Tag: human sexuality

What I Believe About Relationships

On June 28, 2025

Image: ChatGPT

Relationships are among the most intimate and transformative parts of life—but for me, they don’t follow the traditional script. I’ve spent a long time unlearning what the world tells us relationships are “supposed” to be and discovering what they can be instead. I want to share what I believe about love, connection, sex, and partnership—not because I have all the answers, but because my truth might help others feel less alone in their own journey.

I am aromantic. I don’t experience romantic attraction the way most people do. I don’t crave romantic courtship, fairy-tale declarations, or being someone’s “everything.” That’s never been how my heart moves. For a long time, I felt out of sync with a world that insists on romance as the highest form of human connection. But in time, I came to understand that my way of relating isn’t less—it’s just different. I still love. I still build deep, meaningful connections. I still crave touch, intimacy, laughter, and mutual growth. But I don’t desire romance, and I don’t build my life around it.

I also identify as polyamorous. I believe that love, affection, and connection are abundant and not meant to be confined to one person at a time. I reject the idea that exclusivity is the only—or the highest—form of commitment. I find beauty in the ways people can show up for each other in different capacities. Each relationship is its own living thing, with its own needs, rhythms, and dynamics. I don’t want to own or be owned. I want connection that is chosen, not claimed.

My sexual orientation is best described as heteroflexible. I tend to be drawn to masculine energy, but attraction is fluid and often defies tidy labels. What matters most to me is authenticity—how someone exists in their body and their spirit, how they treat others, how they engage with joy, and how they handle complexity. Gender and sexuality, for me, are far more expansive than the categories we’re taught to stay within.

As a transgender woman, I bring my full self into every relationship. My womanhood is not conditional, and I refuse to enter into any dynamic where I am expected to explain or defend my identity. My transness has shaped me. It has taught me resilience, self-determination, and the sacred power of transformation. I offer all of that—openly and vulnerably—to the people I care about.

I also embrace a fully sex-positive philosophy. I believe sex is sacred, playful, healing, and liberating. I do not see sexuality as something to be ashamed of or hidden away. Whether I’m expressing desire through kink, physical intimacy, fantasy, or open conversation, I treat it as something that should be approached with joy, creativity, and care. Being aromantic doesn’t mean being asexual—though both identities are valid. For me, it means I can enjoy sexual and emotional intimacy without it needing to be filtered through a romantic lens.

What I want from relationships is truth. I want honesty without cruelty, intimacy without entitlement, and care without pretense. I don’t need people to fit into categories like “partner,” “lover,” or “friend.” I need them to show up as their full selves, and to let me do the same. I want to build chosen family. I want conversations that last for hours, shared silence that feels like home, mutual support in the chaos, and connection that expands rather than restricts.

I believe that love is not a single, fixed thing. It’s a spectrum, a mosaic, a process. It doesn’t always follow a script. It doesn’t have to end in a wedding or a shared mortgage to be real. It doesn’t have to be romantic to be profound. And it certainly doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s version of love.

Being aromantic means that I love differently. Not less. Not worse. Just differently. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we need more room in this world for different ways of loving. I want people to know that there are many valid ways to connect—and that living outside the traditional narrative can be not just fulfilling, but joyful, liberating, and deeply human.

So this is me, being honest about what I believe: in love without possession, sex without shame, intimacy without obligation, and relationships that are defined not by convention, but by care. If you’ve ever felt like the world’s idea of love doesn’t fit you—know that you are not broken. You are simply someone who deserves to love, and be loved, on your own terms.

Unapologetically Sexual

By Katherine Walter

On May 30, 2025

In LGBTQ+ rights, sexuality

I was let go from my student teaching position because of some tweets. In these posts, I said, among other things, “I like to suck dick.” It wasn’t part of a curriculum. It wasn’t aimed at students. It was a personal expression—raw, queer, unapologetic. And for that, I was deemed “unfit.”

But I am not ashamed. Because when I say something as simple and carnal as “I like to suck dick,” I’m not being obscene—I’m declaring war on the suffocating norms that define who gets to express desire and how.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t just about sex. It’s about power.

The phrase “I like sex” is broadly acceptable when said by a cis, straight man. Even when women say it, it must be delivered with just the right balance of flirtation and modesty, wrapped in acceptable femininity. But when a transgender woman like me speaks directly and honestly about her sexuality—without euphemism, without apology—it’s treated as taboo. It becomes scandalous, political, dangerous.

And that’s exactly why I say it.

Heteronormativity doesn’t just regulate bodies—it polices desire. It dictates what kind of sex is real, what kind of sex is dirty, and which voices are allowed to claim desire at all. Trans women are often reduced to caricatures: hypersexual porn tropes or sexless tokens of pity. To say, plainly and proudly, that I love sucking dick is to reject all of that. It’s to assert my autonomy, my pleasure, and my humanity.

Yes, I am a transgender woman. Yes, I am sexual. And yes, I will speak about it.

My words weren’t unprofessional. They were inconvenient—to a system that still finds trans joy threatening and trans pleasure unspeakable. I lost a role in education for telling the truth about myself. But I gained something else: clarity. I know now that empowerment doesn’t come from fitting in. It comes from taking up space. From naming what you’re told to hide. From loving your body and your voice enough to say what they told you you shouldn’t even feel.

So I will continue to speak freely. Not because I want to provoke—but because I refuse to be erased. I want other trans women to know that they can be intelligent, nurturing, sexual, kinky, loud, soft, and bold—all at once. I want us all to know that our worth doesn’t shrink because someone else is uncomfortable with our truths.

When I say “I like to suck dick,” I’m not just being honest.

I’m being powerful.

And in a world built to silence women like me, that is revolutionary.

I’m not a dirty cock sucker. I make sure the cock is clean before sucking on it.

— Katherine Walter (@kwwalter70) October 28, 2011

Why Teaching Requires More Than Pedagogy

By Katherine Walter

On May 16, 2025

In educational institutions

Created with ChatGPT

As someone who holds a Master’s degree in Anthropology, I entered the world of education with both passion and purpose. While my primary focus was cultural anthropology, I—like every graduate in the discipline—was trained in all four subfields: cultural, linguistic, archaeological, and biological anthropology. That meant I not only studied cultures and societies, but also the scientific method, human evolution, genetics, and the biological roots of human behavior. I came to education with a deep respect for science and evidence-based learning.

This is why, during an assignment as a substitute teacher in a high school science class in Illinois, I was shocked when the regular teacher told me—without hesitation—that “scientific theories are not factual.” He dismissed evolution as “make believe,” clearly unaware that a scientific theory is one of the highest forms of scientific understanding—built upon repeated observation, experimentation, and peer review. Evolution is the cornerstone of modern biology, not a matter of personal belief.

This isn’t a harmless slip-up. This is a fundamental failure in teacher preparation. It’s not enough to teach students how to learn if we’re giving them incorrect or ideologically distorted content. I’ve read critiques arguing that college should be limited to learning within one’s major, and that students should have mastered foundational knowledge in high school. The reality is, many high school students aren’t mastering those foundations—because their teachers are not adequately prepared to teach them.

Too many teacher preparation programs emphasize methods over mastery. Aspiring educators are trained extensively in classroom management, differentiated instruction, and educational theory—yet not always required to have a deep command of the subjects they will teach. In some cases, they’re licensed to teach science with little more than a generalist background.

And the problem doesn’t end with science.

I was working toward my teaching license through a Master of Arts in Teaching (MAT) program when I encountered another systemic problem—this time around sex education. I have a sex-positive stance, one rooted in both personal conviction and research-based evidence. In one health class I observed, students were assigned to budget for the costs of raising a newborn. It was clear the goal was to instill fear—to use financial anxiety as a scare tactic to promote abstinence. But studies have consistently shown that abstinence-only education not only fails to prevent teen pregnancy and STIs but can also be psychologically harmful, particularly to students who do become young parents.

Sexual health education should be empowering and factual, not shame-driven. But when I expressed my concerns, I encountered resistance—not just from individual educators, but from the institution itself.

Things came to a head when a student created a video montage of several posts from my account on X (formerly Twitter). These were not instructional posts. They were personal, blunt statements about my sexual desires—an expression of my identity as a sex-positive transgender woman and my belief that it is okay to have sexual feelings as a man or trans woman who is attracted to men. These posts were part of my advocacy: normalizing desire, refusing shame, and affirming the validity of trans and queer sexuality.

The school’s administration didn’t see it that way. Despite my academic progress and professional goals, my student teaching was terminated by the principal and HR. The university I was attending stated that they supported me—but they offered no legal or practical assistance in dealing with the district. Ultimately, I was left to fend for myself, and I made the painful decision to withdraw from the MAT program.

This experience left me disillusioned but not without resolve. It exposed not only the institutional discomfort with sex positivity and LGBTQ+ inclusion, but also a broader systemic issue: we are not preparing teachers who are content experts, nor are we protecting those who challenge outdated or harmful norms. We are failing both our educators and our students.

This is why I firmly believe that the time has come to rethink our entire approach to public education. In today’s complex and fast-paced world, a high school diploma is no longer sufficient preparation for the workforce—or for responsible citizenship. I believe a community college education should become the new baseline, just as a high school diploma was once considered the minimum requirement. Community colleges offer an affordable, accessible means of deepening one’s understanding of science, mathematics, communication, and civic literacy. They can provide a critical bridge to more specialized training and help ensure that our future educators, health workers, and citizens are equipped with both knowledge and critical thinking skills.

We need teachers who understand evolution, who can explain the scientific method, who are prepared to address the realities of human sexuality without resorting to fear or shame. We need school districts that protect educators from ideological purges, and universities that do more than offer symbolic support when their students face political or cultural backlash.

I may have been pushed out of the MAT program, but I have not given up on education. I still believe deeply in the power of teaching—and in the need for radical reform in how we prepare those who take on that responsibility.

Our students deserve teachers who are not only caring and skilled, but who actually know what they’re talking about. Anything less is a betrayal of their potential.

Embracing My Identity as a Sex-Positive Transfeminist

By Katherine Walter

On December 14, 2024

In feminism

As a transgender woman, my journey of self-discovery and affirmation has been deeply intertwined with my understanding of sexuality, identity, and autonomy. I identify as a sex-positive transfeminist, which means I believe in celebrating the full range of human experience, embracing sexual expression, and challenging the societal norms that seek to limit or shame it.

Being sex-positive is about more than just being open to diverse sexual orientations and practices. It’s about rejecting the stigma that surrounds certain aspects of sexuality and embracing a philosophy of consent, respect, and autonomy. As a transgender woman, I’ve had to navigate not only societal expectations of femininity and gender but also the layers of shame and misconceptions about my body, my desires, and my identity. Transgender women, in particular, are often stigmatized as either hypersexual or as objects of fetish, but being a sex-positive transfeminist means rejecting these harmful stereotypes and celebrating my sexuality as a multifaceted and natural part of who I am.

Kink-Friendly and Embracing Diverse Sexual Expression

As part of my sex-positive approach, I am also kink-friendly. I believe that kink and BDSM practices, when based on mutual consent, communication, and respect, are just as valid and fulfilling as any other form of sexual expression. In fact, the kink community has provided me with a space to embrace my desires, challenge social taboos, and engage in deep, meaningful exploration of power dynamics and intimacy. Being kink-friendly means acknowledging that people have diverse desires and fantasies, and those desires are valid as long as they are consensual and respectful of everyone involved.

For me, this means fully accepting and celebrating all aspects of my sexuality without shame or guilt. There is no one-size-fits-all approach to sexual expression, and I firmly believe that everyone deserves the freedom to explore their desires in ways that are both safe and affirming.

Writing Erotica: An Outlet for Creative and Sexual Expression

Another important aspect of my life is my work as an erotica writer, which I pursue under a pen name. Through my writing, I’ve been able to explore the complexities of desire, identity, and power dynamics in a way that aligns with my own experiences and fantasies. My work is known within certain communities on the internet, where it has garnered attention for its raw, unapologetic exploration of sex and intimacy. Writing under a pen name allows me to separate my public persona from my private creative expression, but it also gives me the freedom to engage with readers and communities who appreciate erotic literature that pushes boundaries, explores kink, and challenges societal views on sexuality.

The act of writing erotica is, for me, a form of empowerment. It allows me to reclaim my sexuality in a way that is both creative and personal, while also providing an opportunity to engage with others who share similar interests. It’s a space where I can express myself freely, without judgment, and where I can challenge the taboos that often surround topics of sex and desire.

Pro-Sex Worker and Advocacy for Decriminalization

As part of my broader belief in sex-positivity and autonomy, I am also pro-sex worker and firmly believe that prostitution should be decriminalized. Sex work, when practiced consensually and safely, is a valid and legitimate form of labor, and the criminalization of sex work only serves to harm those who engage in it. By decriminalizing prostitution, we can ensure that sex workers have access to legal protections, safety, and healthcare, and can live their lives without the constant fear of legal repercussions or stigmatization.

Transgender people, particularly trans women, are disproportionately affected by the criminalization of sex work. Many transgender individuals face discrimination and marginalization in the job market, leaving sex work as one of the few viable options for survival. By decriminalizing prostitution, we would not only be improving the lives of sex workers, but also dismantling the social stigma and criminalization that disproportionately harms marginalized communities.

Sex workers, like all individuals, deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, free from criminal penalties. It’s time for society to recognize sex work as work, and to protect those who choose this path with the same legal rights and protections afforded to any other worker.

Challenging Stigma and Celebrating Autonomy

As a sex-positive transfeminist, my goal is to create a world where people of all genders, orientations, and identities can embrace their sexualities without fear of judgment or discrimination. I advocate for spaces that are inclusive, respectful, and open to all forms of consensual expression, whether that means engaging in kink, embracing non-traditional relationships, or simply living authentically as one’s true self.

Sexuality is a deeply personal and often transformative aspect of human life. For transgender individuals, it can be an especially challenging terrain to navigate. But by embracing a sex-positive mindset and fostering a transfeminist perspective, I believe we can create more inclusive, affirming spaces for people to explore their identities and desires. It’s not just about personal liberation—it’s about contributing to a broader cultural shift where all people, regardless of gender or background, can live authentically and celebrate their sexuality without shame.

In embracing sex-positivity, kink, erotic writing, and advocacy for sex workers’ rights, I’ve found a sense of freedom and empowerment that has transformed my journey. And I’m proud to share this part of my identity with others, hoping to encourage a more inclusive, respectful, and open-minded world.