The Queer Experience: The Nexus Between Sex and Power

Rafferty Edis

I think about sex a lot.

And a question I often come back to is: are sex and power inherently linked? Specifically, how do these dynamics play out in queer sexual experiences? Being bisexual, I can’t speak to every queer experience, considering the diversity of our community. However, I do think there are particular challenges that we collectively face due to our sexuality and/or gender identity within a heteronormative patriarchy. One area where this is salient is sex.

Growing up queer, there is limited exposure to positive queer models of having sex. Instead, we are exposed to a very narrow and rigid depiction of sex; one that is heteronormative and propagates this idea of domination and subjugation. The work of radical feminist, Andrea Dworkin, provided insights into the subordinative nature of sex. Dworkin’s theories suggest women are not having sex with men, but are instead being f****d by men. This narrative is fed to us through porn, movies and music, right down to advertisements and the language we use surrounding sex. This in itself is problematic.

Media in this space is produced for a predominately straight male demographic. But if you’re queer, you are left without a model of healthy, safe sex that is aimed at your sexual identity. Progress is being made and representation is getting better. More inclusive, sex-positive portrayals of sex in the media, such as Netflix’s Sex Education, are breaking the stigma and challenging the conventional power politics of sex. But often, the patriarchal-heteronormative model of sex is copy and pasted into queer media and queer porn. One such example is the critically acclaimed Call Me By Your Name, which centres a sexual power imbalance in the form of an age gap.

Most queer porn still propagates a power imbalance where one party is dominating their sexual partner/s. Actors are often stripped of their humanity and reduced to their bodies, vehicles for pleasure. This generates expectations in real sexual experiences; where one partner may feel entitled to sex, or a specific type of sex, one with a power imbalance and domination. I’m not referring to consensual role-play of sub/dom positions, provided boundaries are clear and respected. Instead, I’m referring to the more pernicious exertion of dominance or force over a sexual partner(s). This can be through physical force or emotional manipulation.

When domination occurs outside the clearly defined parameters of roleplay; there is an easy segue into disrespect, exploitation and abuse. This is because one party’s needs and desires are being privileged over another’s, with little regard for how the latter may be affected.

Visionary feminist bell hooks discusses how domination is conducive to and creates an acceptance of violence. She discusses how sex can be used as a cathartic release for male rage rooted in unmet promises of privilege and power made by the patriarchy. While she is talking about heterosexual dynamics, queer sexual dynamics are not immune from patriarchal influence unless all parties involved are consciously working against it.

Growing up with the internalised belief that sex always entailed domination put me in unsafe situations I came to accept sex as having these concomitant feelings of fear and discomfort. Things came to a head when I was 17; my boundaries were violated and I was left with a damaged sense of self, high anxiety and insurmountable shame. But I still didn’t see the problem with this model of domination and by extension, male aggression, until much later. Because I thought it was normal and just came with the territory. Through more positive sexual experiences, I came to realise that there was nothing biological or innate about this. It was cultural.

Rates of sexual abuse and intimate partner violence within the queer community are appalling. These statistics are even higher for transgender people and queer people of colour. Human Rights Campaign found 44% of lesbian women and 61% of bisexual women experience intimate partner violence (IPV) and sexual assault (SA). 26% of gay men and 37% of bisexual men experience IPV and SA and 47% of transgender people are assaulted during their lifetime, with even higher incidence among people of colour. Additionally, there are barriers to reporting; which is already a stigmatised process in itself but exacerbated with the additional elements of gender (such as emasculation) and/or race (such as racial profiling). Violation can be a way of ascertaining a sense of power at the expense of someone else. Sexual assault and intimate partner violence can derail the lives of the victims and ruin their relationship with intimacy, touch, love and sex.

Another facet of this is homophobia or transphobia held by one or more sexual partners, even if it is internalised. It can be a source of shame for those who aren’t comfortable with their sexuality and seek to reassert control by exploiting the power imbalance during sex. Additionally, we are never provided with a roadmap for how to navigate these situations where a sexual partner is homophobic, transphobic or not out.

Men in the patriarchy are socialised to be homophobic, especially in adolescence. I grew up in a rural community where homophobia was rampant and I saw firsthand how boys used homophobia to divert suspicion from themselves and assert their social power by being a ‘man’s man’. It is tied up in a bigger issue of patriarchal masculinity and rejecting what is thought to be unmasculine.

It has been difficult for me to reflect and see how the homophobic behaviours of others have created internalised homophobia in me. Being surrounded by homophobia in my formative years leaves a legacy that I have to consciously deconstruct. I want to ensure I don’t carry these beliefs into future sexual experiences, where I believe that I am deserving of poor sexual treatment due to being queer.

So within my own sexual experiences, I have seen my conception of sex shaped by a) the media and b) socialisation through my peers. This fostered a patriarchal and homophobic approach to queer sex. But there are more loving ways of having sex, where it is mutual, trusting, and a power imbalance isn’t present. Irrespective of whether you’re having sex for pleasure or intimacy, we need to challenge our ideas of sex and do it on our own terms, as both we and our sexual partners want. Not as the patriarchy tells us we should.

If you or anyone you know is affected by the content of this piece, please contact one of the support services below:

1800 RESPECT

1800 737 732

24/7 – National sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service.

Beyond Blue

1300 22 4636

24/7 - Depression, anxiety and suicide prevention

Art by Jasmin Small