[Toy Review] Avant Pride P3 Beauty Small Suction Cup Dildo

Way back in 2018, in the early days of this blog (wow that was a different time!) I reviewed my first Avant Pride toy, the P1 rainbow dildo. I followed this up with reviews of the P4 leather pride butt plug later that year and the P8 bi pride dildo in 2021. This week I received another from the range: the P3, a lovely small suction cup dildo in the lesbian flag colours.

I still really like the P8, but I’m not so sure I identify as bisexual any more. Since entering my 30s I’ve slid further and further down the Kinsey Scale to… well, not quite a Kinsey 6, because that wouldn’t account for Mr C&K. Maybe a Kinsey 5-and-a-half? Anyway, the terms I most often use to define my sexuality now are sapphic and homoflexible, the latter meaning (to me) “basically a lesbian but with very very occasional exceptions.”

Sexuality is complicated, y’all.

You know what isn’t complicated, though? How damn good this dildo is.

Smooth Segue, Amy! So Tell Us About the Avant Pride P3 Beauty Small Suction Cup Dildo

Avant Pride lesbian pride dildo

The P3 Beauty is another of the Avant Pride range of sex toys from Blush Novelties. It is a small suction cup dildo measuring 5″ in length and 1.1″ in diameter. Its design is fairly realistic, with a pronounced head and subtle vein texturing along the shaft. The dildo’s colours are based on the pink, white and orange stripes of the lesbian pride flag.

The Avant Pride P3 is made of body-safe and easy-clean silicone. It also has a suction cup, making it ideal for hands-free use and strap-on sex.

What I Liked About the Avant Pride P3 Beauty Small Suction Cup Dildo

My favourite thing about this toy, apart from the gorgeous and vibrant pride-inspired colours, is its small size. Large and oversized toys can be fun on occasion, but often when I’m craving penetration what I actually want is something a little smaller. I also like that the girth is more or less the same all the way down.

I very rarely do anal play at the moment but if you’re interested in a dildo for pegging or anal sex, a slimline toy like this one is an ideal place to start.

Avant Pride realistic  small suction cup dildo in lesbian pride flag colours

The Avant Pride P3 has some of the softest silicone I’ve felt in a long time. Its texture is so delightfully velvety that I’ve been absentmindedly stroking my hand over it in between typing up this review. It has a medium density with a little squish, plenty of flex, and a very slight curve. In other words, it’s comfortable to use and easy to position in the way that works for your body.

I like that the suction cup is quite wide, relative to the small diameter of the dildo. This makes it stick down really firmly to any flat surface, and also makes it easy to use with my favourite strap-on harness without it slipping out or coming loose.

Anything I Didn’t Like?

No? This is a genuinely excellent toy and I can’t find a single fault with it. If you prefer larger insertables it might not be big enough to satisfy you, but for many of us a bigger dildo is not necessarily a better dildo.

Verdict

Avant Pride small lesbian flag dildo with suction cup showing

This is such an easy to use dildo! A simple yet effective design, refreshingly petite size, gorgeous queer colourway, and high quality material. It’s also versatile, anal-safe, and harness compatible. What more could you need in a basic dildo for lesbians, sapphics, WLW, and anyone else who connects with this flag? And on top of all that, it retails for just £32. Readers in North America can find this toy at Babeland or Good Vibes for $44.99.

Thanks to The Pleasure Garden for sending me the Avant Pride P3 small suction cup dildo to review. All views, as always, are mine! Affiliate links appear in this post.

7 Things That Helped Me to Get Over a Broken Heart

Heads up: this is not a generic “how to get over a broken heart” listicle. This is tremendously personal and I hope I can trust my readers to be kind.

Yup. It’s been an entire year, and we’re finally talking about this! I have tried to write something cohesive about this experience so many times over the last year, but it didn’t feel like the right time until now. I had to wait until I was sure I was really okay, really truly over it and out the other side, before I could write about it with the benefit of knowing for sure that the pain really does end.

One year ago today, I experienced the most brutal, absolute, and devastating betrayal of my life from someone I thought I would be with forever.

“Blindsided” is not even the word.

It physically hurt. I felt like I was dying.

I still don’t think I have the words to explain the depths of the grief I sunk into. The anger and the confusion, that time I screamed in my car down a deserted road just to let out some of the pressure that felt like it was crushing me from the inside. The nights I spent alternately crying until I felt numb and drinking myself into oblivion just so that, for a few blissful minutes, I wouldn’t have to feel anything.

But this post isn’t actually about that pain, or about the person who broke my heart. It’s about how I got through it. Because that’s the reality of even the worst heartbreak of your life: you do get through it.

One day, you wake up and find you don’t actively want to fucking die. One day, you wake up and you’re not crying before you’re even fully awake, they’re not the first thing on your mind, you don’t see their eyes every time you close yours. Eventually, you smile again. Laugh again. Dance in your kitchen while you make dinner again. Have sex again. Eventually, you even love again.

So this post is for everyone whose heart has ever been broken. It’s for everyone who’s going through it right now, who needs a reminder that there is joy out there and that this too shall pass. But most of all it’s for the Amy of a year ago who felt like she had lost a piece of her soul and thought she might never be happy again. Hold on, sweetheart. Joy is coming back. More joy than you can imagine right now.

This is just my little love letter to seven of the things that pulled me through.

Mr C&K: a masterclass in how to support your partner through a broken heart

I have to start with this one because fucking hell, this man showed up for me when I needed him. Supporting your partner through a breakup with someone else is a uniquely polyamorous experience, and my nesting partner could teach the masterclass. He picked me up off the floor (literally, once or twice.) He fed me and took care of the house and the cat and our life in the immediate aftermath, when I could barely get off the sofa. When I woke up in the early hours of the morning already crying, he pulled me close and reminded me I was still worthy of love.

Pretty words and promises are nice, but they mean nothing if they’re not backed up with actions. Real love? Sometimes it looks like someone who’s been by your side for a decade sitting with you while you cry and rage and work through the confusion, and then filling the fridge with all your favourite foods in the hope that you’ll eat something even though your body is so full with the sheer weight and volume of your grief that you can’t imagine having room for anything as trivial as food.

Sapphic music

A couple of months after my breakup, I started making a giant playlist of all the sapphic, lesbian and queer girl music I could find.

It was partly an attempt to reconnect with my own queerness. To remind myself that no longer having a girlfriend didn’t invalidate my identity. I found the angsty breakup songs cathartic. The love songs gave me hope that I might find something like that again someday.

Most of all, it was a feeling of being held by these women. Women I’ll never meet but with whom I feel a kinship because of our shared experience as sapphics in a world that simultaneously invisibilises and hyper-sexualises us.

Fletcher, MUNA, Hayley Kiyoko, Girli, Chappell Roan, Xana, Girl in Red, Renee Rapp and more wrapped their words around my heart and, on the nights I felt most profoundly alone, their songs reached out a hand and said “we got you.”

Crafting

You know the cool thing about having yarn, fabric, a set of knitting needles or a crochet hook in your hands? You can’t text the person who broke your heart (or pound that ill-advised fourth shot of gin of the night) while you’re doing it.

Sometimes, making things—counting stitches and rows, figuring out pattern instructions, occasionally ripping it all out and starting again—was the only thing that could stop me from thinking about her, calm my racing mind from ruminating on how stupidly happy I had been and how it had all gone to hell so quickly.

I crafted so much in the few months following my breakup that I ended up taking a stall of my yarn-based creations to sell at a Pride event. Every time I saw someone smile and pick out a piece I’d made in their pride flag’s colours, a little bit of my heart healed. I’d turned my pain into beautiful things, and those things brought other people joy.

Slow, careful and mindful attempts at dating

I got back on the dating apps around August. If I’m entirely honest it was probably a little too soon but I decided, fuck it, it’s been six months, maybe I’m allowed to have a little fun now? (Or maybe I just needed the emotional masochism of confirming, once again, my utter certainty that I would never meet anyone who was right for me ever again.)

Only… I did.

I had a nice date with a woman. Things didn’t go anywhere, but going on a date—laughing and eating sushi and getting to know someone new—felt like gently flexing a muscle I hadn’t used in far too long, like taking the cast off a broken bone. Then I dated someone lovely for about three months. We had fun. Then we realised we weren’t romantically compatible and parted on good terms as friends.

And then…

Well. The next bit of the story comes later in this post.

Queer community: a beautiful antidote to a broken queer heart

There’s an invisibility that often comes with sapphic love. This is doubled (tripled, really) if you’re polyamorous and your relationship isn’t a socially-sanctioned, legally-sanctioned, highly visible, hetero-read one.

So many people in my life didn’t understand that the relationship might have ultimately been short-lived and non-escalator, but that didn’t make it any less real. It fucking mattered. My love mattered. My heart mattered.

It was my queer community, particularly my queer polyamorous community, that understood. Those people witnessed and held the reality of just how much this fucking sucked. They allowed me to be sad then angry then hopeful then hopeless and then sad all over again. They let me go from laughter to sobbing and back to laughter, sometimes in the space of minutes.

And they never told me it didn’t matter because it didn’t last. That I should have known better, or that polyamory is always a recipe for disaster. They didn’t say at least you still have a partner as if that makes a broken heart hurt any less, or any of the other shit that clueless straight people hit me with.

Friends who understand

Sometime around May, three months after my breakup, I went for coffee with a well-meaning friend. When I got home, I said to Mr C&K, “I feel like an alien in my own life.” I felt completely detatched and cut off from just about everyone else on the planet.

There were a very small number of people who made me feel understood and seen. One of them was someone I didn’t even know all that well at the time, who had gone through a breakup around the same time. Over the course of a few months, our two person #BrokenHeartClub (or #BoozyBrokenHeartClub on the more difficult days) evolved into a friendship I’m profoundly grateful for.

My best friend and his boyfriend let me crash with them for a few days in the immediate aftermath while I got my head back on straight. My bestie alternately took me out and got me drunk in healing queer spaces (Eastenders-themed drag? Surprisingly good medicine for a broken heart!) and let me rage-sob on his sofa.

Finding love again: the hardest and most crucial step in getting over a broken heart

I had to save this one for last. It’s ultimately one of the most significant pieces of this story and the most difficult to find adequate words for.

There’s something a little paradoxical here. After a breakup, we’re not supposed to start looking for a new relationship until we’re fully healed. We’re supposed to get over a broken heart before we try to find love again. Yet, at a certain point, there is a form of healing that happens within a new relationship. If you want to learn to trust again, at some point you need to practice trusting someone. If you want to fall in love again, at some point you need to let yourself fall.

I met my now-girlfriend Em on a dating app in late October. Our connection was fast. We both read the other’s profile and had a moment of “were you made for me!?”. But it was also slow, in that it was over two months before we could spend time together in person. In those two months, we clocked up over 40 hours of phone and video calls.

On January 7th at 8pm, she walked into the bar and she smiled at me and I knew. On January 7th at 10pm, she asked me to be her girlfriend. Then, on January 26th, I told her I love her. Was I terrified to try again? Of course. But at some point, you have to feel the fear and try again anyway.

She was the final and most crucial piece. She profoundly sees me, understands me, holds me in the messiness and vulnerability of all that I am and have been and all that I might be in the future. With her, I felt able to take that risk. To trust someone. To stare down the fear of opening myself up to that kind of pain again and decide she was worth the risk.

She was—is—everything I needed in a new love. And she found me at the perfect moment.

If you’re trying to get over a broken heart, I hope this gave you a little comfort. I know you’ll get through it. Listen I love you joy is coming.

Everything The L Word: Generation Q Got Wrong About Polyamory

I just finished my rewatch of The L Word: Generation Q. This follow-up from the hit series from the early-mid 2000s catches up with fan faves Bette (Jennifer Beals), Alice (Leisha Hailey), and Shane (Katherine Moennig) 10 years later as well as bringing in a host of new gay, queer and trans characters. The L Word Generation Q also covers new ground including polyamory and the much-discussed triad (“throuple“) relationship of Alice, Nat, and Gigi.

From here on out there will be spoilers for all three seasons of the series, so stop reading now if you want to avoid those!

It’s safe to say that, in many ways, Generation Q tries to fix some of the things that The L Word got wrong. Notably, there is significantly improved representation of Alice’s bisexuality (and bisexuality in general), much better trans representation (Shane’s apology to Max for “the way we were back then” reads to me as an apology from the producers to the entire trans community), and the addition of non-binary characters as well as butch women characters.

One thing it still manages to get horrendously wrong, though, is its representation of consensual non-monogamy and polyamory. The most notable polyamory storyline features Alice, her girlfriend of two years Nat, and Nat’s ex-wife Gigi, but I also have things to say about Shane and non-monogamy.

Back in 2018, I wrote about all the things You Me Her got wrong about polyamory (spoiler: a lot.) Let’s give The L Word: Generation Q the same treatment, shall we?

The L Word Generation Q’s Alice, Nat and Gigi: The Inevitable Throuple Trope

This is the eternal problem of polyamory in fiction: most writers seem to think that the default configuration for polyamory is a triad (or, to use a cringeworthily terrible word I wish would die already, “throuple.”) That is, three people in a relationship all together. In the vast majority of cases, this is the only representation we get.

The reality is that triads are fairly rare. Stable, healthy, functional triads are even rarer. It’s a really difficult dynamic to both find and sustain, with a very high failure rate, and is just not representative of how most people do polyamory.

The only slight saving grace of The L Word Generation Q’s throuple storyline is that it’s three women rather than the “one man, two women” configuration we usually see.

When Triads Do Happen, They Don’t Usually Result From Drunken Threesomes

I wouldn’t have had a problem with The L Word Generation Q’s throuple story if it had been handled differently. The show could have done something interesting with Alice, Nat and Gigi having the threesome and then having to deal with the resulting awkwardness and emotional fallout. Things happen, particularly when unresolved feelings and a lot of tequila are involved. And frankly it’s a fucking hot scene.

But for an alcohol-fuelled spontaneous threesome to transition to a full-on triad in the space of about two days is flat-out ridiculous.

The L Word Generation Q’s Throuple Involving Two Ex Wives is Hard Mode on Speed

Look, I understand that the point of this storyline was to show that Nat and Gigi aren’t over each other and that Nat genuinely loves Alice while also genuinely loving Gigi. But The L Word Generation Q’s bungled throuple storyline was the worst possible way to do it. Anyone with a modicum of polyamory experience would have been screaming watching this.

Poor Alice never stood a chance in this situation. Pro tip: if you’re going to try polyamory, a triad is hard mode. If you’re going to try a triad anyway, doing it with your (or your partner’s) ex is the worst possible way to go about it.

Why Does Nat Give Alice False Hope With a Promise of Monogamy?

After the L Word Generation Q throuple falls apart, Nat turns up at Alice’s show recording to win her back. She promises Alice that she wants to love and be with “just her.” But they’ve barely reconciled when Nat os coming out as polyamorous, and has apparently been thinking she might be poly for a long time.

So why, then, did she make a promise she knew she might not be able to keep? This just seems exceptionally and needlessly cruel to Alice.

Does Alice Have to Be So Judgy?

Alice has been subjected to a fair amount of bigotry and prejudice on both the original L Word and Generation Q, not least a lot of biphobia (including from her friends.) She’s also a fan favourite, and perhaps the character I personally relate to the most. So it was really, really disappointing to see this exchange:

Nat: “Monogamy isn’t for everyone.”
Alice: “It’s for most people. Except the bad ones.”

I can accept that Alice can’t handle polyamory in her own relationship. That’s fair. Like monogamy, it’s not for everyone. But it makes me really sad to see her being so harsh and judgemental about it. When Nat goes and cries in the bathroom after this exchange, my heart broke for her.

When Did Nat and Alice Discuss… Literally Anything?

In a pretty tender and emotional L Word Generation Q scene, some time after their throuple with Gigi falls apart, Nat comes out as polyamorous to a horrified Alice. Next thing we know, she’s coming back from her first overnight sex date. I hate that the show totally skipped over everything that comes in between these two points. The hours of talking, negotiating, processing, discussing agreements and boundaries and more… all skipped.

Obviously we couldn’t see all of this, because the show only has so much time. But one or two scenes is, surely, not too much to ask for. Instead, it gives the impression that the opening up journey is a quick hop, skip and jump from “I think I’m polyamorous” to “overnight dates.”

How the Fuck Has Shane Never Heard of Polyamory?

After Shane inevitably cheats on her girlfriend Tess (played by the gorgeous and fabulous Jamie Clayton of Sense8 fame) and they’re trying to work things out, Tess asks Shane if she wants to do ethical non-monogamy (ENM.) Shane, the player and womanizer extraordinaire who also lives in a huge liberal city and has been part of the LGBTQ community for decades, has apparently… never heard of this concept.

It’s even implied at one point that Shane and her ex-wife Quiara had some kind of non-monogamous relationship when Quiara says something like “you and I have never done things the conventional way.” Yet later on, Shane’s somehow never even considered this possibility. It makes absolutely no sense.

And One Thing The L Word Generation Q Got Right: The Heartbreak of a Failed Throuple and Fundamental Incompatibility

I hate how it got there, but I actually think having Alice and Nat break up over their incompatible views on monogamy was a good and powerful storyline. Because in those situations, where one of you wants monogamy and the other doesn’t, breaking up is often inevitable and usually the best choice (even though it utterly sucks.)

Credit where credit is due, this was a far better choice than either Alice reluctantly going along with polyamory or Nat reluctantly going along with monogamy.

But seriously, when are we going to get better polyamorous representation on TV? When are writers and producers going to start actually, you know, talking to polyamorous people?

Sapphic, Lesbian and WLW Erasure in Polyamory, Kink, and Other Alternative Sexuality Communities

Those of us who are active in alternative relationship and sexuality communities such as polyamory, consensual non-monogamy, and kink like to believe that we’re operating in a utopia. We so want to think our little bubble is apart from the rest of the world, unaffected by society’s ills. It’s a seductive narrative, but it is a lie. Today I want to talk about a pervasive and insidious issues I’ve been thinking a lot about recently. Specifically, sapphic erasure and lesbian invisibility in the queer, kink, and polyamory communities.

A quick note on terminology: I can’t write about this topic without acknowledging the ways in which the the anti-transgender hate movement has co-opted the concept of “lesbian erasure.” Anti-trans activists often erroniously claim that to accept trans women as women is to erase or undermine lesbian identities and that cis lesbians routinely experience pressure to transition to male. I absolutely and unequivocally reject these ideas. Trans women are women. Trans, non-binary, and gender-diverse sapphics are our siblings and family. They are just as much a part of the community as their cis counterparts.

With that said, I want to talk about the systemic erasure and devaluing of sapphic, lesbian, and women-loving-women (WLW) identities and relationships within polyamory, consensual non-monogamy, kink, and other adjacent communities.

Queer Erasure in Sex-Positive Spaces: Who Counts as a Couple?

Let’s start with the obvious: many non-monogamous spaces, particularly those geared around casual sex and swinging, are simply not set up in a way that allows for any configuration of people that isn’t “one man and one woman in a relationship” or “a single cisgender person.” The result of this is lesbian and sapphic invisibility and the erasure of queer polyamory and non-monogamy.

The most obvious example of this is gendered pricing. This has tonnes of its own problems anyway and completely falls apart when you account for anyone who isn’t straight, cis, and in a relationship that appears monogamous from the outside.

Many lifestyle events, clubs, and parties would class my girlfriend and I as two single women if we attended together. (Whereas, of course, if I attended with a male partner they’d class us as a couple.) Two women could be literally married to each other, and this would still be the case. Because in the eyes of those spaces, a “couple” is a man and a woman.

“But you’ll get in cheaper if they count you as two single women!”. Yeah, this isn’t the gotcha you think it is in this situation. I’d much, much rather pay the same rate as any other couple rather than have my relationship minimised, othered, and erased on account of our genders.

It’s often more insidious than these fairly blatant forms of discrimination, too. When people talk about “couples” in non-monogamous spaces, they will often casually refer to “the man” and “the lady” (or, worse, “girl”) as if that is the only configuration for a couple to take. If I refer to a partner without gendering them, most people will assume I am talking about a man. I really don’t believe this is malicious in 99% of cases. At worst, I think it is privilege-blind and clueless. But that doesn’t make it any more right or any less hurtful.

The Aggressive Gendering of Kink

I love the BDSM community in so many ways. I’ve been finding my home, my place, and my people within it for the best part of 15 years. But the longer I stick around, the more I see something I can’t unsee. The kink community still has a pervasive gender-norms problem that we still need to address.

Absent very explicit context to the contrary, people still broadly assume that men are Dominant and women are submissive. They’ll expect kinky and D/s relationships to look broadly heteronormative. And sure, Femdom exists. But all my Dominant women friends have countless stories of men treating them as little more than fetish dispensers. Dommes are expected to service those men’s needs and follow precise directions while pretending to be in charge. All without regard for their own needs and desires.

There is very, very little representation of kinky sapphic relationships of any description in our media, our online spaces, our educational materials, or our event leadership demographics. Why is that? Because it sure as hell isn’t “because kinky sapphics don’t exist.”

I suspect it’s for a few reasons. First, a lack of imagination that assumes all kinky relationships must play out a sexy version of 1950s gender roles. Second, because cisheterosexism still means that—even in alternative spaces—men are more likely to hold positions of leadership and influence. And third, because parts of the community can be pretty damn unwelcoming for queer people and especially for queer women.

More than once, when I’ve played with other women in public kink spaces, we’ve been interrupted by men. They either try to give unsolicited advice or try to insert themselves into our scene. On one memorable occasion, I was topping for an impact play scene with a friend (who, in her words, was “having a perfectly lovely time”). Out of nowhere, a man I’d never met came over and tried to physically grab my flogger out of my hands.

Because I was a woman, I was assumed to be incompetent. Because we were two women playing together, we were assumed to need a man. Our happy little play bubble was totally ruined by some random dude’s ego and entitlement.

This isn’t an isolated incident, either. Virtually every queer woman I know who plays in mixed kink spaces with other women has a similar story. Is there any wonder we’ve started making more and more of our own spaces?

To be fair, this does seem to be slowly getting better. But there’s some way still to go.

“But You Still Like Men, Right?” Minimising of Lesbian and Sapphic Relationships in Heteronormative Polyamory Communities

When I mention my girlfriend to people who know I’m non-monogamous (or can reasonably make that assumption, such as at a lifestyle party or social), one of the first I’ve been asked on numerous occasions is whether or not I also date or fuck men.

My friend Violet calls this the “are you heteronormative enough for my comfort zone?” question. Which… no. No I am not.

My usual response to this, until now, has been to say yes but emphasise that it’s fairly rare for me to fancy a man enough to want to do anything about it. In the future, though, I think I might change my response. “Why do you ask?” or “well I’m not sleeping with you if that’s what you’re really asking” are strong contenders.

I want people who ask me this question to ask themselves why it’s the first place their mind goes on learning that I’m sapphic. After all, if a woman mentions a boyfriend or husband, almost no-one is going to ask her “but you still date women too, right?” Ultimately, what they’re asking is whether I am still sexually available to men – a thing that patriarchy both demands of women and villifies us for.

There’s a strong connection between all of this and the commodification of sapphic sexuality in service of the male gaze.

Polyamory, Sapphic and Lesbian Sexuality, and the Male Gaze

People often believe that there is no sapphic, lesbian and WLW erasure issue in polyamory and kink because there are so many bisexual, pansexual and queer women in these spaces. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s quite that simple. In reality, my experience and the experience of many sapphic friends I’ve spoken to about this, is often not so much one of acceptance but of fetishisation, followed by devaluing when we refuse to conform to a safe, male-gazey idea of what our sexuality should be. And fetishisation is not acceptance. It certainly isn’t love.

Lesbian, sapphic, bi+, and queer polyamory exists in contexts that have absolutely nothing to do with performing for men.

I’m reminded of the man at a polyamorous speed dating event about a year ago. He aggressively quizzed me about what my former metamour-with-benefits and I got up to in the bedroom. He was then clearly bored and put out when I refused to engage. In the 16 years or so I’ve been out, I really thought we’d moved past men asking sapphics “but what do y’all do in bed anyway!?”. Apparently we have not.

I’m also reminded of the man who hit on me and my girlfriend in a gay bar on Pride weekend. Because apparently what two sapphics in love desperately needed in that moment was his dick. I have literally dozens of other examples like this that I can pull out with very little thought.

Expectations of Performativity

In sexualised spaces, including parts of the polyamory community, people continue to expect queer women to perform their sexuality in a way that appeals to the male gaze. Two different male exes of mine became extremely upset or angry when my girlfriends were either not their physical type or not willing to sleep with them. This made me feel like my sexuality, my relationships, were only valid as long as they provided benefits to men. Which, of course, is a classic way that society devalues and commodifies WLW relationships.

One of these partners literally asked me what was “even the point” of me being queer. If I didn’t perform in a way that fulfilled his lesbian porn fantasy, my identity was irrelevant. Other male partners and metamours have tried to demand titillating details, photos, or even the right to “watch.” I’ve been hit on by so many men who want me to play with their wives. This is inevitably not because she wants a sapphic experience, but because he wants her to perform one for him.

Patriarchal entitlement to women’s bodies persists, even when we are tell you we are far more interested in each other than we are in you.

Unicorn hunting is another extremely common variation on this theme. In those dynamics, the original male/female couple will often pull a bait-and-switch tactic in which they use the woman to lure other queer women in, then spring the boyfriend or husband on the unsuspecting “unicorn” as a kind of polyamory package deal. I hope I don’t have to tell you how grossly unethical this is. That’s why I now run from prospective female dates at the first signs that they’re going to expect me to be sexually available to their male partners.

And that brings us to…

One Penis Policies in Polyamory: Are Lesbian and Sapphic Dynamics Less Threatening, or Are You Just Homophobic?

This particular trope is so common within non-monogamy that it’s now a cliché. A cisgender man and woman open up their relationship. The man then tells his partner he’ll allow her to date other women, but no men. (In practice, what this means is “no-one else with a penis“, which is also transphobic.) The reason? Women are just less threatening. They don’t make him feel emasculated or threatened in the way that a man (or penis-haver) would.

The subtext? His wife could never leave him for another woman. She could never like having sex with another woman more than she does with him. She could never gain more fulfillment from a sapphic relationship than from a straight one. A man could steal her away, but a woman couldn’t. So his place in her life is safe. Right?

This comes from a belief that relationships between women are less real, less valid, and less important than hetero-appearing relationships. In other words it’s straight up, common-or-garden, fucking boring homophobia.

These men, by the way, are often the same men who expect their wives’ sapphic relationships to offer them something in terms of sexual access or live-action lesbian porn on tap then get very upset if they don’t.

But of course, lesbian, sapphic and WLW relationships are just as deep, meaningful, and sexually satisfying as hetero ones in both polyamory and monogamy. Hell, for many of us they’re often more so. If you believe your wife can’t possibly glean as much happiness or fulfillment from a relationship with a woman, you might be in for a very rude awakening. If you see another man as a threat but not a woman, all this tells me is that you believe men are inherently superior and hetero relationships are inherently more desirable or important.

The fact that this practice and way of thinking is so common tells me, in itself, that there’s still a lot of homophobia towards lesbian, sapphic and queer women within polyamory.

So What Can We Do About It?

I try to make these blog posts something more than just rants. So if we accept that sapphic, lesbian and WLW erasure are huge problems in these communities, what can we do about it?

Here are a few of my ideas for how we, as a community, can start combatting this issue:

  • Stop all gendered pricing for events, now. If you want to limit numbers of single men, fine. You can sell only a certain number of tickets or vet them carefully or both. But pricing according to gender, and defining “couple” as meaning a man and a woman, is homophobic, cissexist, and exclusionary.
  • Vote with your feet and your wallet. Attend events that are inclusive and avoid those that are not.
  • Stop asking queer women whether we also sleep with men. Some of us do, some of us don’t. Either way, it is solidly none of your goddamn business unless we’re going to sleep with you. And unless we make it very clear, you should probably assume we’re not.
  • Stop asking queer women for details of our sex lives. This includes asking if you can “watch,” asking for pictures or details, or treating us as lesbian porn fantasies.
  • If you’re a man practicing polyamory with a queer female partner, give your partner’s sapphic relationships equal weight to yours.
  • Do not assume that hetero-presenting relationships or marriages are “primary”. Don’t assume they are more important or take precedent over queer relationships in non-monogamous networks.
  • Push back against unicorn hunting and one penis policies wherever you see them. Let people know that they are fetishising, homophobic, transphobic, and all-round gross.
  • Use non-gendered terms when talking about kink roles such as Top, bottom, Dominant, submissive, and so on. Do not assume that all Dominants are men, that all submissives are women, or that all kinky relationships are heteronormative.
  • Uplift and support queer women as educators, speakers, organisers, and leaders within the kink, polyamory, and sex-positive communities.

Of course, fixing this kind of stuff takes more than just a few steps. Erasure of sapphic and queer women is deeply ingrained and pervasive, and communities like kink and polyamory are not immune. Undoing it will require a massive cultural shift both within our little subcultures and in wider society. It won’t happen overnight, of course. But I do believe we can get there. Let’s start by acknowledging that lesbian and queer polyamory exist, are valid, and are beautiful.

So You Want to Find a Unicorn?

Spend ten seconds on any polyamory forum or Facebook group, and this issue will come up. “We’re a couple, she’s bi and he’s straight, and we’re looking for a unicorn to join our relationship!” (The hapless couple might also refer to the unicorn they’re looking for as “a third” or, even worse, “a female.”) The community, particularly people who have been doing this for a long time, have little patience for this phenomenon. Commenters may be fairly harsh towards the couple in question. And I get it! I too roll my eyes every time I see yet another iteration of this. But why is unicorn hunting bad?

Yelling at and berating unicorn hunters doesn’t help to educate them. It just turns them off and, often, causes them to double down. So I thought I’d address this issue in depth here. What is this “unicorn hunting” thing all about, why is it problematic, and what options do you have instead?

What is Unicorn Hunting, Anyway?

A “unicorn”, in polyamory[1], is a woman[2] who is willing to join a pre-existing couple to form a triad[3] relationship. It is usually understood that the relationship will be closed (i.e. no additional partners outside the triad) and that the unicorn will be expected to conform to an array of rules that the couple determined ahead of time with no input from her.

The reason this phenomenon is called “unicorn hunting” is that it’s typically so hard to find this person that she might as well be a mythological creature.

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[1] In swinging, the term is sometimes used more broadly to refer to single women who are willing to play sexually with couples. That’s not what we’re talking about here.

[2] There is some debate in the community over whether there is any such thing as a male unicorn. Some believe there is, others believe that couples looking for unicorns is a strictly gendered phenomenon. I have seen a male unicorn be referred to as a “Pegasus” or a “Dragon”, but these terms don’t seem to have caught on very widely. In this post, I will sometimes use “she/her” pronouns to refer to unicorns as that is by far the most common iteration of this trope. However, the advice here and the bad things about unicorn hunting apply no matter the genders of the couple or the incoming partner.

[3] Three-person romantic relationship, also sometimes called a “throuple.”

Before We Talk About Why Unicorn Hunting Is Bad, Let’s Establish Who I’m Not Talking About

This post is not about everyone in a three-person relationship or triad.

Did you have two partners, who then met and also happened to fall for each other? Or maybe you were one of two partners to a hinge person, then you also fell for your metamour. Perhaps you and your partner made a friend or started a casual sexual relationship with a lovely someone, and romantic feelings developed between all three of you. Or possibly you’re just theoretically open to the idea of a triad if the right person/people come along.

If any of these situations, or something like them, match yours then I am not talking to you. Your situation (or hypothetical situation) is what I’d call an organically formed triad. There’s nothing whatsoever wrong with those!

If, however, you’re a couple who has recently (or not so recently) opened up your relationship and decided that looking for a unicorn—a bisexual woman to form a closed triad with you both—is what you want, I’m talking to you. I’m going to be as kind as I can. But I’m also going to say some things you might not want to hear. I gently challenge you to make it to the end of this breakdown of the bad things about unicorn hunting with an open mind. Then consider whether you think I make any good points.

The purpose of this post is to educate and encourage you to think more critically about this dynamic. It is not to berate you, scold you, or push you away from the polyamorous community.

Why Do You Want This Specific Dynamic?

I have often asked couples trying to find a unicorn why they are looking for this set-up in particular. I have rarely received satisfactory answers. So before you go any further, if you’re a couple looking for a unicorn, please ask yourselves this question and really interrogate it. Why can’t you date separately, if polyamory is what you want? Why don’t you try swinging instead if casual sexual experiences together are your priority? What is it specifically about a closed, three-way relationship with a bisexual woman that appeals to you so much?

“It’s just what we want!” isn’t an answer, by the way.

Let’s address some of the common answers I see to this question, and my responses to them.

  • “My wife is bisexual and wants to try being with a woman.” Okay, this desire can be addressed either by swinging/casual sex or by her dating women separately.
  • “My husband says other women only, no men.” This is called a One Penis Policy (OPP). It has so many issues that I’m going to write another entire post about it. In the meantime, read this.
  • “If my partner is dating someone else separately, what am I getting out of it!?”. I mean… seeing your partner happy? Supporting their joy, pleasure, and exploration? The opportunity to also date people separately yourself? Viewing non-monogamy simply through the lens of “what’s in it for me?” is unlikely to lead to happiness. It can lead to seeing your partner’s other relationships as commodities for your consumption.
  • “I’d be too jealous if my partner were dating someone separately/my partner would be too jealous if I dated separately.” Oh my sweet summer child. Virtually every polyamory newbie ever has made this mistake, including me back in the day! Dating together is not a cure for jealousy, which can (and likely will) absolutely crop up in a triad or other group relationship. Also, jealousy is a normal human emotion to be felt, processed, communicated about, dealt with, or just sat with until it passes. It’s not the enemy.
  • “I don’t feel safe dating without my partner/my partner doesn’t feel safe dating without me.” You may need to do some work on regaining independence, which is absolutely possible from within a relationship. It is healthy to be able to do some things separately! There are also healthy ways to keep yourself physically, emotionally, and sexually safe while dating, but doing everything together at all times isn’t one of them.

Whatever your reasons for unicorn hunting, you are likely to find that there are better and healthier ways of addressing those needs and desires.

What’s So Bad About Unicorn Hunting Anyway?

“That’s all well and good, Amy,” hopeful couples might be saying right now, “but we’re determined to keep looking for our unicorn and we’re willing to wait if necessary! What’s wrong with what we want? Isn’t this community supposed to be open minded!?”

I hear you. It’s not nice to be told that what you’re looking for is a problem. However, the reason experienced polyamorous people are wary of unicorn hunting is that we’re all too aware of all the ways it can go wrong. Many of us have learned from very bitter personal experience, on one side or the other of this equation.

So let’s look at a few specific things that are problematic about unicorn hunting.

Unicorn Hunting is Bad Because It Dehumanises Bi Women

Bisexual women are already aggressively and often non-consensually sexualised by society. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve mentioned being bi and someone has either said “that’s hot!” or asked if I’ll have a threesome with them and their partner.

Unicorn hunting reduces bi women to a highly sexualised monolith. The reality is that we fall all over the sexuality spectrum. Some of us are very sexual, some of us are demisexual, some of us are asexual. Some of us are into threesomes, group sex, and group dating, while others are not. And yes, plenty of us are actually monogamous!

What bisexual women are not, though, is sex toys designed to spice up the bedrooms of bored couples. The idealisation of the MFF closed triad directly stems from the male gaze, the hyper-sexualisation of bi women, and the trope that sapphic love and sex exists for male consumption.

I’m a pretty sexual person. I love sex, and I love folks of multiple genders. I also love group sex, threesomes, moresomes, and all that goodness when they’re in the context of a trusted dynamic with people I like. What I DON’T love is the assumption that I am available to couples in general, or the feeling that my being bisexual and having a vagina are the only reasons someone is approaching me. I’m a person, not your “two hot bi babes” fantasy.

A Person Cannot “Join” an Existing Relationship

A triad isn’t a single relationship. A triad is actually four relationships: three dyads (A+B, A+C, B+C) and the relationship between all three people. Seven relationships, if you count the relationship each person has with themself. (Which you probably should, because self-care and a stable relationship with yourself are even more important in non-monogamy.)

So an additional person cannot meaningfully “join” an existing relationship. If you’re in a relationship or married, you and your partner/spouse have a dyadic relationship that you’ve been building for however many years. That relationship will continue, though it will undoubtedly be changed, when you date other people either together or separately.

In the context of a triad, you will each be creating a new dyadic relationship with your new partner. You’ll also be contending with shifts and changes in your dyadic relationship with one another. And, of course, you’ll be creating a brand new relationship between all three of you. See how that’s much harder than just fitting someone into a vaguely person-shaped box labelled “insert bi gal here”?

Viewing the incoming partner as an “addition” to your relationship will not lead anywhere good for any of you. Treating them as an add-on can leave incoming partners feeling like little more than accessories or human sex toys. Which leads me on to…

You Can’t Expect Someone to Feel Exactly the Same Way About Two People

All the successful triad relationships I know have a few things in common, and this is one of them: they allowed, and continue to allow, the individual relationships within the triad to develop, fluctuate, change, and grow at their own natural pace. People don’t fall in love with two people at the same rate, in the same way, at the same time. Human emotions simply don’t work like that. To be in a triad, you have to be comfortable with the fact that each dyadic relationship within it will look different.

Another question I see a lot in polyamorous forums is a variation of this: “Help! We formed a triad but now it seems like our girlfriend is connecting with my wife more than me!”

In an ethical, organically formed triad, this difference in connection needs to be okay. You might have challenging feelings about it, of course. That’s normal. You may need to seek reassurance and extra affection from one or both of your partners. You may even need to renegotiate some aspects of your relationship. In a unicorn situation, this disparity in levels of connection – which is incredibly normal – can be enough to get the newer partner ejected from the relationship.

In addition, an ethical triad allows for the possibility that one (or more) of the dyadic relationships may have conflict, deescalate, or even end… without any expectations that other dyadic connections need to end as a result. If you have a rule that says your partner must date you in order to date your spouse, this leaves them a spectacularly shitty choice if they just don’t feel that way about you or if your relationship is no longer working: fake a connection to you that they do not feel, or lose their relationship with your spouse, i.e. someone they love.

Do you see how unfair that is? Do you also see how it lays the groundwork for coercion, abuse, or even sexual violence? I don’t know about you, but I would be horrified if I realised someone was having sex with me that they didn’t want, just because they thought it was the price of admission to get access to my partner.

Unicorn Hunting Is Bad Because It Centres the Couple

Unicorn hunting typically centres the original couple, even without intending to, by putting their desires and needs front and centre. Often, they’ve made the rules before a third party has even entered the picture, giving her no say in their creation. This means that the unicorn is seen as an add-on to the couple’s relationship, rather than an equal partner.

The couple often expect – even tacitly – the new partner to prioritise their needs and wants above her own. They also tend to expect that, in the event of conflict, their relationship will be the one prioritised. This is often the case even when the couple pays lip service to their new partner being “totally equal.”

The result? Once again, the newer partner ends up feeling like an accessory rather than a human being.

Think about some of the ways you’d like your relationship to look if you did successfully find a unicorn, or the rules you’d want her to follow. Will you permit her to have dates, sex, and so on with one of you without the other present? If not, will you also be refraining from any one-to-one intimacy with each other? (The answer to this is often “no” and “no”. That is, by definition, not an equal set-up.) If things go swimmingly, will you want your unicorn to move into your home? Would you ever consider moving into hers, or buying a new place all together? Will you introduce her to your family and friends, bring her home for the holidays, or tell your work colleagues about her?

When you start checking your assumptions about how your dream triad relationship will go, you might find that there’s a lot of inequality baked in. That’s because unicorn hunting is almost always couple-centric. Relationships that spring from unicorn hunting involve three people, but tend to only benefit two of them.

Most Polyamorous People Don’t Want Closed Relationships

There are exceptions, of course. Polyfidelity is a thing and can be valid! But the vast majority of polyamorous people are polyamorous, at least in part, because it enables them to be open to new connections of all kinds that may come into their lives.

If you’re seeking a closed relationship with your hypothetical unicorn, I invite you to consider why that is. Most answers will fall into one of two categories.

“I/we would be too jealous if our girlfriend was with anyone else.” Again, jealousy is a real feeling and it can be overwhelming. However, if you want to be non-monogamous, you can’t simply avoid it by setting up rules and restrictions for your partners. At least not if you want happy and healthy relationships.

If you’re not ready to confront and handle jealousy when it arises, you’re not ready to be non-monogamous. It won’t always be easy. Sometimes it’ll utterly suck. But it is necessary if you want to live this life. It is spectacularly unfair to ask a polyamorous person to cut off their chances to enjoy other connections just because you are trying to avoid a difficult feeling.

“I am/we are worried about STIs.” I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t worry about sexual health. If you’re non-monogamous, it’s absolutely something with which you need to concern yourself. However, having a closed relationship is not the only way to protect your sexual health. Everyone in your polycule and wider sexual/romantic network should be getting regular STI tests. You should all be communicating openly about barrier usage or lack thereof and incorporating risk-aware practices.

Often, when I hear “we want a closed relationship because we don’t want STIs”, what’s at the root of it is actually just good old-fashioned slut-shaming. Did you know that consensually non-monogamous people actually have lower STI rates than supposedly-monogamous people who cheat (which is a huge percentage)? They are also more likely to use barriers and to practice regular testing. (Source: Dr Justin Lehmiller in The Journal of Sexual Medicine.)

Ultimately, you have to be okay with some risk of contracting an STI if you are going to be non-monogamous… or if you’re going to have sex at all. No prevention mechanism is bombproof. People lie, people cheat, and people make mistakes in the heat of the moment. You can mitigate the risk but you cannot entirely eliminate it.

If you want a closed relationship, stay monogamous or date other people for whom polyfidelity is their ideal choice. Don’t try to push people who would prefer an open dynamic into a closed one. Polyamory isn’t just monogamy with an additional person.

It’s Just Statistically Unlikely

Back in the days of Livejournal, Emanix wrote this article outlining some of the numbers involved in unicorn hunting. Not being a numbers person, I have no idea how mathematically sound this is, but the message is clear. Unicorn hunting is damn hard, with seeking couples outnumbering interested bi women by 100 to 1[4]. There’s a reason couples sometimes pop up complaining that they’ve been looking for a year, five years, ten years, and still haven’t found their “one.”

Remember: we call these people unicorns because it is so hard to find one that they might as well not exist!

[4] I pulled this number out of the air. I have no idea what the actual figures are. But suffice to say that if you’re a couple looking for a unicorn, the odds are hugely stacked against you.

You’re Probably Not the Exception

“We’re not like that!” you might be saying. “We’ll be different! We’ll treat our unicorn like a queen!”

I hate to break it to you, but you’re probably not the exception. This is because the inequalities, objectification, and mistreatment that make unicorn hunting so problematic are baked into the very structure.

The assumptions, beliefs, and practices that underpin a couple looking for a unicorn come from a place that causes harm. The only way to unicorn hunt ethically is not to do it.

So What Can You Do Instead?

If you’ve got this far and you’re still with me, great! So you want to be non-monogamous and you want to be ethical about it. Amazing! So what now?

Luckily, there are loads of ways you can enjoy consensual non-monogamy as a couple without looking for a unicorn. Here are just a few for you to consider.

If your priority is enjoying sexual variety and you want to do this together, try swinging. This enables you to enjoy different bodies, different kinks, and fun experiences together with other people who want the same. Many swingers do form friendships with their playmates, and sometimes these connections can turn romantic. Be clear about what you want and can offer upfront, look for others whose desires match, and you’ll minimise the chances of hurting someone.

If you want to build more romantic connections with other people, try dating separately. It might be more emotionally challenging, but it’s also tremendously rewarding. You’ll have far more luck finding dates, particularly with experienced and skilled polyamorous people. When you free yourselves and your prospective partners from restrictive expectations, you’ll allow things to flourish naturally. You’ll also most likely treat other people, each other, and yourselves better.

It’s also important to make sure you’re not using “dating separately” as a way of looking for a unicorn without seeming to be looking for one. Presenting yourself as available for solo dating, only to spring your partner on your unsuspecting date with a view to getting them together too, is not ethical.

Like the idea of both these relationship styles? Yes, you can be both polyamorous and a swinger! Plenty of people do both, or a mix of the two. There’s not even always a strict delineation. Polyam people can have casual sex, and swingers can have deep and romantic attachments. Non-monogamy is a spectrum and a world of options to choose from. It’s not a set of rigid boxes into which you have to cram yourselves.

There’s even the possibility that you can have a triad relationship without falling prey to these pitfalls and hurting someone. Plenty of people do. “No unicorn hunting” isn’t the same thing as “no triads.” But it won’t happen for you by going out with a laundry list of criteria and looking for a bi woman to be your unicorn as a couple. If it happens, it’ll happen organically while you are out there doing your non-monogamous thing.

And if not? There are numerous other wonderful, fulfilling, and healthy ways to enjoy this thing we call non-monogamy.

Naming My Sexuality: What is Sapphic?

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the words I use to describe my sexuality. I started identifying as bisexual when I was 17, having always experienced attraction to folks of different genders. But in recent years, this term has felt less and less adequate to describe an expansive and often confusing identity. As I’ve tried on different terms for my sexuality, the one that feels increasingly right is “sapphic.” Let’s talk about the definition of this lesser-known LGBTQ+ term and what it means to be sapphic.

Am I Still Bisexual? Yes… and No

I’ve always liked the term “bisexual” and proudly claimed it for a number of reasons:

  1. It feels extremely important to claim a label that people often dismiss as “not really queer” or “queer lite”, despite being literally the third letter in LGBTQIA+.
  2. It’s an easy shorthand that most people outside of the LGBTQIA+ community have at least some understanding of.
  3. Claiming an expansive definition of bisexuality (“attraction to two or more genders”) is important in pushing back against the false narrative that bisexuals only fancy cis people or that bisexuality is a trans-exclusionary sexuality. (They don’t and it’s not.)

So now I’ve started defining my sexuality as sapphic, am I also still bisexual? Yes and no. I’d say that I still identify as under the bi+ umbrella, given that I’m neither a 0 nor a 6 on the Kinsey Scale (“exclusively heterosexual” or “exclusively homosexual”, respectively.) Taken on its own, though, I haven’t been finding the label “bisexual” entirely accurate or sufficient to describe my reality.

Sapphic Sexuality Definition: An Expensive LGBTQ+ Identity?

So what is sapphic?

The official definition of sapphic is an LGBTQ+ term “relating to sexual attraction or activity between women” (Oxford Languages.) As a sexual orientation or identity, the LGBTQIA+ Wiki defines sapphic sexuality as referring “to a woman or woman-aligned person of any sexual orientation who is attracted to other women and/or women-aligned individuals.”

Fun fact: the term “sapphic” derives from the name of Sappho, an Archaic Greek poet who lived circa 630-570 BCE and whose work described erotic desire and romantic love between women. The word “lesbian” comes from Lesbos, the island where Sappho lived.

Why Identify My Sexuality as Sapphic?

As I said, I’ve played around with a lot of sexuality labels over the years and particularly over the last few months. Though I’m definitely somewhere on the bi+ spectrum, I’m also definitely not a Kinsey 3 (i.e. bang in the middle of the spectrum between exclusively gay and exclusively straight.)

I’m probably somewhere between a Kinsey 5 and a 5.5. That is, much more frequently attracted to people with similar gender identities and presentations to mine (i.e. women, femmes, and women-aligned folks) than to those with very different identities and presentations (i.e. men, male-aligned, and masc-of-centre folks.)

In truth, if I could name 100 people I found attractive right now, at least 95 of them would be women, femmes, or women-aligned. The men in my romantic life are wonderful (and it’s really “man”, singular, these days). But they’re also increasingly rare exceptions.

Sapphic as a Reclamation of Queer Visibility

Sapphic is an umbrella term for many different ways of being within queer sexuality. It can encompass people who identify as lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, queer, and in various other ways. What I love the most about this particular label is that it doesn’t necessarily mean exclusive attraction to women (in the way that the term “lesbian” is often assumed to, though even this is complicated. Bisexual lesbians exist!) It does, however, centre that attraction.

As a woman and as a femme, most of the world would conceive my sexuality primarily in relation to men. Specifically, the assumption is that I will be exclusively or primarily attracted to them and that, even when I am not, my interest in other women will be performed in a way that centres men. In fact, one of the most common biphobic and lesbophobic tropes is that queer women’s sexuality primarily exists for the titillation and enjoyment of men. (See “can I watch?” and “that’s hot” and “so if you’re bi, can we have a threesome?”)

People often assume that I’m “straight really”. They accuse me of just dabbling in queerness for funsies because my nesting partner happens to be male. I recently told a man who was trying to pick me up that I was “wayyyyyy towards the gay end of bisexual”. Somehow, all he gleaned from that revelation was “so I still have a chance?” (Reader, he did not.) Even—perhaps especially—when you’re loudly and proudly queer, heteronormativity can seem very very pervasive sometimes.

So yes. I think “sapphic” is the most succinct and accurate way to sum up my sexuality right now.

Choosing a term to describe my sexuality that specifically places my love for and attraction to women at its heart feels like a small act of reclamation and celebration for my queerness. Every time I think about referring to myself in this way it makes me smile. I think that means I am on the right lines.