Well actually
What does sex mean to you? I’m a sex educator – here’s why I don’t define it at all
Fri 22 May 2026 18.00 CEST
News
https://www.theguardian.com/wellness/2026/may/22/definition-of-sex-educator
I’m a sex educator . At the beginning of each of my classes, I ask a seemingly simple question: “What is sex?”
Some people might think it’s my job to answer that question. I do give accurate and inclusive information about sexual health, relationships and identity. But I don’t tell you what to do with that information or what value to assign that information.
For instance, sometimes I teach people about dental dams, and they say they will never use one. Sometimes, I talk about boundary setting in romantic relationships, only to have students tell me their friendships are much more important.
In my professional experience, no matter how much exposure you’ve had to information about sexuality, investigating your ideas about it can be fruitful.
I work with high school students, who often ask a variation on: “Does it count if you have oral sex?” Like many other sex educators, I resist the idea of a “body count”, or keeping track of how many people you’ve had sex with, as there’s no inherent value related to how much or how little sex you’ve had.
But I hear the real question bubbling beneath the surface: “ Could sex be more expansive than what I thought it was?”
What is sex, anyway?
At the start of our discussion, students regularly regurgitate mainstream definitions like “a penis going into a vagina” or “intimacy between a man and a woman”.
In response, I offer prompts like “What things have to happen for something to count as sex?” or “Does penetration always have to be a part of sex?” or “Could masturbation be a type of sex?”
As various opinions emerge, we start to move away from a universally agreed upon interpretation of sex – and students notice how something they thought was clear to everyone is actually more complicated.
Even when it comes to concepts like abstinence and virginity, there isn’t a uniform definition. Some people may abstain from any genital contact, apart from cleaning; others might engage in anal intercourse, but not vaginal intercourse, says sex educator and curriculum writer Dr Bianca Laureano.
This variety in how we understand sex, or the lack thereof, is all the more reason why I don’t use any one definition of sex. That’s why, when students ask “Does it count as real sex if I [insert behavior]?” I don’t respond outright. I reiterate that if it’s consensual and enjoyable, what “counts” as sex is up to only you to decide.
If there’s no definition of sex, isn’t the word useless?
For those who are cautiously curious about the idea that there is no “real” definition of sex, I get it.
We’re exposed from a young age to explicit and implicit messaging around what sex is. Think about the formative moments where you first heard sex being talked about, like in a TV show, or at church or by a middle school teacher. (Of course, there are also certain situations where a precise legal definition of sex will apply.)
For many, initial encounters with the concept likely revolved around penis-in-vagina (PIV) penetration between a man and a woman. We then categorize and process all other information around this reference point.
It’s understandable that creating your own understanding of sex could be intimidating. But there’s also so much you could be missing out on. Using a singular definition of sex indirectly affirms that there is a right and a wrong way to have sex, and right and wrong roles to play during sex. Such scripts might be accessible and familiar, but can be ultimately unfulfilling or even harmful if presented as having no alternative.
If you feel most connected to a partner and yourself via massage or some other type of erotic touch, who says that can’t be sex?
If I just teach the dominant understanding of what sex is, I’m not painting the full picture. That would exclude, for instance, explaining how to reduce STI risk for non-PIV sex. I would also be asserting that people aren’t experts on their own bodies – which they are.
Dr Varuna Srinivasan, a physician turned public health expert and writer, uses the word “friction” to describe how a lack of self-autonomy can show up in the tension between someone’s personal ideas of sex and what they have been told sex should be. Have you ever thought that you might want to experience sex that doesn’t fit the traditional definition?
What’s another way to think about sex?
People often think sex has to involve factors like orgasm, another partner or penetration to be “valid”. And while sex can absolutely include those things, it doesn’t have to.
Dr Damon Constantinides, a sex therapist who specializes in working with queer and trans people, says a pleasure-centered perspective can guide people to think more expansively about sex. Thinking about sex as pleasure allows for a “more open and less rigid” interpretation, says Constantinides: “There is space for people to decide for themselves what sex is and gain insight into what they enjoy and what they want.”
This means, unlike the infamous baseball metaphors – think your teenage peers referencing “first base”, “second base” and so on – there doesn’t have to be a specific goal or outcome for something to qualify as sex, just one (or more) people who are doing things that make them feel good.
Of course, not all things that are pleasurable need to equate to sex. For instance, enjoying your favorite song can be satisfying in its own right, in a non-sexual way – leisure as opposed to pleasure.
To provoke more aligned and imaginative exploration of what sex means to you, Srinivasan suggests inventorying how you currently care, use and love your body. From there, it’s easier to identify the ways you already experience sexual pleasure that might live beyond mainstream definitions of sex.
Isn’t it confusing if everyone has a different understanding of sex?
Knowing everyone thinks about sex differently might be overwhelming. But the reality is sex already exists outside a traditional definition.
How we each think about and have sex is as diverse as the human species itself, Srinivasan says. Are you totally sure your definition of sex precisely aligns with other people’s? The next time you’re with your friend, your sibling, your lover, get into the weeds of what constitutes sex – you might be surprised.
Resisting a singular definition of sex may seem vague, but that’s kind of the point. When it comes to relationships and identities, we have unique perspectives, values and experiences we’re seeking out. Learning about these differences can make our relationships much stronger.
Divergent understandings of sex doesn’t mean anyone is wrong. “It’s saying, that person interprets it differently than me,” says Laureano. Being exposed to other definitions helps you cultivate empathy, and encourages a sexual culture where we’re more inclined to communicate; individuals can “be clear about what it is that they want to experience and articulate that”, Laureano says.
The more opportunities you have to set expectations around sex, the more you can discuss consent and boundaries, and recognize experiences you may not want.
What are the benefits of defining sex on our own terms?
Redefining what sex means to you isn’t just for the high school students I work with. It can happen – and does – at any age. Maybe you’ve just come out as queer, are newly disabled or a new parent. Maybe the way you’ve been having sex simply isn’t fulfilling.
Individual benefits include more pleasurable, exciting and aligned sex – and also each individual having more power over their own experience and body.
Self-definitions in sex can be a form of liberation, particularly for Black women and femmes who’ve faced a long history of sexual violence and disempowerment, says Dr Wendasha Jenkins Hall, a sexuality researcher and educator: “We had labels put on us of being hypersexual, being lewd and lascivious, and our bodies really were not our own.”
When you can construct your own meanings around sex, you learn more about yourself, your desires and how you interact with the world. We already create our own meaning in other areas of our lives, so why not sex too? Who knows what part of you is waiting to be unearthed?
Maya Walsh-Little is a queer sex educator in New York City
