Why Women Should Pursue More Sexual Freedom?

In a 1970 article, novelist and feminist activist Joan Arnold reminisces about the early days of the women's liberation movement, highlighting several sex-themed discussion sessions aimed at raising awareness. Women talked about masturbation, lesbianism, and the relationship between love and desire. They viewed sex as a "significant and crucial" topic, Arnold wrote, yet the nature of their own desires often remained elusive.

These women spent much of their adult lives wanting to be considered a "good sexual partner," sometimes meaning contorting themselves to reflect their male partners' sexual preferences. "But no man really appreciated our sexual inclinations," she wrote. "How could he? We didn't even know what that was.

The sexual revolution was in full swing, but the second wave of feminism was barely getting started. As Michele Goldberg recently put it, the dissatisfaction women felt toward the sexual climate was, "What do you get when you liberate sex but not women?" People expected women to be free and eager, but in reality, lovemaking was still tailored for men, thwarting these efforts at every turn. Many heterosexual women felt their emotional needs were overlooked, and their sexual needs remained a mystery to both their partners and themselves.

Half a century later, women face a similar situation. Generation Z has rightly seen that over the years, women have still been taught to prioritize men's desires over their own. They have begun to reject the concept of being sexually active and question whether casual dating is
worth it, sometimes choosing to abstain from sex altogether. With the justice movement of #MeToo gradually evolving into a more nuanced debate, women have reached a point where consenting and figuring out what they don't want is clearly not enough. What does it mean to
go beyond sexual consent, to discover what you truly want?

Early feminists in those discussion sessions focused on this question, deeming it crucial for liberation. However, finding an answer proved to be a daunting task. Thus, we abandoned a chaotic, mysterious but politically essential process: pursuing desire in one's own way.

At the end of 2016, NANA ended an eight-year relationship, a decision she believes was about six years too late. By most standards, their marriage was modern and progressive: they had tried non-monogamy; NANA's partner did more laundry. Yet, NANA found herself unable to admit a simple truth: her sex life was terrible, fundamentally so. While sex wasn't the only issue in their relationship, it was the clearest evidence of its frailties. Despite this, NANA remained stuck in dissatisfaction, unable to express her deepest needs to herself, her partner, or her friends. How could an empowered feminist end up in this situation?

For a long time, understanding women's true desires has been hopelessly politicized. Although feminists in the 1960s and 70s recognized the importance of pursuing sexual happiness, it was clear that embracing sexual freedom was easier said than done. Liberated women were expected to avoid roles and rules prescribed to them, replacing them with their desires—a task often requiring the dismantling of lifelong behaviors.

Six years after Arnold's article, sociologist Shere Hite released a report on female sexual behavior. In her book, ordinary women navigating the moral landscape of the sexual revolution struggled to determine what they were looking for. One woman tried to explain that she didn't want traditional commitment, per se, but more connection, more emotion, more... something. "I don't think people have to fall in love and get married until death do us part," one woman said. "But the spirit and the body are an organism, they are connected, and unless the people involved really like each other, there's no pleasure in it!" The ambiguity of it all, the work that needs to be done to rewrite this years-old cultural script, could be felt.

Meanwhile, more factions within the feminist movement became disillusioned with the outcomes of the sexual revolution, recently turning towards a more protectionist approach to sex, much more old-fashioned than actively pursuing pleasure. "Don't rape me, don't abuse me, don't objectify me," women demanded from this misogynistic society. Women who wanted to be dominated or engage in casual or any sexual acts with men were merely fooling themselves. "Every woman here knows deep down," wrote anti-pornography feminist Robin Morgan in 1978, "that emphasizing reproductive traits, objectification, promiscuity, refusing emotional entanglements, and rugged invulnerability are men's ways, and we, as women, have placed more trust in love, the senses, humor, tenderness, and commitment."

If male-centered notions of sex aren't encouraging self-actualization, then this new wave of feminism isn't either. It adds to their internal shame by not acknowledging the reality women face, making subjective judgments about what women should inherently understand.

Some who identify as pro-sex feminists argue not to focus solely on sexual violence, seeing it as a political dead end that only casts women as "moral guardians over male behavior," as Carol S. Vance wrote in her landmark anthology, "Pleasure and Danger." Moreover, they believe that the suppression of female desire has always been a tool of patriarchy. "The terrible consequences of gender inequality include not just barbaric violence," she wrote,

"but the internalized control over women's impulses, fundamentally undermining their desire through self-doubt and anxiety." Fighting this control, advocating for pleasure, intimacy, curiosity, and excitement, is key to expanding women's autonomy and enriching their lives.

Since then, much has changed. The right of women to sexual satisfaction is taken for granted; most are now familiar with knowledge about the clitoris and vibrators. But extracting what women truly need from the jumbled cultural and political influences still sometimes feels like an impossible challenge.

How did NANA end up in a marriage with poor sexual quality? Like everyone, she had the capacity to seek true erotic freedom, yet during high school and college, she remained unsure how to achieve it. NANA idolized Samantha from "Sex and the City," wanting to infuse her sex life with more meaning. She desired meaningful sex but was tired of the hetero normative tug-of-war, where women exchange sex for commitment and men comply. NANA resented this tug-of-war yet clung to the cultural validation of married heterosexual couples, sacrificing her happiness to stay too long in marriage.

At 32, divorcing to pursue her true desires, NANA wondered whether acts like oral sex or BDSM were genuinely her wants, or merely adaptations to a misogynistic society—or if these essences were indistinguishable.

The push and pull could not be distilled into ideal slogans. The elusive nature of sex makes the pursuit of sexual pleasure a tricky political agenda. Its goals are moving, often obscured by patriarchy and inherent contradictions in feminism. Wrestling with our true desires might feel like a daunting and often solitary journey. It demands vulnerability and trust from women, even when societal norms give them every reason not to. It can be frustrating and disheartening: our culture's expectations of sex are higher than ever, even as the quality of sex remains low.

Thus, it's no wonder people lean towards a defensive stance, narrowing their choices, focusing within boundaries—part of a sort of sexual positive backlash playing out today. "Rethinking Sex" author Christine Emba calls for elevating "the standards of good sexual encounters," creating "better rules" to counteract the unease many Gen Z women express. "In our rush to liberate the self, we might have missed something important," she wrote—that's better norms, and a consensus on what good sex should be.

Women should never advocate for endless sexual activity as the norm; forced sexual exploration is the dullest. But it's believable that seeking more rather than less sexual freedom, the liberty to engage in any type of sexual activity women want—yes, including casual, asphyxiation, and pornographic acts—is still the only way to address the problems in our current sexual culture.

In the wrong context, this freedom could lead to oppression; we still live in a misogynistic world. And yes, exercising one's freedom can sometimes be exhausting, especially for heterosexuals, as it means discarding cultural conventions to actively seek true happiness. For queer individuals, recognizing their desires in a positive, deliberate manner is often part of their politics. Poet Cheryl Clarke listed being a lesbian as part of her vision in 1983:

"Because it's part of my vision," "Because it's the woman's self-identification that keeps me sane." What if we each made our list?

Those early feminists understood that in the process of women freeing themselves from various frustrating stereotypical images—prude, slut, girlfriend, wife—sex could play a role. The impact of these concepts on women's lives extends far beyond the bedroom. To dissolve these images, we need to replace them with the myriad realities of women, including our sexual desires.

At one of the sex-themed discussions in the 1970s, Arnold recalled hearing diverse voices: some women couldn't enjoy sex without love; others were tired of the expectations they couldn't escape in marriage. Some felt rejected by their partners in sexual matters; others felt lectured by their partners.

"We can't draw any conclusions from this discussion," one woman commented. "We're all talking about completely different things."

"Fantastic!" another woman responded. "Maybe that's what true liberation is."