How to Do It is Slate’s sex advice column. Have a question? Send it to Jessica and Rich here. It’s anonymous!

Dear How to Do It,

My boyfriend is what a ‘90s rom-com writer would call “a very pretty guy.” He’s got sharp, androgynous bone structure, big eyes, and long eyelashes, and even though he does a lot of manual labor, he’s more wiry than muscly. He was raised in a house of only women, and the combination of appearance and feminine mannerisms lead a lot of people to assume he’s gay. This included me when we first met, and he had to pursue me very explicitly for me to understand he was interested in women. This has been an issue his whole life, and he’s got lots of polite and not-so-polite responses to the assumption, depending on the situation.

The thing is, it chips away at my confidence whenever my otherwise liberal and well-meaning friends and relatives sit me down for a private chat to tell me I’m his beard. His friends are used to this, and they sometimes tease him if a guy tries to buy him a drink, but they don’t seem to think it’s serious. He says he’s attracted to me and he acts like he’s attracted to me. We have fun, satisfying, frequent sex and an otherwise good relationship. But I don’t know how to respond to this stuff, and it makes me second-guess myself in bed because it happens so often.

Am I having sex with someone who actually doesn’t want me, because he’s gay and not into women but faking it? That seems insane to write and to think, but I would say someone pushes me for “a conversation” about this every 6-8 weeks!

—Am I a Beard?

Dear Am I a Beard?,

The problem, as you relay it, is not with your relationship, but other people’s assessments of it. Ironically, to accept that your boyfriend is straight, you will have to call upon the kind of strength that queer people have been relying on since the dawn of queer culture: You have to block out what other people are saying. They do not know better, and you shouldn’t let people without access to your bedroom make you second-guess what goes on inside of it.

This supposedly well-intentioned concern on the part of your friends foments stigma by suggesting that those who present non-stereotypical traits couldn’t possibly be honest about the identities they claim. It suggests there are ways to be straight and ways to be gay, and anyone outside of those lines is, at minimum, fooling themselves and perhaps trying to take everyone else for a ride. It’s conservatism masquerading as concern. (Concern-vatism?) Of course there are people who are dishonest about their sexuality—for many, obfuscation is an early part of the long coming-out process. It’s reasonable to have some skepticism in light of this when one’s perception doesn’t match the story that’s being sold. But that’s not evidence—it’s a hunch and hunches wouldn’t be hunches if they were ironclad proof.

You write that your boyfriend ultimately convinced you that he’s straight, or at least, into women. Was it his mere interest in you that did the trick? You also write that your sex is fun, satisfying, and frequent. It is, of course, possible that your reading is off and that you’re having great sex with a dude who is more interested in putting on a charade than sexual connection with you. But is it probable? Occam’s razor points to your relationship’s legitimacy. It might be useful to have this specific conversation with your boyfriend since he’s aware of what people say and it’s unlikely to hurt him too much to consider alongside you. Let him reassure you and let the sex you’re having reinforce his words.

Dear How to Do It,

I’m polyamorous, and my current polycule is myself, another woman, and a man. We’ve been considering adding this new guy “Dave” to our home and the relationship. He seems nice and he’s certainly good-looking.

But when I was talking to him to see if he’d fit in with the rest of us, he said that his sexual orientation was, and I quote “semibisexual.” I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t think to ask when he said it. I thought it might come up naturally later, but it never has. I’ve spoken to both of my paramours and neither of them know what it means, either.

I was hoping you would know what the term meant so I don’t have to ask Dave directly (I already looked online and didn’t find anything coherent). If you don’t know what it means, how do you ask what someone’s sexual orientation actually means without offending them?

—Not Confrontational

Dear Not Confrontational,

The only way that you’re going to know for sure what Dave means is by asking him. Contrary to your signoff, this doesn’t mean confronting him—it’s as simple as matter-of-factly saying, “You said you were semibisexual before. What does that mean exactly?” The reason that you couldn’t find “coherent” information on this designation is that it’s a relatively new term that has multiple potential meanings—it could mean bicurious, or technically bi with a stronger preference for a specific gender, or open to sex with multiple genders but romance with only one (or vice versa). Orientation Wiki reports that the term was coined by a satirical Tumblr blog to mock these kinds of labels (and, as a result, is deemed controversial). When something like this is defined as a result of popular usage (as opposed to a top-down model of labels being dictated by institutions, be they medical or psychological or whatever), subjective meanings are going to vary widely. That’s why it’s important to have the conversation: It allows you to pinpoint what the label means exactly to the person using it.

You shouldn’t be made to feel afraid of asking an intimate partner (or potential one) anything as long as respect and genuine curiosity are guiding your inquiry. If they are generous (i.e. the type of person you want to keep in your life), they will be happy to explain (or, at minimum explain why they won’t explain). If Dave has made you feel like you shouldn’t be asking this question, I’d call that a red flag. If your fear is more generalized, that’s a different issue. Maybe it’s a product of the kind of clapback-culture showboating you see people popping off on X about (“I shouldn’t have to explain to you blah blah blah …”). In my experience, that kind of attitude is limited to venting on social media. People typically love to talk about themselves (and people with non-normative identities have a reputation for this, as you may have noticed in your poly adventures). The idea that someone would be so put out to explain this aspect of themselves is, I think, largely an online phenomenon. I let those people have their guardedness … by staying away from them. I advise you to do the same.

So just ask Dave. You don’t have to wait for it to come up. It’s OK to be curious and ask questions and if he doesn’t agree that’s OK, you can ask yourself if you actually want to be with someone who is so closed off. I wouldn’t!

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Dear How to Do It,

I was a late bloomer in a lot of ways. I began socially transitioning at 40 (I’m nonbinary and my pronouns are they/them), and I didn’t become sexually active until around the same time. Gender and sexuality were the cause of a lot of confusion and frustration for me growing up. And once I started having sex, I found it rather meh. I just didn’t see what everyone was so excited about. There are elements of it that I find either uncomfortable or just okay. Most of them revolve around penetration (I’m AMAB). I find receiving oral sex to be downright gross and although I’m able to have vaginal intercourse, I don’t get much pleasure from it. I very much enjoy touching, massaging, and being touched, and I also enjoy giving oral sex, but I have found that just because I have the equipment, there’s an expectation that I want to use it. Often, there’s awkwardness afterwards when I don’t respond as expected to it being used.

I fear that my partners have felt I don’t desire them when this couldn’t be further from the truth. How do I explain that regardless of what genitals I have, penetrative sex might not be what I want? How do I find partners for whom that isn’t a problem?

—Ill Equipped and Concerned

Dear Ill Equipped and Concerned,

You’ve provided a fine explanation in your letter. Not everyone is going to like the explanation, but that’s too bad for them. You can explain this prior to sex if you meet someone in person. A quick, boundary-setting, “Here’s what I’m into …” conversation will do the trick. If you’re looking for partners online, go with a platform like Feeld where describing turn-ons and sexual interests in one’s profile is not just socially acceptable but expected. That way you get it all out upfront and people will be well-informed to choose whether or not to connect with you.

You’ve come up against expectations, but look: You’re queer. That immediately places you outside of the realm of cis hetero living, and it shouldn’t be too surprising when you have interests that deviate from the rigid standards of straightness. Not every queer will get this, but many will because they’ve likely experienced some degree of it themselves. Don’t limit your options, as you may find people from all walks of life who are also not interested in penetrative sex, but I’d recommend a particular focus on finding partners who are also queer and well-versed in the potentials of queerness. You’ll still have to explain, but you may receive more acceptance from that demographic.

Dear How to Do It,

My wife and I have been married for nine years and we dated for roughly three before that. Before we were married, our sex life was pretty good. But ever since then, it has never been as frequent or as adventurous as I’d like. I could have sex multiple times a day if I got the chance, but we usually only do so once a week at most, and lately much less.

Since the birth of our second child a little over a year ago, we’ve had struggles around sex. My wife has not really experienced spontaneous arousal much since then. She also recently restarted anxiety medication, which has affected her libido. When I talked to her about rekindling our sex life, my wife suggested “scheduling” sex once a week to try to get back into the swing of things. We tried it without much success.

After about six months of scheduled sex, I suggested we see a sex therapist. We had a couple sessions with the therapist and got a lot of good suggestions—namely, to stick to the scheduling, but rather than making it feel like we’re scheduling penetrative sex, frame it as scheduling erotic time. If sex happens, it’s just a bonus. She also suggested making each session last at least an hour—not necessarily having sex the whole time, but doing something erotic the whole time. I thought this was a great idea.

However, over the course of the next few months, my wife has rescheduled more often than not, and all of the suggestions that we’ve tried for other activities continue to get pushed off or minimized. She usually deflects conversations around this, and says that I expect her to have penetrative sex every time, which isn’t true. I told her I was more interested in having experiences that allow us to feel more connected and eager to please each other, but the constant rescheduling/canceling has made it difficult to feel like there’s been any progress. And when we do have erotic time, we rarely spend more than 20-30 minutes together, and that’s including the buildup.

Part of all this is the fact that my wife has a lot of guard rails around sexual activities that make it difficult to come up with ideas. She doesn’t masturbate (that I’m aware of); she doesn’t want to have sex in the morning or during the day unless she is already spontaneously aroused; and she doesn’t like staying up late, so our only open window is basically between 9 and 11 p.m. She will watch porn and sometimes get aroused by it, but she often finds it gross and is more interested in softcore or simulated sex scenes in movies, which I’m not into. I’ve tried to suggest erotic novels we can read together and she seemed interested in those.

In typing this out, I realize I’m probably not being patient enough with her. Still, it just feels like we’re on opposite ends of the sex and libido spectrum, and and trying to find the balance seems so elusive. I’m also struggling to communicate my needs and desires without pressuring her. I love her so much, and I despise upsetting her, but I also feel like I have to bottle up my emotions on this topic.

Am I not being patient enough? Is there another approach or method I should be trying to communicate with her about all this? Is there something else we should try when it comes to erotic activities? Are we just becoming sexually incompatible? Help!

—Needing More

Dear Needing More,

Patience is the garlic of disposition—you can never include too much of it in any social recipe. But I’m not sure that’s all this situation calls for. You’ve made a concerted effort to improve your sex with your wife and you’ve seen no progress; perhaps a regression. This is a situation where mere patience could yield nothing. You might be waiting for improvement until there’s no more waiting you can do.

It would be unwise to downplay the potential toll that parenting may be taking on your wife’s general attitude toward sex. Between the hormones and the caretaking, it can really wreak havoc. You might want to start with attempting to ameliorate that aspect, perhaps by taking care of the kids while she has me-time or taking on more frequent assistance by hiring a babysitter, for example. And also consider the anxiety-meds factor. Perhaps there’s another drug she could look into that doesn’t affect her libido as much.

I think you should both read Emily Nagoski’s Come Together: The Science (and Art!) of Creating Lasting Sexual Connections. (Try reading it together and talking about it as you go, two-person book club-style.) She writes specifically about spontaneous desire and how much undue emphasis people place on it as the “good, right, normal kind of desire.” Instead, Nagoski argues, “It’s responsive desire, not spontaneous desire, that characterizes great sex over the long term.”

I’m not going to spoil the book or attempt to compress into a few paragraphs what Nagoski writes about so eloquently, but the gist of her placing of responsive desire over spontaneous desire in terms of importance for longevity comes down to a focus on pleasure. In fact, she goes as far as to write that the “cure” for low desire is pleasure. “When we put pleasure at the center of our definition of sexual well-being, we eliminate any need to worry about desire,” writes Nagoski. She urges us to look at the quality of sex we are having, not the quantity and to center the good feelings that arise from sex. The very simple encapsulation of how to attack this issue is: “If you’re worried about your partner’s low desire, ask them about pleasure. If you’re worried about your own low desire, talk to your partner about pleasure.” To invest in the idea that sex is only worth having if it springs from spontaneous desire is to buy into what Nagoski calls the “desire imperative,” which insists that “without spontaneous desire, we don’t want sex ‘enough.’” There is another way and it starts with reframing what’s important about sex.

I think this could help you both—you are fixated on numbers, and she seems caught in the grips of the desire imperative. A lot of her behavior that you recount seems not particularly focused on pleasure. You list a lot of what she’s not into—try focusing on what she could use to facilitate pleasure. You mentioned erotic novels as a source of interest. Start there. Suggest toys. Maybe even take one for the team and sit through softcore or simulated sex scenes—obviously, don’t put yourself through anything that you’ll find disgusting or even a turn-off, but if you can tolerate some viewing material playing in the background that she can focus on (at least initially), it may pay off for you. Keep your patience, but see if any of the suggestions here nudge things forward for you.

—Rich

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After my wife gained a fair amount of weight, she agreed to make some changes in her life and start eating right and going to the gym. Well, it worked—she now looks incredible, and I often notice men checking her out in public. The problem is that now, she can’t have sex with the lights on, and she seems deeply uninterested in doing it at all. It feels like my wife, who was once enthusiastic about sex, has turned into a hot, unavailable robot. Help!