her trauma. As if prior sexual experience would have minimized her rapist’s

actions. The psychological consequences were so great that she abandoned a beloved

hobby. She spent a year of her life dealing intensely with the emotional consequences of

this violent attack, and it had a profound effect on her sexuality. The impact of this rape

was clear throughout the rest of her interview. She is now cautious around men and

makes a point to assert herself clearly at the first sign of an unwelcome advance. From

this traumatic introduction to sex she has developed a strategy for engaging with men that

she ultimately defines as empowering. Maryanne (Woman, 27, Partnered, Straight) is

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another interviewee whose story of rape fits neatly into cultural ideas about a “deserving

victim,” someone who is not culpable for their rape:

I was raped when I was 14 and I can’t get over it. I think… the scariest

part was the advances had been made and I said no. I got roofied. I woke

up and didn’t know where I was, but I knew what happened. I was scared.

Maryanne was 14, well under the age of consent, and drugged to the point of

incapacitation. This rape marred her adult experiences with sexuality. Although she did

not feel responsible for her rape, she still experienced shame and secrecy, telling no one

for years and continuing to keep it a secret from her family. She said that she is still in the

process of finding pleasure from penetrative intercourse with the implicit reference to her

trauma not too far from her mind. It was particularly unsettling that she clearly stated her

lack of interest only to have her decision overridden. Her account fit neatly into the

“deserving victim” framework because of her age and her rapist’s use of drugs to

incapacitate her, but not all of the women I talked to would likely have their experiences

interpreted in such a clear-cut way, such as Asia (Woman, 24, Single, Pansexual)

There’s two instances where I was drunk, very drunk like blackout drunk,

and--but during that I woke up and I was like having sex. And one of them

knew I wasn’t for it, you know what I mean? I remember like the other

situation, I woke up you know, having sex and I was like, “is this

like...who is this” you know what I mean?

In these accounts Asia was intoxicated to the point of unconsciousness and when

she woke up she was being raped. She could definitionally not consent to that sex act and

it’s incredibly unlikely that her rapist was unaware of her condition. The second time it

happened she was so disoriented she was unaware of who was having sex with her. This

is unconscionable behavior, but previous research suggests that she, like many of the

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women I interviewed, would have blame attached to her if she went public with her

account (Bell, Kuriloff, & Lottes 1993; Abrams et al. 2003; Frese, Moya & Megías

2004). Her alcohol consumption casts doubt over her victimhood status, which she

herself internalized:

‘Cause the first time it happened was in high school and that was just like

mortifying, I didn’t know who to tell, I tried telling my best friend and she

was like well that’s not rape. And I was like… so then I just kept it to

myself and it later came up in therapy, and I was like, “that is rape.” And

then the second time I was like, how could I let that happen to me again!

It’s like there’s no-- sometimes there’s just like, you can sit there and say

that like, “oh you shouldn’t have drank that much,” but I was in my own

home.

Because her experience fell outside that of “deserving victims” it was not

validated by a close friend and she actually felt embarrassment from the violence that had

been inflicted on her. She also felt a sense of personal responsibility, this was something

she “let happen” to herself. It wasn’t until years later that she attached the label of “rape”

to her experience. Ultimately, she did identify her experience as rape, recognizing that

her level of intoxication precluded her from being able to consent and that her rapist was

in the wrong for abusing that situation. She feels that in principal she should be able to

drink in her own home without risking victimization. Abby and Maryanne used the

terminology of “rape” as well, as did 15 other women in my sample. Twenty-two did not

(nine women had multiple experience of sexual violence and explicitly named one but

not another, See Table 4.1).

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Non-Consensual Sex Not Identified as Rape

Nina (Woman, 27, Single, Straight) described a sexual experience that in some

ways parallels Asia’s, but she never defined it as rape or assault

There was this time when I spent a semester away. Me and this girl were

with these guys who we were kind of sketched out about. I don’t know if I

was roofied or blacked-out but they definitely took advantage of me

sexually, so that wasn’t a great experience.

She was describing a sexual encounter that, again, she was definitionally unable

to consent to, but she did not name it as assault. Instead, she says it “wasn’t a great

experience.” She believes that these men used drugs to sexually violate her, but doesn’t

present this information within an assault framework. Similarly, Emily (Woman, 27,

Partnered, Straight) said,

The first time I've ever had sex, it was with a guy who knew that I had never

had sex before. We were fooling around and everything and he just did it. I

just remember thinking, "Oh my gosh, this is what it is. This is sex," and, "I

do not want this," but I didn't really say anything or do anything. I just

literally am shocked that, "Oh my gosh, this is really happening."…That felt

Table 4.1

Non-Consensual Sexual Encounters

Women

(43) Men (25) Non-Binary (2)

Non-Consensual- Rape 18 2 0

Non-Consensual- Not Rape 22 1 1

Total Reporting Non-Consensual

Experiences 37 (72.1%) 3 (12.0%) 1 (50.0%)

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awful but I always felt like yes, we really messed around and doing stuff,

that's not like I was completely innocent. Obviously, it was pretty easy for

him to just jump on top and penetrate and everything. We were doing other

stuff. It wasn't what I wanted to do. Yes, that didn't feel so good.

Emily is describing a situation that started as consensual but passed the point where

she was comfortable or consenting. Her partner knew she had never had sex, and she had

previously expressed reticence to take that step. She put the blame on herself because she

agreed to other sexual acts, believing that her willingness to “fool around” with him makes

her somewhat accountable for his actions. Despite her partner failing to obtain consent for

penetration she does not frame this as a rape experience, rather one that, “did not feel so

good.” Lauryn (Woman, 27, Single, Straight) is another woman who experienced a non-

consensual sexual encounter, and not only did she not name it as rape she explicitly argued

that it was not.

I was drunk at 18, having no business drinking, but I was drinking. I had a

lot to drink that night. My friend- it was her party- or her brother and his

friends were hanging around like, ‘Oh, young girls getting drunk’, so

that’s how I lost my virginity: at a house party, drunk in the basement. I

definitely wouldn’t have made that decision had I been sober, so that

would probably be the worst experience for me…I wouldn’t call it rape. I

vaguely remember entertaining this guy and I don’t remember much, but I

had friends around who witnessed it and I don’t believe they would lie. If I

was in a situation where I needed help, I believe they would have helped

me, but they told me the day after like ‘you were doing this’ and ‘you

were saying that’ and ‘we came out to get you and you were doing this

and you wanted it’, so it was consensual I’m sure. But I was drunk. I

believe it. I believe them.

Because Lauryn was drunk she definitionally could not consent, but she clearly

does not perceive this incident as rape. She was so intoxicated that she doesn’t remember

the details of the encounter, but she takes her friends’ words for it that she was a

consenting participant. Their accounts suggested that she was being flirtatious and

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expressing sexual interest, and although she has no memory of this she takes their word

for it and does not believe the man she had sex with did anything wrong. The fact that a

man was having sex with her when she was blackout drunk must be fine, she believed if

she was truly in trouble she would have yelled and fought and her friends would have

intervened. For her, the absence of clear physical resistance is sufficient proof of her won

consent. This was a negative experience for her, one that made her feel publicly

humiliated, and she places the responsibility squarely on her own shoulders for drinking

underage when she had “no business drinking.”

On the one hand, it’s not my responsibility to label my respondents’ experiences

for them. They are the experts on their lives and it’s important to recognize their agency

in defining their sexual encounters. On the other hand, it was troubling to me that Nina,

Emily, Lauryn, and 19 other women in my sample were experiencing what was clearly

sex they did not consent to and were not using the language that would indicate they

believed what happened to them was wrong. These weren’t simply cases of “bad sex,”

these were examples of men clearly disrespecting and disregarding the bodily autonomy

of women. Why was this happening? Why was there any ambiguity in defining these

experiences, especially since advocacy groups often suggest that consent is a zero-sum

game, where the absence of clear consent de facto indicates an assault (National Sexual

Violence Resource Center 2012; Project Consent 2016)?

One explanation may be that some women were reluctant to frame themselves as

victims. To be a victim suggests a loss of agency and a trauma that needs to be worked

through. This requires a reframing of personal identity, and it may be a concern that

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being a “victim” could override other aspects of sexual identity such as being

“empowered,” “desiring/desired,” “passionate” etc. It may be easier to frame an

encounter as “bad sex” as opposed to acknowledging an assault and figuring out how to

incorporate that identifier into one’s self-image and sexual history. Payton (Woman, 23,

Partnered, Pansexual) described to me some sexual encounters that she did not want to

happen but went along with and never explicitly said no. I asked her why she didn’t

establish clear boundaries and she said,

Uhm, I don’t think that I’ve ever felt scared, or fearful during a sexual

encounter. Uncomfortable, nauseated, I’ve never felt physically threatened,

and I think a part of that is I’ve never backed down or pushed away so that’s

maybe why I’ve never felt threatened, ‘cause I’ve just kind of let- gone with

the flow instead of putting up any resistance, which is definitely I think part

of why I haven’t put up any resistance, is the fear that things could escalate

to a physical level.

Payton is saying that she would rather deal with ambiguity surrounding her sexual

encounters than assert herself and risk having to acknowledge that this was truly not

consensual. If she doesn’t clearly say no, even if she isn’t saying yes, she can maintain a

sense of control over her sexuality. She expresses an awareness that even if she resists a

sexual act her refusal may be overridden by an aggressive partner, and she would rather

not experience the horror of experiencing an unequivocal rape. Other women may be

ignoring signs that their experiences were indicative of rape or assault, or even avoiding

drawing clear consent boundaries in the moment, because were they to do so it would mean

something more serious. Either way, Payton is having sex, but by not saying no and putting

her partner in a position where he has to decide if he will escalate to using force it isn’t

rape, it’s just “bad sex.”

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All of the women I spoke with were reflecting on past experiences and had the

benefit of time to cognitively explore what happened to them. Some women reported not

seeing their experience as rape or assault initially but coming to an understanding of what

those experiences were over time. Their experiences weren’t congruent with popular

understandings of “deserving victims” and it took time to process and contextualize.

Hannah (Woman, 34, Partnered, Straight) described her challenges understanding that

what happened to her was both rape and not her fault.

I really thought it was my fault and I shouldn't put myself in the situation,

I should not have had all the alcohol drinks he was feeding me, whatever

was in them. I really felt like it was all my fault. I'd say really it only

changed in the past few years. I've been seeing a couple different

therapists when I moved here about just life in general, and my family and

stuff. That came up, and I don't think until I started talking about it in the

context of abuse and power and all of that with a therapist, that I really

realized that that was rape, and that I didn't-- That wasn't my fault. I think

just the culture is changing in colleges and stuff too. When I was in

college, it wasn't that way either. I think that just the national shift around

that conversation has also helped make that awareness be more

comfortable for people. Just knowing that it wasn't my fault and

everything definitely took some time.

Hannah had been drinking, and she thought that justified a man having sex with

her while she was unconscious, especially because her friends saw this as more reflective

of her sexual impropriety than her victimization. The man she was referring to was a

friend of her boyfriend, and the next day her boyfriend berated her for letting that happen

and they subsequently broke up. Both she, and her social network, believed that her

intoxication was to blame for what she would later come to refer to as an assault. It was

only with time and therapy that she began to understand that she did not consent and was

therefore raped. Lucy (Woman, 27, Partnered, Straight) similarly took years to view an

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experience as assault. She was in high school and pressured to perform oral sex, during

which her partner took pictures that he shared with others in the school:

MeToo movement has come out I've been thinking back through my past

and been like I never realized that that was like assault- because it kind of

wasn't because I kind of gave into it, but I was pressured to do something

just so I can get out of the situation.

Although she still sees herself as having some agency in the situation, the national

conversation surrounding sexual assault being driven by the MeToo movement helped

her to understand the coercion involved in getting her to perform oral sex in the first

place, and the explicit violation of consent that occurred when the image was shared. This

suggests that the MeToo movement has made some headway in rewriting cultural-level

sexual scripts. For Lucy and some others in my sample, at the time of their assault they

did not have a reference point to understand that their experiences fit definitions of sexual

violence. What happened to them was so much an extension of cultural-level scripts that

although their consent was absent or questionable it was just seen as “bad,” but normal,

sex. The MeToo movement has opened up space to define these experiences as rape or

assault and to an extent it challenges the value of scripted power differentials between

men and women during heterosexual sex. When the women I spoke with reframed

previously unproblematized past experiences as sexual violence it speaks to the power of

social forces in shaping sexual scripts and understandings of sexuality. Interpretations of

sexual experiences are culturally and historically specific and thus subject to change,

such as with the rise of the MeToo movement. Although definitions of sexual assault are

being expanded to include coercion beyond physical violence, the continuing pervasive

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belief that women are responsible for their own victimization may be a reason why so

many of my respondents described rape without naming it as such.

Women may not be identifying their non-consensual experiences as rape because

they want to avoid the label of “victim” or because they don’t see themselves as

“deserving victims,” but I believe the most compelling explanation for why so many

women did not name their experiences as rape or sexual assault is because it happened in

a context where sexual assault is normalized. As I discussed in the previous chapter, men

and women experience sex using gendered sexual scripts. Men are expected to push for

sex and overcome a partner’s (or their own) initial reluctance and women are expected to

be demure about their desire. This sets the stage for sexual interactions where men push

past the point where a woman is consenting but this isn’t immediately visible as assault

because it’s normal. This behavior is embedded within dominant sexual scripts and both

partners appear to be fulfilling their proscribed role. Morally, there is a clear difference

between enacting this script in a way that allows for appropriately gendered sexual roles

where both the man and the woman are comfortably guided by the familiar duality of

passivity versus agency- and rape, but in practice this is less clearly distinguishable. Is he

acting forcefully because he doesn’t respect his partner and her right to make choices

about her body, or he doing what’s expected of him and would want to hear if he was

crossing boundaries? Is she disengaged because she’s enacting the passivity of traditional

femininity or is she disengaged because she doesn’t want that sexual interaction? This is

not to say that women are responsible for their assaults because a sexual aggressor always

has the obligation of ensuring consent, but it does mean that there is confusion

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surrounding consent built into our sexual scripts that explains both the prevalence of

sexual assault and the difficulty in naming it.

Alcohol

This confusion is compounded when alcohol is added to the mix. Alcohol

simultaneously lowers inhibitions and eliminates the possibility for true consent, but it is

also common in narratives about how sex, both “good” and “bad” is initiated. Hookup

culture, frequently connected to undergraduates but also relevant to the older Millenials I

interviewed, uses alcohol as a social lubricant for initiating sexual interactions (LaBrie et

al. 2014). Indeed nine of my interviewees explicitly referenced alcohol as enhancing a

sexual encounter without prompting. Alcohol can be a part of “good sex;” it can help

initiate a liaison between two desiring partners and it can help people get out of their

heads and into the moment, expressing passion in ways that are otherwise inhibited.

When someone initiates sex it can be a moment of vulnerability and opening oneself up

to the possibility of rejection. Alcohol can be helpful in both overcoming fear and

buffering against pain in the case of rejection. One can always say, “I only tried to have

sex with that person because I was drunk, it isn’t representative of my true feelings and

consequently this rejection isn’t as meaningful.” Once sex is happening, alcohol can help

reduce anxiety and bring people out of their head and into the moment, less concerned

with thinking and more concerned with feeling.

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Alcohol can also be a tool of rape or sexual assault, either intentionally or

unintentionally. The disorientation created by alcohol consumption both makes it harder

to read another person’s body language and makes it more difficult to articulate

resistance to unwanted sexual advances. Because alcohol lowers inhibitions pushing for

sex without concern for the other person’s feelings becomes easier. Alcohol consumption

can also be a component of sexual scripts that signals sex is eminent, even if both

participants are not enthusiastic. In my sample, 15 women cited alcohol as a factor in

their non-consensual encounters, and ten of those did not identify their experiences as

rape or sexual assault. I believe this is because the dominant sexual script provides two

explanations for non-consensual sex that occurs while intoxicated. It could be rape, it

could be sexual assault, or it could just be “bad sex,” a hookup gone wrong. You’re

playing your role, going through the motions of what happens between heterosexual

people in a party situation, and that time it didn’t work out. When a woman is raped

while intoxicated there’s an available framework to explain that experience that doesn’t

involve negotiating trauma, it’s just a hookup gone wrong. This framework may be

particularly appealing if the woman was intoxicated and accesses narratives about truly

“deserving victims” to take some or all of the blame on herself for getting drunk in the

first place. Unfortunately, the extent to which the gendered aggression/passivity binary is

embedded in gendered sexual scripts makes assault frequent while also obscuring it as a

social problem, especially in the context of alcohol consumption. Discussions

surrounding consent often rightfully highlight the ways that alcohol consumption can

undermine or eliminate the possibility of consent. However, the contributions to pleasure

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that alcohol can make means that encouraging people to only have sex when they’re

sober is unrealistic. A more helpful approach would highlight the positive contributions

that alcohol consumption can make to sexual pleasure while also acknowledging the

ways that it complicates consent and can serve to exacerbate pre-existing gendered power

differentials.

The more I spoke with women about their sexual experiences the more I came to

understand the extent to which rape and sexual assault are a problem and also the extent

to which there can be confusion surrounding consent. Consent seems like an easy

concept; a verbal yes is a green light and anything less is insufficient. However, I had

women like Caitlin (Woman, 30, Single, Straight) saying,

I was arguably too drunk to consent, but I think we both were, so I don’t

really place blame as much as I regret that situation. That was just not

good for either of us. I don’t remember if we used a condom or not.

There’s a lot of questions there. I definitely regret that.

Caitlin is describing a relatively common situation where both parties were

intoxicated and the sex wasn’t desired on her end. Unfortunately we have no way of

knowing how her partner was feeling, although she states that she doesn’t think he

particularly enjoyed it either. Both of them were intoxicated, and both of them were

insensitive to the ways that alcohol consumption can impact consent. This is a situation

where the sex wasn’t clearly consensual, but it wasn’t clearly rape either. Men enter

heterosexual sex with more culturally granted agency and power, a privilege that

arguably comes with the obligation to be more attentive to consent. But I think it would

be somewhat unfair to place the blame for this regretful encounter squarely on the

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shoulders of the male participant, particularly when Caitlin explicitly doesn’t. So much of

the #MeToo movement talks about consent as if it’s simple, always readily apparent or

not. This framework makes sense if you’re trying to condemn individual rapists, but if we

want to address the culture that enables frequent rape and sexual assault we need to

acknowledge that consent is not always clear cut. Several of the women I talked to said

that they did not say no, and that’s why they don’t see their experience as one of assault.

Regardless, their feelings suggest that their aggressor leveraged gendered power to push

an unwanted sexual interaction. This is not acceptable behavior, but it’s also true that the

men weren’t given the opportunity to hear explicitly that their partner did not want that

interaction. Maybe they would have stopped. Maybe not. The bottom line is that placing

blame on individual aggressors is missing the bigger picture. These exchanges are

ambiguous because they are both terrible and embedded in our dominant sexual scripts,

our collective understanding of what is normal sex. People rely on dominant sexual

scripts to help guide sexual interactions. When you know what behavior is expected of

you it takes some of the pressure off in a vulnerable situation. Women and men have

been assigned compatible binary roles of passive and aggressive which often works.

When both parties desire a sexual encounter playing these roles helps it go off smoothly

without any tension over who should be guiding the interaction. This allows for sex to

feel smooth and natural. These gendered sexual scripts also open up a door to assault and

allow rape to be confused for a regular, socially ordained sexual encounter.

I’ve spent most of this chapter talking about women because I had far more

women talking about rape and sexual assault than men, but the three examples of sexual

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violence provided by men in my sample also highlight the way that our dominant sexual

script normalizes women’s sexual assault and in some context’s men’s. I had far too few

men addressing sexual violence to make any generalizable claims, but their experiences

are worth addressing as counterpoints to the narratives provided by women. The first man

I’m going to talk about is Jacob (Man, 36, Partnered, Straight) who experienced some

confusion about how to understand his experience.

There was one time with the bad [girlfriend] where we had sex and she

didn’t feel like it was enough and she wanted to have sex again. I told her

I need time. She said that she needed sex now. I said no and she started to

go down on me. Amazingly she got me hard and in my mind I didn’t want

to do it. But then I felt guilty that she didn’t get off. She got on top of me

and we had sex. She got off, rolled off, and it was fucking awful. I’ve

talked to my friend and [current girlfriend] about this, too. It felt like rape.

It felt like I’ve never felt so ashamed after sex or so dirty. I can still feel it

on my body. I get this adrenaline response.

Jacob’s experience is noteworthy because in some ways it violates the dominant

sexual script. His female partner took on the role of sexual aggressor and flipped the

script regarding who is the active and who is the passive partner. However, despite this

encounter being undesired, he did not identify it as rape. He comes very close, “it felt like

rape,” but he did not explicitly state that it was rape. This ambiguity makes sense in the

context of the expectation that men always be sexually available. As I discussed in the

previous chapter, the cultural-level sexual script suggests that men always want sex, and

within this framework how can a man be raped, especially in a relationship where other

sexual encounters were clearly desired- including one immediately prior to this incident?

Jacob knew that this experience made him feel “ashamed” and “dirty,” but he struggled

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to name why for reasons similar to the women who did not name their experiences: it was

both a violation and in accordance with gendered sexual expectations.

For the other two men that brought up sexual violence what stood out to me was

how quickly they recognized that they had been violated and sought help. This is in stark

contrast to the 22 women that did not explicitly identify their non-consensual sexual

encounters as rape, and the 15 women who identified their experiences as rape or sexual

assault but did not seek any institutional assistance. Unlike Jacob, their experiences took

place outside of the context of a relationship and their assailants used clear physical force

against them. Mark (Man, 35, Partnered, Gay) describes a date he went on early in his

college career:

It was with an older gentleman. There wasn’t a plan to have sex. It was

messing around and he essentially… I was hard and he was hard. I was 18.

He pinned my arms down and rode my cock. It wasn’t very consensual in

that sense, but I’ve done what I needed to with that. I said no and tried to

push him off. I was shocked and got my clothes and left. I remember that I

went back to my RA and kind of told them about it and they told me to

take an HIV test. It was 7 day waiting period. I did that and also ordered

an at home test. The science wasn’t there yet. I was uneducated around it.

The at home test came back positive. There was this huge panic. There

was a big scare there. I feel like it was long time before I tried to engage in

sex. I talked to a counselor and understood what happened.

Mark was raped on his date, and unlike many women I spoke to he didn’t waffle

in his understanding that what happened to him was unacceptable. He immediately

recognized that he needed to seek support both medically and psychologically, initially

speaking with his dorm room’s resident advisor and receiving HIV testing, and pursuing

counseling in the long-term. Although he experienced psychological consequences for his

victimization, those were not compounded by confusion or feelings of guilt. He did not

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feel any personal responsibility for his rape. He did not feel that consenting to a date or to

“messing around” with his rapist made him responsible, nor should he. David (Man, 36,

Partnered, Straight) identified an assault with a similar level of confidence:

I had one experience of sexual battery that someone did to me where they

licked my face and twisted my nipple in the lobby of a hotel. I did not

consent to that and had them removed from the conference.

David was at a social conference related to polyamory when an unfamiliar woman

approached him and violated his body. Like Mark, he instantly recognized this was

wrong, took steps to mitigate the harm done, and received the support needed from those

around him. When women discussed sexual violence there was often ambiguity about the

extent to which it was unacceptable or even the sole responsibility of the perpetrator. In

contrast, it’s clear that both David and Mark responded to sexual violence in ways that

demonstrate knowledge that they were victimized and that what happened to them is not

normal or acceptable.

Men’s experiences with sexual violence are certainly more diverse than what I

was able to capture in this study, but I included these examples because they highlight the

ways that cultural-level sexual scripts shape reactions to rape and sexual assault. For

women, sexual violence and coercion is so consistent with dominant sexual scripts that it

isn’t always readily perceived as a victimization experience. This is in contrast with the

experiences of Mark and David where their experience was so far removed from the level

of agency that they anticipate having in sexual encounters that it was easy to name and

condemn. For Jacob, his experience was murky in part because although his girlfriend

was pursuing sex in an aggressive way outside of the dominant sexual script for women,

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he was also aware of pressures for men to be constantly pursuing and available for sex.

Overall, cultural-level sexual scripts appear to play a significant role in how experiences

of rape and sexual assault are understood on the individual level.

Conclusion

My findings regarding the importance of physical pleasure, connection, and

novelty in constructing ideas of “good” sex have important implications for how people

can improve the quality of their sexual interactions and reap the physical health, mental

health, and relationship health benefits of sexual satisfaction. This was initially what I set

out to study and understand, but through that process addressing sexual violence,

particularly against women, emerged as an essential focus. The sheer number of women

that reported non-consensual sex indicates that this is not just a case of a few women

having bad luck but rather a widespread pattern of violence and violation enabled by our

cultural-level sexual scripts. So many women are being assaulted, and struggling to

identify their experiences as assault or rape, because our sexual scripts provide men and

women with oppositional roles. Men are expected to be active, initiating sex and steering

sexual interactions, while women are expected to be passive and follow the man’s lead.

This creates ambiguity surrounding consent, where it can be challenging to determine if

resistance is sincere or an expression of femininity; an attempt to obscure desire and

appear virtuous. In a casual encounter this is particularly salient, as this is a moment

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where women stand to be judged the most harshly for their willingness to engage in sex

outside of the context of a committed relationship (Muehlenhard and McCoy 1991).

Aziz Ansari’s case, and the public reaction to it, perfectly highlights the way that

sexual assault is embedded in our cultural-level scripts. By aggressively pursuing sex

from an intoxicated woman he was fulfilling his masculine role in the script. There was

so much debate about whether or not he raped Grace because that interaction fits within

our framework for what sex looks like. It does not fall neatly into conceptions of rape that

necessitate brute force. He was supposed to push for sex, she was supposed to offer some

nominal resistance, and that’s exactly what happened. In this case her resistance was

coming from a sincere reluctance to have sex with him, but what is his obligation to

interrogate her reluctance when it’s expected as a part of her scripted dialogue? I would

argue that being the sexual initiator does come with the responsibility of obtaining direct

and enthusiastic consent, but quibbling online over whether or not Aziz Ansari is a rapist

completely misses the point. Our focus on identifying individual rapists obscures the

need for a larger dialogue about the ways cultural-level sexual scripts attribute agency to

men and passivity to women and how this inherently places women in a vulnerable

position during sex. If we’re interested in reducing rates of rape and sexual assault and

not simply virtue-signally by condemning individual men we need to change the way that

we, on a cultural level, understand women’s and men’s roles in sexual encounters. We

need to expect women to take an active and consent-oriented role in initiating sex. We

need to change cultural-level scripts so that resistance to sex is a moment where explicit

dialogue about consent is a part of those scripts, even if pausing to have a conversation

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breaks up the flow of sex. We need to stop thinking that addressing the behavior of

individual men is a substitute for acknowledging the cultural context that makes sexual

violence against women so commonplace and sometimes ambiguous. We don’t need to

change Ansari, we need to change the script.

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Works Cited

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“Perceptions of Stranger and Acquaintance Rape: The Role of Benevolent and

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Social Psychology 84(1): 111-125.

Bell, Susan T., Peter J. Kurlioff, and Ilsa Lottes. 1994. “Understanding Attributions of

Blame in Stranger Rape and Date Rape Situations: An Examination of Gender,

Race, Identification, and Students’ Social Perceptions of Rape Victims.” Journal

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Fleming, Annaliese Lynn. 1999. “Louisiana’s Newest Capital Crime: The Death Penalty

for Child Rape.” The Journal of Criminal Law & Criminology 89(2): 717-750.

Frese, Bettina, Miguel Moya, and Jesús Megías. 2004. “Social Perceptions of Rape: How

Rape Myth Acceptance Modulates the Influence of Situational Factors.” Journal

of Interpersonal Violence 19(2): 143-161.

LaBrie, Joseph W., Justin F. Hummer, Tehniat M. Ghaidarov, Andrew Lac, and Shannon

R. Kenny. 2014. “Hooking Up in the College Context: The Event-Level Effects of

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Alcohol Use and Partner Familiarity on Hookup Behaviors and Contentment.”

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Muehlenhard, Charlene L. and Marcia L. McCoy. 1991. “Double Standard/Double Bind:

The Sexual Double Standard and Women’s Communication About Sex.”

Psychology of Women Quarterly 15: 447-461.

National Sexual Violence Resource Center. 2012. “It’s Time… To Talk About Consent.”

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Phillips, Lynn. 2000. Flirting With Denger: Young Women’s Reflections on Sexuality and

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simple

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Chapter 5. Conclusion

When I first started my research I honestly thought that gender was going to factor in

more strongly in how participants understood “good” sex. I expected that men and

women would have variation in what they’re trying to get out of sex in ways that were

sometimes incompatible. I was pleasantly surprised to find a significant amount of

consistency in how people understood sexual quality regardless of gender. Novelty (in

the right proportions), emotional connection, and physical pleasure all emerged as

consistently important factors in describing sexual satisfaction. Women were slightly less

likely to directly address physical pleasure, which is unsurprising given that women are

socialized to be less open about sexual desire, but it was still a component of sex

addressed and prioritized by many women I talked to. When men and women have sex it

does not appear that they have to bridge a substantial gap between expectations for both

partners to be satisfied.

I also anticipated relationship status to be a more important factor than it turned

out to be. It seems reasonable that people in relationships may frame sex differently and

see it as a tool to improve the health of the relationship as a whole. I thought that

partnered respondents may emphasize emotional connection more, while single

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respondents may be more

interested in physical pleasure.

This does not appear to be the

case (see Table 5.1), but I still

believe that the way emotional

connection is experienced varies depending on relationship status. Several respondents

indicated that it was possible to be emotionally open and engaged with a casual partner,

even if that connection was contained within a discrete sexual interaction and did not

translate to overall emotional connection as it may if the sexual actors are in a

relationship.

Relationship status was most salient when participants recounted experiences of

sexual novelty being perceived positively. Many people enjoyed moments where sexual

scripts were altered and something new happened, particularly new sexual locations and

behaviors, but these deviations tended to occur while the respondent was in a

relationship. Sexual scripts can lead to sex feeling routine and consequently unexciting,

but violating those scripts comes with the risk of rejection. Scripts help establish what a

partner will respond positively to, and breaking the script requires entering unchartered

territory where the sex may be exciting and memorable or conversely unpleasant,

awkward, or potentially relationship damaging. I believe most participants who had

enjoyed novel experiences did so in the context of a relationship for two reasons. First,

the longer two people are in a sexual relationship the more deeply entrenched their

Table 5.1 Relationship Status

Single (27) Partnered(42)

Emotional Connection

22 (81.5%) 37 (88.1%)

Physical Pleasure 14 (51.9%) 20 (47.6%)

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interpersonal-level scripts become which over time makes sex predictable and less

stimulating, making a script interruption desirable. Second, the risk involved in trying

something new can be mitigated by a solid foundation of trust between partners. It’s safer

to express deviant desires to someone who has shown over time to be a loyal and

supportive partner.

Although the limited importance of relationship status was unexpected, my largest

surprise was the prevalence of rape and sexual assault among my female respondents. I

set out to study sexual pleasure and was consequently anticipating mostly light-hearted

conversations about positively experienced sexual encounters. By the time I had

interviewed about ten women I knew that when I asked, “what sexual experience has

been your worst,” I should prepare myself for a description of something truly terrible. I

tried to be supportive and respectful when sexual violence came up, making clear that

respondents could say as much or as little about it as they wanted to. Several women said

that when they committed to the interview they expected this to come up as it has had

such a significant impact on their sexuality. These were also moments when my

responsibility as a researcher sometimes became unclear. There were a few moments

when women were blaming themselves for their assaults and I felt an obligation to put

objectivity to the side and reassure them that what happened wasn’t their fault. The

incredibly high number of women that reported non-consensual sexual experiences, even

if they didn’t explicitly name them as such, is not due to the actions of a few bad men but

rather the logical conclusion of power differentials between men and women embedded

in cultural-level sexual scripts.

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Sexual scripts serve an important function. By establishing the who, what, where,

when, and why of sex they take a lot of the guesswork out of sexual encounters and

provide sexual actors with a frame of reference for what is expected of them. For many

people sex can be a moment of vulnerability, and scripts help reduce awkward fumbling

and allow the interaction to flow smoothly. Scripts outline a progression of sex that is not

inherently natural but so culturally engrained it can feel like it is. I also found evidence

that there are paradoxically scripts for how to break the dominant script. When people

had sex in new locations or with new behaviors there was a notable amount of

consistency across cases. It appears that there are subcultural-level scripts that provide

reference points for what deviant sex looks like. This is important, because as 19 people

in my sample reported an unwelcome script violation can be unpleasant. Subcultural-

level scripts about appropriate ways to alter the “where” and “what” components of the

script increase the chances that both partners will be receptive.

Our dominant sexual script functions to make sex run smoother, but this can come

at a cost. Previous research has illuminated the ways that power is imbalanced in cultural-

level sexual scripts (Oliver and Hyde 1993; Roberts et al. 1995; Jackson and Scott 2002;

Zubriggen and Yost 2004; Carpenter 2010; Elmersteig et al. 2012), and many of my

respondents were acutely aware of this as well. Men are expected to play the role of

sexual aggressor, initiating sex and guiding the interaction, while women are expected to

take a submissive role. This isn’t inherently a bad thing, there’s comfort in knowing

what’s expected of you and gender is an easy demarcation use when dividing sexual

labor. The problem with these gendered roles in the sexual script is that they inherently

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place men in a position of power and do not provide for organic opportunities for women

to end a sexual interaction when it becomes unwanted. Men are supposed to push for sex,

making it difficult to problematize sexually aggressive behaviors that contribute to sexual

violence. Women are supposed to be passive and follow the man’s lead, meaning that if

she asserts herself she is violating the sexual script. This puts pressure on both men to try

to overcome women’s resistance and women to go along with the man’s wishes, an issue

compounded by sexual scripts that often include women offering nominal resistance to

maintain an image of sexual purity.

If we want to reduce sexual assault, and I sincerely want to believe that most

people do, we need to change the way we frame this social problem. To get at the root

causes of why sexual violence is so pervasive we need to push for responses to rape and

sexual assault that don’t just focus on the individual victim and perpetrator. The

explanations for why men rape women are deeper than just, “he’s a bad person,” their

actions are supported by cultural-level sexual scripts. Instead of quibbling over whether

or not one individual is a rapist we need to zoom out and look at the bigger picture of

how scripted gender roles attribute power to men and blur the line between normative

levels of sexual aggression and rape. The cultural-level sexual script is deeply ingrained

in our understanding of how to have sex, and changing it is no easy task. I believe there

are several actions we as a society can take to begin that work including changing

components of sexual socialization and re-examining our institutional response to sexual

violence.

123

The first step to changing the cultural-level sexual script is to educate the public

about gender inequalities in sexual scripts and provide an accessible alternative vision.

Gendered sexual roles are ubiquitous in movies, television, pornography, and

interpersonal sexual interactions but they are rarely named or problematized. This

phenomenon and its social costs should be brought to the forefront of discussions about

sex, and we already have a vehicle through which to do that. If we harnessed sex

education within secondary schools to teach not just about the biological dynamics of

procreation and pregnancy/STI prevention but also social elements of sex we could

encourage teens and young adults to initiate their sexual career with a greater awareness

of their obligations towards others. Right now, at best, we’re arming teenagers with the

most basic information about how to reduce the physical harms of sex to the exclusion of

emotional harms (Kirby 2008). A more effective sex education would teach young people

how men and women are expected to behave during sex, show them through relevant

examples how this can contribute to rape and sexual assault, and provide a vision for sex

where one partner doesn’t have to be clearly dominant- or at minimum establish an

obligation for the more assertive partner to actively check in with their partner and listen

to their feelings. Creating a sex education curriculum that highlights the social aspects of

sex and influences teenagers prior to when they first have it may prove to be an easier

task than changing the patterns of adults who are already sexually active.

Most of the participants in my research reported having some form of sex

education in elementary through high school. Only seven out of 70 participants said they

had no kind of formal sex education at all, but for the other 63 their feelings about it were

124

often lukewarm. Many of them didn’t remember much about it at all, and 42 said that

they felt it was inadequate to prepare them for having sex. Only 7 said that they thought

they received a quality sex education, and three of those were in countries other than the

United States. I didn’t directly ask how anyone would have improved on their experience,

but five of my interviewees volunteered that they wished their curriculum had focused

directly on the social aspects of sex. We know that sex is so much more than a purely

physical experience, and it’s logical that truly comprehensive sex education would

include an intensive social element. We’re currently missing out on a chance to educate

young people about the gender dynamics within sex and forcing them to learn from

media and personal experience without the benefit of direct guidance from a

knowledgeable adult who could suggest script alterations that improve agency for both

partners. This is a moment where we could define and prioritize consent for young people

and teach that both (or all) partners need to have an equal voice in initiating or stopping

sexual encounters.

This issue is compounded by the representations of men’s and women’s roles in

mainstream pornography. When young people aren’t educated about sex by an informed

and thoughtful source they look elsewhere to understand what is supposed to happen

during sex. This is especially important for Millenials and subsequent generations, who

came into adulthood with access to the internet and consequently easy access to

pornography. All of the people I interviewed with the exception of one admitted to

having seen pornography, and 70.0% had been exposed to it within the last month.

Pornography, as the one place where people can consistently see other people having sex,

125

has incredible potential to influence cultural-level sexual scripts (Brown and L’Engle

2009; Braithwaite et al. 2015). The obvious answer for how to alter scripts is to change

the way men and women are presented in pornography, but this is easier said than done.

Pornography can be produced with varying degrees of professionalism, from production

companies down to amateurs in their own home but they’re all motivated by what is

going to sell the most or garner the most views. Obviously, what they’re doing right now

is working for them and it’s unlikely that we’ll witness a sea change without some kind

of direct pressure.

One way to approach this is to advocate for industry leaders to re-evaluate the

gendered roles they have performers enact in the hopes that by framing their production

company as one with concerns for social justice they’ll garner social capital and increase

consumers. As sales of porn from established studios falls with an increasing influx of

free internet pornography (Wilkinson 2017) this may be a re-branding opportunity.

Another way would be to incorporate pornography literacy into sex education classes and

teach teenagers that this is a form of media to consume critically. People often think of

porn consumption as deeply private and connected to innate desires and thus beyond

criticism. By educating people that pornography is reflective of social forces and subject

to change it’s possible that over time we could see more people rejecting porn that

positions men and women in positions of clearly unequal power and an increasing

demand for pornography that follows a different script. As the market becomes more

heterogenous and people are exposed to different images of how men and woman can

126

have sex cultural-level scripts would be disrupted and gendered power dynamics

challenged.

Another strategy for altering cultural-level scripts entails re-evaluating the way

we address rape and sexual assault accusations and prosecution in certain cases. Our

current strategies are largely punitive and focused around interpreting available evidence

and determining appropriate consequences (Koss and Achilles 2008; Naylor 2010; Marsh

and Wager 2015). For some cases this is necessary and effective, but there are also issues

with this approach. First, rape convictions are rare, and few victims find satisfaction in

the criminal justice system (2008; 2010; 2015). Second, this individual-level focus

challenges the actions of one person but fails to question the cultural context that enables

sexual violence to happen so frequently. Restorative justice has been offered by some

scholars as a supplement or an alternative to traditional criminal justice intervention that

may address these inadequacies. Restorative justice is a criminal justice practice where

the needs of the victim are placed at the center of the process and the goal is to repair to

the extent possible the harm done (Koss and Achilles 2008; Naylor 2010; Marsh and

Wager 2015). Restorative justice can take several forms, the one most applicable to these

cases would involve the victim and the offender sitting down with a trained mediator and

discussing the crime and the emotions behind it for both people. This would be an

opportunity to dialogue about the way sexually aggressive behavior is both normalized

and unacceptable, bringing to light some of the complexities behind consent when men

are encouraged to push for sex and women are encouraged to initially offer resistance. It

also increases the chances of rapists experiencing some type of consequence for their

127

actions, even if it’s lighter than a sentence obtained the traditional way (Koss and

Achilles 2008; Naylor 2010; Marsh and Wager 2015). Conversely, one limitation to this

approach is that the victim and community may feel like justice was not effectively

served. This is also an approach that can only be successful if both participants believe in

the process and are willing to engage with each other and treat the other’s feelings with

respect and care (2008; 2010; 2015). A restorative justice approach may be most relevant

for cases where the victim and offender have a prior relationship It’s not a one-size fits all

approach, but it may help make headway in how we understand the negative impacts of

cultural-level scripts, motivating change.

Future research is also needed on this topic, particularly research that focuses on

men. As a woman I believe other women were more comfortable discussing their

experiences with non-consensual sex than men were. Men are often more open to

discussing feelings with female researchers but are generally unwilling to talk about

sexual violence (Roberts and Indermaur 2008). If a man conducted research about the

coercive strategies men use to obtain sex they would likely obtain richer information

about the aggressor side of this dynamic. In terms of understanding what makes sex

“good” there are other avenues that still need to be explored. The lack of diversity in my

sample necessitates research that focuses on the impacts of race, religion, and sexual

orientation on understandings of sexual pleasure. Because my sample was largely white,

a-religious, and reporting heterosexual interactions I was unable to assess the influence

that these factors may have had.

128

My results indicate that heterosexual sex is a place where gender inequality is

perpetuated. Women and men enter sex with binary roles that ascribe more power to men.

This reinforces the social subordination of women to men despite many strides that have

been made towards gender equality. Men having consistent power over women during

sex reinforces their dominant social status and undermines the agency of women. In its

most extreme manifestation this results in women disproportionately experiencing sexual

violence (Smith et al. 2015), potentially without explicit intent on behalf of the man. For

women to achieve true social equality we have to turn our focus to cultural-level sexual

scripts and acknowledge, and then change, the ways that men and women are granted

different power and agency during sex.

As it stands now, there is tension in our dominant cultural-level scripts

surrounding the ascribed roles of women and men. There may be resistance to change

because scripts that ascribe agency to men and passivity to women are often functional.

People like to know what’s expected of them and these gendered roles are highly visible

and accessible. Following gendered expectations can make heterosexual sex feel

comfortable, natural, and ultimately “good.” Re-writing sexual scripts may entail, to an

extent, re-writing pathways to sexual pleasure. Regardless, this is a valuable goal because

when the dominant script disfunctions and men pursue sex where interest is not

reciprocated the consequences can be devastating on the individual level and ultimately

reinforce the subjugation of women.

Ultimately, I believe addressing this issue will lead to greater satisfaction for

everyone, regardless of gender. Emotional connection was valued by (in of my sample,

129

and the roles that women and men are encouraged to take during sex can be detrimental

to this goal. How can emotional connection be achieved if one partner is not fully

engaged but doesn’t feel empowered to voice their dissent? Men want to feel connected

and want to be engaged, but social pressures to be the sexual initiator and overcome their

partner’s resistance can undermine this goal. Embedding mutual agency into the cultural-

level sexual script isn’t a woman’s issue, it’s a social necessity that stands to benefit

everyone.

130

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Paranoid Readings to Post-Capitalist Futures.” Sexualities 20(8): 981-998.

Zurbriggen, Eileen L. and Megan R. Yost. 2004. “Power, Desire, and Pleasure in Sexual

Fantasies.” Journal of Sex Research 41(3): 288-300.

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Appendix A. Methodology

It took me a long time to come into this project. I focused my studies on sexuality

in college, but when I arrived at Ohio State I decided to go in a different direction. My

Master’s thesis was about the welfare system, and although I enjoyed completing that

research I was not invigorated by the prospect of expanding on that research in my

dissertation. Over the course of many months, culminating in a sudden and public

existential crisis at a graduate student round table with Dr. Laura Carpenter, I realized

that there was a difference between thinking something is politically important and

finding it academically interesting. To complete a research project of this scale it’s

necessary to be completely absorbed in the subject. After I realized that my interests truly

lied within sexuality the rest of the project came together relatively quickly, and I decided

to focus on sexual satisfaction and what makes sex “good.”

Choosing the Sample

When I started thinking about who I wanted to interview I knew that gender was

going to be a factor in my analysis. Gender has been well established as a source of

differing sexual socialization and experiences and it would be remiss to not collect data in

a way that would allow for it to be addressed seriously. I imagined a study where I

stratified my sample based on gender and one other factor, but I was uncertain what the

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most relevant other demographic variable would be. I played around with the idea of

focusing on religion, as religious socialization is significant in shaping sexual

expectations, but I ultimately decided to use relationship status as the other identifier

around which I organized my data collection. Part of this was due to issues of access,

considering that my personal and professional networks are largely secular I was

concerned that I would not be able to recruit a significant number of religious people.

Additionally, I believed that relationship status would change the way participants

evaluated sexual quality, with those in romantic relationships seeing sex as a vehicle for

emotional connection more than single people, who may prioritize personal physical

pleasure. This assumption did not play out within my data, but I still believe that this was

a reasonable way to approach the study. My goal was to interview 20 single women, 20

single men, 20 partnered women, and 20 partnered men. I fell short of that goal, but was

able to speak with 70 people, enough to form a meaningful analysis.

Age was also a significant factor in selecting my sample parameters. There has

been ample research conducted with undergraduates regarding sexuality and I wanted to

contribute to the literature by focusing on a different stage of life. At the same time, there

is a fair amount of sex research focusing on married people that tends to skew older. I

found less research about post-college aged adults despite this being an interesting an

important demographic. This group would best be described as post-college aged

Millenials, born between 1980 and 1994. This group is unique because while they may be

in committed partnerships they are also likely to be single and still in the process of self-

actualizing before settling down with a mate. If they didn’t grow up with access to the

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internet they came into adulthood with it, and the internet has huge potential as a sexual

socializing agent, either through information dissemination or pornography. As people

(especially secular people) increasingly postpone marriage and marriage and sex become

increasingly decoupled this age group is in the process of making new meaning out of

both relationships and sex and is thus worthy of academic attention.

Site Selection

I interviewed people primarily in Columbus, Ohio for reasons of convenience. As

a graduate student and long-term resident of Columbus I have network connections here

that helped me find participants. Practically, I was unable to travel extensively and to do

in-person interviews I needed to focus on finding interviewees within a reasonable

distance of my home base. However, I also opened up phone or video conference

interviews in recognition that some people may be more comfortable speaking about their

personal sexual history while physically removed from me, the interviewer. Speaking

over the phone is conducive to creating a feeling of anonymity and may have encouraged

people to respond that would have otherwise been reluctant. However, it’s worth noting

that although I asked everyone if they would prefer to meet in person (if possible) or be

interviewed over the phone every person who was located in Columbus opted to do an in-

person interview. Conducting phone and video interviews also made it possible for me to

interview people across the country, and three women in Canada. Overall, 43 of my

participants were located in Columbus, and 27 were located in other areas.

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Personally, I was the most comfortable during in-person interviews. I found it

hugely beneficial to be able to see respondents’ body language and gauge their level of

comfort. It was also easier to be fully engaged and immersed in the interview. The best

data came when respondents felt fully comfortable and validated to an extent, and it was

easier to utilize my interpersonal skills and make that happen when meeting face-to-face.

Although I tried to bring the same energy level to my phone interviews it was easier for

my mind to wander and start thinking more about the future direction of the interview

than what my interviewee was saying in that moment. I had five remotely located

respondents request a video interview, which came with its own unique set of problems.

Internet connectivity was an issue with all of these interviews, and there were moments

when the image and audio would stall or disconnect completely. This interrupted the flow

of the interviews, and sometimes required asking respondents to repeat details that they

may have been uncomfortable sharing in the first place. With one of these five

interviewees the problems were so severe we ultimately stopped the video conference and

completed the rest of the interview over instant messenger. However, for the other four

the benefit of being able to make eye contact and mutually see who we were talking to

did seem to facilitate open dialogue and mitigate the interpersonal costs that came with

doing remote interviews over the phone. Were it not for the frequent technological

difficulties I would have preferred to conduct more remote interviews this way.

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Gaining Access to Respondents

The personal nature of my interview questions necessitated a high level of trust

between myself and the interviewee. I was expecting that potential participants may fear

confidentiality breaches, judgement, or just a feeling of interpersonal intrusion. I knew

from the start of this project that I would be relying heavily on a snowball sampling

strategy. Snowball sampling starts with one, or a few, initial respondents who then refer

others to the study. Those new respondents refer others and ideally the sample grows

exponentially. Having lived in Columbus for my entire life I have the benefit of strong

social networks with many people who can vouch for my trustworthiness. I decided to

take advantage of this and ask friends and colleagues to find my initial respondents. I

asked virtually everyone I knew to help me find respondents either by asking them

personally or sharing my information with other groups they are involved in. The largest

disadvantage to this strategy is that I am surrounded by people who are similar to me in

race, religion, education level, political orientation, and class background, and I knew

that they were likely to refer me to more demographically similar people. Consequently, I

also wanted to have an interview chain that was removed from my social network to

interject more diversity. I placed ads on Craigslist under the “Volunteer” section in the

hopes of recruiting people I am more socially removed from. Unfortunately, this proved

fruitless, as I only received one response. This person asked for more details and stopped

communicating when I explained the project and interview process. It turns out that

strangers were not excited about the prospect of discussing intimate details of their sex

life with a stranger for no compensation. My entire sample is built from snowball

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referrals starting in my own network, the greatest weakness this brings is in the overall

lack of diversity (See Table 6.1 for condensed demographic information, and Appendix B

for demographic information on every respondent). The largest benefit from this strategy

is the trust that comes from being vouched for by someone the interviewee knows

personally.

Table A.1

Sample Demographics

Women Men Nonbinary Total

Single 16 10 1 27

Partnered 27 13 1 41

Relationship Anarchist 0 2 0 2

Polyamorous 7 3 1 11

Race-White 37 20 2 59

Race-Black 1 2 0 3

Race-Latino/a 1 2 0 3

Race-Biracial 0 1 0 3

Straight 26 20 0 46

Gay/Lesbian 0 3 0 3

Bisexual/Pansexual/Queer 16 2 1 19

Education- High School 3 1 0 4

Education- Some College 9 4 0 13

Education- Associate's 2 0 0 2

Education- Bachelor's 20 12 2 24

Education- Master's + 9 8 0 17

Religion- Christian 6 3 0 9

Religion-Agnostic/Atheist/None 23 13 1 37

Religion- Other 5 0 1 6

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Recruitment Problems

I started interviews in June of 2017 and recruitment went well for a few months.

By October my referrals chains had dried up and I had not even conducted half of the

interviews I was trying to complete. I needed to access a large pool of potential

respondents and decided to use social media as a recruitment platform. I amended my

Institutional Review Board (IRB) protocol and received approval to post a recruitment

message as my Facebook status. This proved to be an incredibly successful strategy,

almost to the point of being overwhelming. I had some people respond to me directly,

people that I knew loosely from high school or college and had still maintained as a

Facebook friend with no actual personal contact. I also had Facebook friends share my

post so that their friends, who I did not know at all, could see and respond to my request.

For the first month after posting this I was inundated with interview requests, at times

scheduling three or four a day. After the initial post slowed down I made one more

additional post requesting more men specifically to help balance out my sample.

Although I can’t know for sure, I think this may have been so effective because potential

interviewees could scope me out to an extent before committing to an interview. They

were able to view my profile, confirm that I looked like a relatively normal person, and

decide that I looked non-threatening enough to talk to. This is speculation of course, but

regardless of the reason social media recruitment proved to be a very useful strategy.

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Interview Process

I started all my interviews by getting a general overview of my participants’ lives.

I first asked about what they did on a day-to-day basis and what they spent a lot of time

doing or thinking about. This served two purposes. First, it allowed me to begin to get a

picture of who they are as a person, but it also allowed for us to develop rapport with

low-pressure relatively impersonal questions. I expected some people to be apprehensive

about opening up regarding their sexuality to a stranger, and “what does an average day

for you look like?” is a softball question that allows both of us to settle in and get used to

the flow of the interview. This was also the point when I collected some basic

demographic information. My next set of questions focused on romantic relationships,

either their current or most recent partner(s). I also started this section with relatively

non-invasive questions, asking about how they met this partner, how long they’ve been

together, what they like about them. The end of this section is when I first started to ask

about sex, and it generally took at least 20 minutes of interview before I directly asked

about sex. I believe it was important to spend time building comfort with each other and

the interview process before getting into the (intensely personal) heart of my study. The

next section of questions directly addressed sex in both ideological (ex. “What makes sex

good?”) and experiential ways (ex. “What sexual experiences have been the most fun for

you?”). Finally, I concluded with a brief section on gender, asking questions about how

the respondent understood their own gender identity and the way that gender may

influence sexuality. See Appendix C for a complete interview guide.

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At the end of every interview I asked respondents if there was anything else

important about their beliefs or experiences surrounding sex that they wanted to talk

about. I recorded any additional comments they may have had, and then shut off the

audio recorder. At this point I answered any questions they had about my research,

sometimes we chatted for a few minutes about either my research subject or more general

small talk, and sometimes interviewees left abruptly. I tried to be conscientious about

giving them space to transition from the interview if they wanted. I was acutely aware

that I may be bringing up subjects and memories that were difficult to talk about, and I

felt that I owed them some time to process the interview experience with me if they so

desired. The longest that I spent with a participant after an interview was about 45

minutes, but most of our post-interview conversations wrapped up in under ten minutes.

Gender

My social position as a woman undoubtedly impacted the interview process. In

some ways when conducting qualitative interviews being a woman comes with huge

advantages. Both men and women are socialized to open up emotionally more readily to

women, and my gender may have facilitated easier dialogue about the feelings

surrounding sex. Additionally, I did not get the sense that participants were concerned

about their physical safety. Had I been a man conducting research about sex participants,

women in particular, may have been concerned that I had prurient and predatory interests.

No one expressed any reserve about their safety as a participant, and several people even

invited me to their homes to conduct the interview.

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However, being a woman did contribute to differences in interview quality

between men and women. Although I felt like men were typically very comfortable

talking about most of their feelings surrounding sex they were sometimes uncomfortable

explicitly talking about sexual behavior or reporting feelings that they thought might

offend me, such as appearance-based desire or disgust regarding menstrual periods. It

was also virtually impossible for me to get the same quality of information regarding the

commission of sexual violence as I obtained about victimization. Men are unlikely to

reveal sexually predatory behaviors to a woman, and this side of the dynamic would be

best explored by another man.

Coding

I assigned a pseudonym to each respondent, trying to stay true to the tone of their

name. The interviews were transcribed by either myself or an undergraduate research

assistant with all identifying information removed. I completed all of the coding for this

project myself between September 2018 and February 2019. Ideally, if I had the

resources I would have liked to utilize multiple coders to establish intercoder reliability

and improve confidence in my interpretations. Unfortunately this was not possible, so all

I can say is that I made a good faith attempt to understand the context my participants

were speaking in and keep my coding as true as possible to their original meaning as I

understood it. I started with focused thematic coding, looking for trends that I was

expecting to be salient such as sexual violence, factors that make sex good or bad

including emotional connection and physical pleasure, and novelty generally. As I read

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through the interviews during the coding process and started to outline my chapters I

realized important themes that I overlooked and went back several times to add more

codes such as the different types of novelty and the specific ways that respondents saw

gender influencing sexuality.

Ethical Issues

I didn’t encounter many significant ethical issues, but there were two primary

concerns that I had to be attentive to. The first is a product of starting my recruitment

within my social network. I would have, and sometimes still have, friends ask me if I

interviewed someone they referred. I believe that even identifying my respondents in this

capacity would be a violation of confidentiality and my standard response is to ask them

to direct that inquiry to the person in question. Not everyone understands this, and I have

to be firm about my absolute refusal to confirm anyone’s participation in my research.

The second most pressing ethical issue that I encountered was how to react to

revelations about sexual violence. I was expecting this to come up during the interview

process, but not to the extent that it did, and I was not prepared for the conflict this would

create within myself. My first priority was to give the respondents the agency to decide

how much of their experience they wanted to share. When they mentioned sexual

violence I would tell them that they could share as much or as little about that as they

wanted, and then used their response to gauge the appropriateness of follow-up questions.

This part was easy, but it was sometimes challenging to determine the appropriate

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response. Some respondents had clearly spent a lot of time and energy process their

experience and did not appear to be unduly emotionally affected by discussing it. When

this was the tone I allowed for the interview to flow as normal.

However, sometimes it was clear that this was something my respondents were

still struggling to understand, and possibly looking for some validation from me. These

were moments when my role as a researcher and my ethical obligations to my

respondents came into question. As a researcher I’m supposed to be objective and

emotionally removed from the people I study, but there were moments where this was

untenable. Sometimes an interviewee would say something suggesting that she blamed

herself for her assault, and I couldn’t in good conscience let these remarks pass. I would

use these moments to step outside of my role as a researcher and iterate that the sexual

violence my respondent experienced was not her fault. The first time this happened I had

to decide on the spot how to react. I told her that her two experiences with sexual

violence were not her fault and not something she should be ashamed about. I felt self-

conscious potentially overstepping my boundaries as an interviewer in that way. After the

interview we talked for a few minutes, and she told me that she had never told anyone

about those experiences before, in large part because she was afraid she’d be blamed and

judged. This conversation validated my decision to react and not just listen in those

moments, and I became progressively more comfortable reassuring participants that they

were not at fault for their victimization.

Overall, I believe that my research resulted in minimal harm to the participants

involved. I established an institutionally approved ethical protocol and was consistent

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with following it. I made it abundantly clear that participation was voluntary and when

participants expressed discomfort I reminded them that they were free to skip a question

or stop the interview entirely, although no one took me up on this offer. I did stop the

tape recorder a couple times when revelations about sexual violence got particularly

intense and respondents asked for a moment to collect themselves. From these interviews

I obtained a basic understanding of the factors that contribute to sexual satisfaction as

well as sexual violence, and I did not see evidence of harm that would preclude similar

research in the future.

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Appendix B. Complete List of Respondents

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156

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Appendix C. Interview Guide

General

Tell me about yourself. What’s important to you? What do you do on a daily basis? What

do you like to do for fun?

What is your primary focus right now? What do you spend a lot of time doing or thinking

about?

How old are you?

How do you racially identify?

Do you identify as gay, straight, bisexual, pansexual, or another orientation?

-Have you always identified this way?

Do you have a religious affiliation?

Highest completed level of education?

Are you currently in a romantic partnership? Have you ever been in a romantic

partnership?

Relationship (Current or Most Recent)

How did you meet?

How long have you been together?

What attracted you to them?

How has your life changed since you entered the relationship?

(If married) How has your life changed since you got married?

Are (were) you satisfied with your relationship?

Who does what in your home?

-Is there a primary breadwinner?

-How do you divide housework?

-How do you divide childcare?

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-How do you make decisions as a couple? Ex. Buying a home/renting an

apartment, getting married, making big purchases

-Who does most of the driving?

-Who pays when you go out?

-Who holds the door?

What is (was) your sex life like?

-How often do (did) you have sex?

-Who would usually initiate sex?

-Describe a typical sexual encounter.

-Are there any sexual encounter that stand out as particularly good? Particularly

bad?

Did your last relationship end?

-How has your life changed since the relationship ended?

-How do you feel about being single?

-Are you trying to date? Using any dating technology?

Sex

As I ask you the next set of questions about sex, I want you to think about your

experiences with sex broadly. Your answers may or may not include your current partner.

How do you define sex? What acts constitute a sexual encounter?

What can you tell me about the first time you had sex?

How many sexual partners have you had? Is this something you ask your sex partners

about?

Thinking back to when you were growing up as a child and a teenager, how did you learn

about sex? How do you get information about sex now?

Why do you have sex?

Do you ever think or talk about sex as being “good” or “bad?”

What do you consider to be “good sex”?

What do you consider to be “bad sex”?

What makes someone sexually attractive?

Do you think that a person can be “good in bed?” “Bad in bed?” Are you good in bed?

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Can you identify a sexual experience that was your “best?” If not, can you remember a

sexual experience that stands out as being particularly satisfying?

Can you identify a sexual experience that was your “worst”? If not, can you remember a

sexual experience that stands out as being particularly unsatisfying?

What sexual experiences have made you feel empowered?

Please tell me about a sexual experience in which you felt scared or fearful.

What sexual experiences have been the most fun for you?

Tell me about your experiences with having sex while you were sick or not feeling well.

What sexual experiences have made you feel shamed or regretful?

What sexual experiences have made you feel angry or filled with rage?

Finally, what sexual experiences have made you feel disgusted, repulsed, or revolted?

-How do you feel about period sex?

Have you ever had sex with someone you met at a party? At a bar? What was that

experience like?

What kind of things do you fantasize about? Is there a difference between what you

fantasize about and what you actually do?

Do you ever watch porn? What kind?

Have you ever cried during or after sex? Why?

What sorts of sexual practices or sexual identities offend you?

Are there any songs that you think are particularly sexy? Movies/movies scenes?

How much do you talk to other people about sex? Who do you talk to?

Gender

What does being a man/woman mean to you?

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Do you think being a man or a woman affects your attitudes and experiences with sex?

Is there anything you do, generally, that does not conform to your gender identity?

Is there anything else you think is important to talk about before we end the interview?