Howl

How to Appropriately Interact with a Female Sex Blogger

A quick lesson in internet etiquette

When I posted my very first article about sex here — the first one I had ever shared in a public place — the greatest fear that I had was how people would respond. I’ve been writing on the internet for fifteen years now and have seen a lot. Even when writing about tamer topics, I’ve been propositioned, harassed, bullied, stalked, and insulted. You know how it goes — the internet can be brutal.

It took a few posts before I got a comment here. When it popped up and I saw that it was from a man, my whole body went rigid. Was he going to call me a dumb twat? Ask if I wanted to hook up? Tell me he wanted to fuck me up one side and down the other?

I prepared myself for the worst…and was relieved to find that it was a harmless comment about his girlfriend.

Over time, I was delighted to find that typically the men in this little internet nook have been extraordinarily kind, supportive, and above all, appropriate. Sure, I have had some misogynistic assholes drop in and harass me into blocking them. And I’ve had some random shady comments here or there that that I just ignored.

And yes, I fully expect that at some point, someone’s going to ask me if we can meet up so he can come on my face some Saturday night. And not even because he thinks my writing is hot or my profile picture is sexy — but because he is bored and thinks it’s funny to fuck with women on the internet. (It’s not, actually.)

Lately, I’ve noticed that some of my readers have been expressing unnecessary concerns about their tendency to post frequent comments. I realize that in light of what’s happening in our culture today, some men might feel nervous about interacting with a woman they don’t know on the internet and talking about sex. (Yes, it’s a strange world we live in.)

In light of that (and in the futile hope that the actual trolls out there might read this and learn something), I thought I would write a little etiquette guide to help us navigate this tricky territory.

Getting personal

I realize that commenting on an article about sex can be very tricky. The author is talking about some pretty personal details. It’s not something you’d likely talk about in real life, and yet you might feel inspired to share something in return.

Suddenly, you are two strangers on the internet talking about your sexual experiences.

That’s okay, though. I mean, yes, it’s weird if you think about it too much. But it’s okay.

Personally, my whole point in doing this is to normalize open conversations about sex. So if you just read an article in which I shared my fondness for having my nipples touched and it inspired you to tell me about an amazing experience you had when you and your wife last had sex…that’s fantastic. I’m so glad to hear it and celebrate that memory with you. I want my work to help you remember moments of pleasure and to dream of those that await you.

However…there’s a line. I’m not interested in hearing that you are now fantasizing about my nipples. Inappropriate.

By all means, go ahead and fantasize. If my articles turn you on, make you fantasize about me or anyone else, and even get you off — that honestly thrills me. I want to fling down kundalini energy onto the earth in great fireballs, like a wild-eyed, pagan goddess. I want to do this because that energy will course through you and come pouring out of you and it will touch someone else, and they will pass it on, and… You see where I’m going with this?

But I’m trusting you to pass it on appropriately. Don’t sloppily fling it back at me.

Enjoy the fantasy — use that energy on your partner or the book you’ve been trying to write or the painting you’ve been toiling over... Or have a little fun with yourself.

The work versus the person

You know what I love about my core group of male readers? They very clearly differentiate between me and my work. They tell me my articles are sexy, arousing, hot. But they never say I am sexy, arousing, hot.

I really appreciate this distinction. I mean, sure at this stage in my life, I long to hear someone say that I’m sexy. But I’m also old enough to know that that doesn’t really mean anything except from a man who is right here, interacting with my real-life person.

Anyone on the internet could say I’m sexy, but what does that really mean or matter? I could be a 250-year-old hunchback living in a hut in the woods for all anyone knows.

So yeah, let’s stick with what we know. My work is sexy. I, as an actual person, might or might not be sexy. And the sexiness of my person is irrelevant here, anyways.

By all means, tell us that our work is sexy.

That means the world to me. My writing is an expression of my intellect, my passion, my artistry, and my soul — so hearing that is maybe a greater compliment than being told I, as a person, am sexy. I appreciate the precision of the comment, and I appreciate that it totally and completely respects my boundaries as a woman.

Disagree, but don’t dominate

The most sickening comments I have received here are from men who disagree with me and come at me with an unrelenting aggression. They bring in their arsenal either personal stories of victimhood or scientific facts (that they usually twist) that they then use to batter me into me submission.

I get a lot of accusations that I hate men (which makes me laugh considering how much I write about my love for those hairy, hot beasts), a lot of insistence that the feelings I’ve described in an article were not correctly labeled, and I often get covered in misogynistic vomit from some random asshole who feels the need to explain to me what my body was designed for (men’s pleasure).

Let’s try to avoid these pitfalls, okay? You can disagree with a woman as much as you want. But don’t edit her. Don’t tell her how she feels or dare to state that she has mis-identified her feelings. (Seriously?!) Don’t barf your misogyny on her. Don’t tell her she hates men (that’s more of your misogyny). Don’t call her names or accuse her of crimes of deception.

I realize that this is probably the most useless section of this article, because the people who need to get it the most are the ones who are going to respond by telling me I’m full of shit and I’m wrong and I hate men and…

In light of that, I’ll just say be nice. Just be fucking nice, okay?

Avoid talking about her body

I know this is a tricky boundary to navigate. Maybe you just read an article in which the author described in scandalous detail what it feels like to have a man inside her. (Yeah, I did that. And I still want to write more about it.)

Whoa. That’s a lot of personal information. Maybe it makes you have all kinds of feelings and maybe you want to share.

If you’re super turned on and want to express your gratitude for the shot of sexual energy, you can simply say, “Wow, that was hot.” Or “I love your freedom.” Or “Damn, lady!” I’ve gotten comments, emails, and private notes along those lines…and I love it. Thank you.

But don’t share thoughts or fantasies that involve the author. Maybe after reading my aforementioned “scandalous” article, now you’re imagining having a tumble with me. As I said, I’m thrilled if my work fuels your imagination, your experience of pleasure, your sexual fulfillment. But I don’t need to know about any fantasy involving me. No comment on that subject necessary. Enjoy the fantasy, and go have some fun with yourself or your partner.

Remember, move the energy along, don’t fling it back — unless you know what you’re doing.

More than anything, don’t make statements about the author’s body. That’s gross and inappropriate.

When I wrote a piece about how upset I was about the censorship of the female body on social media and insisted that my breasts, while sometimes sexual, were not primarily sexual and therefore, should not be treated as obscene, a reader left a comment insisting that human female breasts had developed for the sole purpose of attracting males, and that as such, “your breasts are exclusively sexual.”

I’m not a violent or vengeful person, but as you can imagine, I wanted to dick-punch that asshole. I was stunned by his absolute ignorance of the fact that our breasts also comfort loved ones and feed babies, so no they are not exclusively sexual.

But I was particularly outraged that he dared to make that statement using a personal pronoun, referring specifically to my breasts when he could have politely (though still erroneously and misogynistically) stated “breasts, in general, are exclusively sexual.” It was completely inappropriate for him to be referring to my breasts, and even more so for him to try to dominate me by defining my body as a tool for male sexual pleasure. (Yes, I blocked him.)

Now, if you want to say something supportive that happens to relate to the author’s body, in a non-personal way, go for it. For example, I love it when male readers give me a high five when I talk about body hair. “Good for you,” “Wear your bush proudly,” “I like a little foliage,” etc. are all entirely appropriate comments in a situation like that.

Don’t give advice

Writers love feedback and even kindly-delivered constructive criticisms and disagreements. But women writing about sex aren’t looking for advice.

We don’t need you to tell us how to perform, why we’re having trouble finding good partners, what we should do with our body hair (see above!), what feelings we’re actually experiencing (in contrast to what we claim to be feeling), or anything else.

Writing about sex and love is both liberating but also extraordinarily vulnerable. We already experience a lot of fallout from being vulnerable in real life. We are used to being interrupted, advised, steered, corrected, and edited on a daily basis.

Give us some space when we are opening up on the page. We’re here to express our power. We don’t need guidance with that. We’ve got it, thank you.

If you want to learn from examples, watch the comment sections on my articles. Look for the men who comment here regularly, especially if I regularly respond to them.

Those are the guys who know how to behave like gentlemen. I’m so grateful to them for their support and kindness. I’m grateful for the safe space they create, cultivate, and protect here that makes me feel like I can continue to put this work into the world.

And I’m grateful that they know exactly how to take just a little dose of that sexual energy I threw down and zip it back to me in the most skillful, appropriate way by simply supporting the dreams and desires that I share or telling me how sexy my work is. (Thanks, guys. ❤)

Now carry on in kindness and keep that sexual energy moving…

© Yael Wolfe 2019