didn't drive me crazy with lust or anything. And -- this is the kicker -- because I did not understand that there's a lot more to BDSM than light bondage, because I did not understand that there are many separate BDSM acts that people can enjoy and many ways to flavor them, I assumed from this experience that I didn't like BDSM. I went through my old journal entries the other day and uncovered one in which I, confused, am speculating about what's missing from my sex life: I write, "I've tried S&M, so it can't be that.” What a learning curve I had ahead of me, eh? I wish someone had tried to explain to me the vast cornucopia of human fetishes out there. I wish someone had explained that erotica and pornography are both actually really good ways to learn about your turn-ons, and -- more importantly -- had told me that not all erotica and pornography are the same, so the fact that I wasn't into mainstream stuff didn't mean I automatically wasn't interested in all erotica or porn. I've mentioned that I had lots of conversations with friends about sex, but -- until recent years -- those conversations were never framed as "This is what I like," or "I've found something new that turns me on," and I wish I'd realized sooner what a great resource conversations like that might be. 5. L wish I'd gotten a list of ideas: "Here are some ways you can try communicating with your partner about sex." Lastly, but certainly not least -- I was never taught how to communicate about sex. No one ever gave me even the first idea. In all my sex-positive, liberal sexual upbringing, I was told over and over that "relationships require communication", but no one ever said: "And here's some ways in which you might communicate sexually with your partner.” One big benefit of teaching sexual communication strategies is that it helps people learn to say "no" when they don't want to do something. Teaching people how to set boundaries is massively important, and I think a lot about ways to do it. I