I ask the question, “What is sex to you?” on a regular basis — with clients, and recently in a group conversation inside Rekindled Circle, our membership for couples ready to feel like lovers again.
In one of these many conversations about what sex is, the Clinton/Lewinsky case came up — specifically that famous question of what “counts” as sex. And I had to think carefully about why that question bothers me. (Or is it just my deep discomfort with another president’s sexual abuse of power? I had to ask myself first — but that’s an email for another day.)
After chewing on it for a while, here’s what I landed on: that version of the question — what counts as sex? — is almost always about power and external definitions, not personal ones. Who gets to define it. Who gets shamed by the answer. Who stays “pure” and who doesn’t. It’s sex defined from the outside, sometimes by social groups with authority over the person or group being defined. (For example, in the case of remaining a virgin — is she still a virgin if her hymen is not intact? Are they virgins if they have oral sex but not intercourse? Is it cheating if there’s no kissing? Questions like these.)
Which is not the transformative question I’m aiming to help people answer for themselves.
The question I find infinitely more interesting is the opposite one.
Not what counts. But what can sex be?
I want you to imagine a huge word cloud. Sensual massage. Long makeouts. Eye gazing. Anticipation texts. Synchronizing your breath. Sexy talk (aka “dirty” talk). Feeding each other. Laughing together. Curiosity. Presence. Trust. Surrender.
Now imagine that somewhere in the corner of that word cloud, almost an afterthought — penetration. Orgasm.
That’s it. That’s “what we think sex is.”
Everything else? We don’t even have a word for it. We call it foreplay, like it’s just the opening act. We call it “not really sex.” We dismiss it, rush past it, don’t even think to ask for it.
And in doing so, we cut ourselves off from most of what sexuality actually is.
Because sexuality isn’t just one thing. It’s at least five things, all overlapping, and interacting with our values and our nervous systems. This is the Circles of Sexuality framework, originally developed by Dr. Dennis Dailey:
Sensuality — fantasy, desire, your five senses, body image, playfulness.
Intimacy — connection, trust, vulnerability, navigating conflict together.
Sexual health — hormones, knowing your body, sexual response, pleasure, orgasm, overall health.
Sexual identity — your orientation, your gender and its role in your sexuality, your archetypes, your kinks, your orientation towards polyamory or monogamy.
Power & agency — initiation, consent, self-empowerment, confidence, seduction.
All of these are part of your sexuality. All of them deserve attention. And most of us have been taught to focus almost exclusively on one tiny slice — and then wonder why something feels missing.
This idea of what sex means to us is a crucial thing I explore with clients. Because when you expand your definition of what sex is — when you start asking what can this be for us? instead of are we doing it right? — everything opens up.
And “are we doing it right?” shows up in a thousand small worries: Are we having sex often enough? Is it normal that I need more “foreplay” than my partner? Is it normal that these ideas turn me on? What if I don’t like this thing my partner is into? Should intercourse always end in orgasm for both of us? Is it bad that we’ve fallen into the same routine? Should I be more adventurous? Is it weird that I still need to feel desired emotionally before I’m interested physically?
The question isn’t whether you’re having enough sex. It’s not if you’re performing well, or looking sufficiently sexy. It’s not at all about doing it “right,” by these external definitions of right. It’s whether you’re having the kind of connection that actually nourishes you.
I’d love to know: which of those five circles feels most alive for you right now — and which one feels most neglected?