Sexual Empowerment and Awareness at Tennessee

Sexual Empowerment and Awareness at Tennessee (SEAT) is an organization with the mission of fostering a comprehensive and intellectual discussion on sex, sexuality, and relationships to educate the University of Tennessee Knoxville student body and the Knoxville community through innovative, captivating, and entertaining methods. We organize a week of free, comprehensive sex education events each spring known as Sex Week. Sex Week 2019 is March 31-April 5.

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In light of Tumblr’s changes to the community guidelines, we will be moving our website to another hosting platform.

We are worried that our website will get flagged, making it impossible for us to share information with our community as needed. More importantly, we disagree with Tumblr’s decision to change these guidelines and feel that it would be against our values to continue hosting our website here.

We will still be at our same URL, sexweekut.org, and we hope to have the site up by the new year. In the meantime, you can follow us on Facebook for updates.

[sexweekut]

HELO

Hi welcome to our new and improved website!

[sexweekut]

The Only Anxiety Feel

by a UT Second Year

I've never really been an emotional person In any aspect of my life So when I'm with someone Who makes me happy I can't tell them.

The anxiety of loss is too much.

You were like that to me I enjoyed talking to you every day God I wish I could've told you how I felt The stupid hints I dropped because I couldn't tell you the truth.

It was honestly embaressing.

But now I'm emotionally dampered again For now atleast Its wierd I used to cry Daydreaming of being with you Being overwhelmed with emotion.

That was something foreign to me.

I enjoyed it really Having emotions that I could physically feel Even now looking back I cry again With more regret this time Its a bittersweet feeling.

You meant that much to me.

I just wish you felt the same.

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Professional

by Anonymous

As a growing college student, we are often taught skills or given resources to begin to prepare to enter the workforce. We are often lectured about the importance of being “Business Professional”

As someone who is going into a field in which my professional appearance and success is dictated solely by my accreditation, and my attire, I call bullshit. The thing is, as a growing Queer student as well, there is no way for queer and trans people to be considered “business professional”

THEY won’t let queerness become Business Professional.

They tell us in our ‘professional seminars’ that we should fill our resumes with diverse experience, to write our cover letters to portray the direction we want to go with our life, and to wear the proper clothing.

What they don’t tell you is that if you add any queerness to those things you won't be taken seriously and people consider you ‘un-hirable” simply because you are seen as someone who’s activism AND LITERAL IDENTITY will ~push the envelope~

Yes. Our identities and simply existing while queer is seen as revolutionary.

No matter how much field experience you have (I have a lot), professors will still tell you that your resume isn’t neutral enough and that people won’t hire you (me).

No matter how accurate your cover letter depicts your passion for an industry that will never accurately represent you, they will still say that your goals display your politics.

No matter how many times you try on that dress it’ll never look good on you, so you just wear pants instead, and they tell you that it isn’t very ‘ladylike’ even though you aren’t a lady by any means.

No matter how hard you try, no matter how good your resume is, no matter how many professors you talk to, no matter how good you are, and I am very good, they still won't see you as able.

And you begin to think…. Are you?

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Untitled

by Anonymous

being twelve is weird because you clicked on a ‘fic where two boys kissed and felt a thrill and a tingle- you didn’t know they could do that.

    it’s weird because you started bleeding in the morning and didn’t realize it until 9 am in the bathroom stall of the back hallway bathroom

           it’s weird because you start sitting with your flip phone between your legs because you catch your breath every time your friend texts you

                        it’s weird because you feel like your world is breaking when you hug your best friend from behind on the couch and she presses up against you and takes your hand, holds it to her chest,

it’s weird.

being thirteen is weird because you realized that rubbing yourself on the corner of a pillow feels good- really good- but your fingers are even better (so much better that you slip away during intramural period and do it in the bathroom stall of the back hallway bathroom)

    it’s weird because you have to go to a therapist because your mom is worried (and you’re worried that she’ll find out about how you cried and cried when you found out that girl didn’t want you)

            it’s weird because the boy behind you in history class plays with your hair every day and puts you right to sleep

it’s weird.

being fourteen is weird because you’re in high school

   and you’re dating that boy from history and holding his hand makes you uneasy

          and you’re breaking up with that boy from history over text message and hoping you’re bisexual and it’s just him, not just guys, not a lesbian not a lesbian,

                 and you stole your mom’s back massager and used it as a vibrator

                          and your friends making dick jokes made you gag- “i’m too gay for this”

                                    and you told a boy you’d suck him off in the locker room after band practice but then your best friend kissed you on the back of the bus when it was still dark and your world turned upside down (and you hurt yourself every day but so did she and the kisses made it better)

        and now you have a girlfriend so that’s nice (but still kind of weird).

being fifteen is weird because your mom found out and you’re in family therapy and have a new therapist and prozac- no zoloft- no lexapro

   and she wants to go to church so you mention the one that your girlfriend goes to and kiss her in the bathroom between sunday school and service

       it’s weird because your girlfriend slips her fingers down the front of your jeans against the wall of your bedroom and it’s not perfect but it’s her and you would have it any other way

             being sixteen is weird because you find out the love of your life isn’t really someone you love anymore

                    and you find out girlfriend isn’t a girl and y’all break it off because you love him but you aren't in love with him and you aren't into guys and y'all only fight nowadays, anyway

                              and you get two new things: a license and a girlfriend who smells like pumpkin spice year-round and maybe she’s the one

it's weird

being seventeen is weird because you realize you don’t need therapy anymore.

  and your new girlfriend dumps you but you get back together in july after you fuck each other senseless, drunk, on your friend’s bed, chlorine-hair be damned

and you pick a college. it's weird.

being eighteen is weird because you graduate eighth in your class the same week as she rips your heart in half a second time.

    but then you go to college and realize that there’s more to it than that- but then you see a girl with freckles in her eyes who probably loves you but it’s not enough.

         and then. and then.

                   a girl who wears hats and smells like apples. with salt-and-pepper lashes and stars for freckles. sunshine in her hair.

and she deserves everything.

and she’s the one.

and being nineteen? it's not weird at all.

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forgetful

by a UT Second Year

i guess i forget to mention

how touch-starved i am.

i never notice,

until your fingertips barely brush mine

and i realize

that i have five fingers on my hand

for touching

that now only want to hold you.

[sexweekut]

No Mistakes

by Ashley Koszarek (a UT Second Year)

“Woman”. 

I like that word–

How it sounds, tastes, feels

I’m familiar with how it feels. 

I am a woman.

In experience alone, but at heart?

Not at all.

Not one bit. 

No, my insides are elusive. 

Full of life, full of love, full of mystery. 

A cypher unto myself, 

All I can decode is how I feel. 

Masculine energy with valleys and curves,

A feminine form with edges and nerves. 

I am nothing. 

But the universe tells me I am everything. 

Poured out like wax, and melted within me.

Poured out like wax, and melted within me. 

Poured out like wax, and melted within me. 

My heart retains its shape. 

No mistakes, 

No mistakes. 

[sexweekut]

For the White Gays

by a UT Second Year

I went on a date recently, and all I can think about is myself. Relationships stress me out. It doesn’t matter what kind of relationship. I find it stressful. Romantic relationships, in particular, are scary things. I’m genderqueer, but most people perceive me as an especially feminine guy. I’m not sure if that’s totally accurate or not. That’s scary. How do I explain my identity to someone when I don’t fully understand it myself? And Lord knows what they’re projecting onto me. Most people think femme guys are submissive people*. Beyond my perceived sexual preferences people talk about my body a lot. The popular choice is how skinny I am. I guess they mean it as a compliment because being a larger size is still stigmatized, but as a person who occupies masculine spaces, being thinner isn’t viewed favorably either. I’m perceived as weak, not as attractive as someone with muscles, or told I look weird because my limbs look long.

I’ve tried working out and between the time commitment and maybe my genetics I don’t really look different. I feel a little better because I’m doing something to try and meet part of the beauty standard set for me. I’ve also went the other way and tried not eating. Maybe I could pull off the wraith-like runway look? I don’t do either now. I do see how many fingers wide my thigh gap is, just in case I’m putting on weight. I do feel guilty when I eat anything that isn’t a fruit or vegetable, but I don’t cry about it anymore or stare in the mirror thinking about how I could look different. Things are ok, not good, not terrible.

Why would I share this? It’s beyond personal. It’s a piece of who I am right now. I want to share it to bring home my critique of my fellow queers. I’m scared to date you all because you’ve made me afraid of myself. @thewhitegays you’re shallow, racist, and think your queerness negates your privileges.

To twist around Judge Judy’s and Bianca Del Rio’s iconic line: Beauty fades, your shitty humanity is forever.

*  I had a guy cancel a date at the restaurant when he found out I wore makeup.

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The Man Who Assaulted Me

by a UT Third Year 

How strange for me to remember that his middle name was     

Angel

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Untitled

by Anonymous       

 Sometimes I feel I have incredibly bad luck with my romantic pursuits. I’m not particularly handsome, but I feel by no means ugly. I’m pretty much average weight and average height. One day, however, I felt that perhaps fortune was smiling upon me, as I had a date at a coffee shop. I had met this girl named Sam on Tinder about a week ago and just recently worked up the courage to ask her if she wanted to go get coffee. It had been nearly a year since I had any romantic experiences, so I was feeling pretty darn nervous. Anxiety is something I rarely feel, so this anxiety was all that much more crushing.        

 I had to drive to go pick her up because she didn’t have a car. She gave me the address to a driving school, so I assumed that she was taking lessons which explained the transportation issue. I had to GPS it since I was still new to Knoxville at the time. I parked in the parking lot and went ahead and texted her that I was there. I waited for about 5 minutes in the parking lot collecting myself before I saw her exit out of the building simply named “Medical Tests Now!” that neighbored the driving school. She wore a yellow flower dress that seemed to conflict with her green dyed hair that was half shaved and half a bob-cut. She had various piercings scattered among her lips, ears, and nose. I was surprised that she looked even better than the pictures she had on her account.        

She got into the car and we greeted each other. I started the conversation by asking why she was at a medical testing center. I was very much hoping that she wouldn’t say she was getting tested for sexual diseases. Instead she replied she was there for a drug test as she was on parole. This answer was not much better. I hesitantly asked what she was on parole for, hoping she wouldn’t be offended. Sam replied that she was pulled over by a cop for speeding and they found her with a bag of Adderall. They pressed charges for intention to deal, but she said that was not the case. She simply put some in a bag to store in her car when she forgot to take it at home. This was also the reason why she was not driving as she got her license suspended. At this moment I could not decide whether this girl had a stream of bad luck or she was actually problematic. Regardless, I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt because I did not want to ruin this first date after such a long hiatus.        

 She and I had casual conversation about our shared interests as we drove to the coffee shop until she asked me how often I smoked weed. I promptly said I didn’t. She seemed surprised and apologized. She said she thought I said so in a prior conversation. This kind of worried me as I hoped something like not doing drugs was not an immediate turn-off. We continued the small talk until they reached the coffee shop. It was a small store with a generic green and white look at the end of a row of other shops and restaurants. We went into the dimly lit coffee shop and up to the counter. I ordered a mocha and then turned to Sam to ask what she wanted. She said almost surprisingly, “Oh, you’re paying?”        

 “Yes?” I said questioningly        

 This worried me as I thought it was already unfortunately established that the man pays for stuff on dates. I started to worry that perhaps she didn’t think of this as a date. “Nonsense!” I thought, “Why wouldn’t she think it’s a date? We discussed this meeting on a dating app!” Even though this was logically sound to me, I still irrationally had fear in my stomach. Perhaps not smoking weed was actually a deal breaker and she had changed her mind about everything? She asked for an Americano and I paid for the drinks and made sure to tip, having a fear of what she would think about me if he didn’t. I always make sure to tip as I once had a similar job, so it was odd for me to think this way.        

 I found a pair of black wooden chairs and sat down as Sam went to this restroom. I began to slightly panic as I had started to remember the many stories I’ve read where the girl would sneak out of a date by asking to go to the restroom and then proceed to escape. This fear stayed with me as my eyes bounced around the room glancing at oddly placed plants and paintings that looked like they came out of a shutdown hotel. She eventually returned and I restarted the conversation by asking her what kind of job she had. She said she was in-between jobs right now and was living with a friend. She apparently also dropped out of college. Her intended major was psychology and she wanted to be a therapist, which coincidentally was similar to what I wanted to be. I was ecstatic to have made such a connection! I told her so and she brushed it off with an “Oh, that’s cool.” I was hit with the realization that perhaps she may now resent me for being on the path what she dropped off of. I quickly tried to recover by asking what she does for fun. Sam said she usually bar hopped with friends and started telling stories about all her wild adventures doing acid and drinking. She reciprocated the question and I talked about how I played card games, cooked with friends, and studied Japanese. She said she also played card games but her reaction to everything else was about subpar.        

 Our order got called and I went and brought the coffees over to the table. I asked her if Americano was what she normally got and she said it was either that or plain dark coffee. She said she didn’t like any of that “frilly shit.” I responded with “Ah, I see” as I sipped on my mocha wondering if she considered it “frilly shit.” I didn’t bother asking.        

 We then talked about current events until the coffee was all gone and we proceeded to get up and leave. We went to my car and she gave me the address of her place so I could drop her off. During the drive back, I found out we had a similar love for cats and we talked about cats for the entirety of the drive back to her place. We pulled up to what turned out to be an average looking apartment. I was expecting something cheaper, but this was a pleasant surprise. She gave a cheerful sounding “Let’s hang again sometime!” as she stepped out and I replied with an equally ecstatic, “sure!”        

 I was kind of surprised by what she said. I had my doubts during the entire date that anything else would come out of it. I felt like they had a lot of shared interests in movies, music, and food. But maybe our two lifestyles were too drastically different? Perhaps she was looking to change her life from a wild one to something calmer? Regardless, I thought she was quite cute and was fine with seeing how things would turn out after future dates. Once I got home, I messaged her asking if she wanted to grab dinner sometime. She never responded.        

 I hoped that she was just too busy to respond after the date. This was clearly not the case after a week. I even hesitantly did a follow up text in case she forgot to respond. I never received an answer. I wondered what I did wrong as I felt lonelier inside. After a while I came to terms that perhaps it was just not a good match. Despite this, the entire event still had a lasting impact on me. Failure was not something foreign to me, but it still hit my self-esteem pretty hard this time around. I quit Tinder as I had been using it for around 2 months without any success besides that one date. I decided that perhaps it would be best to just wait from this point on and just hope I meet someone from a real life interaction.        

 I did end up downloading Tinder again about 6ish months later and lo’ and behold, I see Sam again. This time her profile had a new sentence in it. It read “Must be 420 friendly!” I went “huh” in a moment of realization. Who knew that the true deal breaker was indeed the fact I didn’t smoke weed. That made me feel a bit better that day. 

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Untitled

by Anonymous 

I have burned you out—

it stank

and the smell still lingers in my clothes

my hair

my memories.

So I put some Febreze on that shit and open a window

to air you out.

But

your ashes and dust nestled in the cracks and corners of my home

as if they had the right to be there.

I shift,

and you are back, a cloud that makes me sneeze

cough

gasp for air.

So I blow my nose and grab a drink.

I have burned you out,

however

you still remain as an annoying reminder.

But do not think

that I won't find another way

to finish what I started.

[sexweekut]

Trying

by a UT Fourth Year

I’m trying to be normal. I’m trying to re-learn how to love and to be loved.

I’m trying to enter into new relationships. I’m trying to act like sex means nothing to me. I’m trying to tell new lovers the darkest pieces of me and not have them run away the minute they hear the word “survivor.”

I’m trying to live as I did before your hand pushing on the back of my neck took everything away from me. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s even possible.

I’m trying to remove guilt from myself. I’m trying to believe none of this is my fault. I’m trying not to cry.

I’m trying to find someone who will accept my cracks and heal with me. I’m trying to trust that I am not alone.

I’m trying to love myself.

I’m just trying, and it really fucking sucks.

[sexweekut]

Untitled

by a UTK Sophomore 

Shake, Take, Send, Awake, Beneath, the End. Flames, Heat, Burn, Practice, Communication, Turns. His response fuels me.

 Up, Slack, or in Between, His Dick is Mine to See. From Above, Below, or the Side, My Pussy is His to Decide. Our Bodies set us Free. 

 Touch, Bite, Grab, Tie, Bind, Gag. Thrust, Moan, Scream, Hang me up from your Beam. Don’t make me Plea. 

 Cum, Cum, Cum, Sweat, Breathing, Numb. Satisfied, Pleased, Relax, My Nails have left Tracks. 

I love when We Make Whoopee.

[sexweekut]

Untitled

 by Anonymous 

 This year was my first pride ever. Even if the heat was a bit too much, I would be lying if I said that I didn’t have fun. I received enthusiastic waves, heard campy screams, smiled under stares from protesters (at least one was an actual Nazi), and developed a large blister on my pinky toe. I sat at a booth with my friends and sold tank tops while we reveled in our queerness. The misery of a burgeoning Tennessee summer was diminished. A week later I am living an alternate version of Richard III, now is the summer of my discontent, and it started with pride.

 Let’s start with the “easy” issues. Underneath all the rainbow colors, pride is white. Two nightclub floats and countless drag queens but no organization there took the time to remind us that TPOC (Google now) lives matter. There were also plenty of cute Babadook pins and signs at pride this year. I did not see a single sign, shirt, pin, or even a God-damned brick that gave any credit to Marsha P. Johnson (Again, Google now). I work with a person who was part of a float for a local “gay” organization. When I saw him at work after pride I asked, “How many people of color are in your organization?” After some thought, he replied that there were no regular black members and maybe a few Latinx or Hispanic members. Maybe.  

 If you think this piece has taken on an angry tone, you would be right. However, do not confuse my frustration with self-righteousness. I am a white queer, so I am guilty of doing fucked up things too. One thing I do know that I can do right is shut up (Depression helps with that). So, this is for my fellow white people, queer or not. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Listen to what POC are saying and asking you to do because we will never understand the challenges they go through.  

 Up next is the fragile masculinity that is pervasive through our whole society, but I am just going to address the queer folks (especially the gays). I’ll provide a little “rule” for this one. If you enjoy/compliment/caress my arm in front of all my friends (it happened) while I am in drag, but you think I am too feminine to take on a date. You. Are. An. Asshole. Now, wasn’t that easy to understand? Just in case, I’ll expand. If someone (again, looking specifically at the white cisgender gays) is too feminine for you, it means that you have internalized misogynistic beliefs and are projecting at least one of those onto the person you are belittling. If you still don’t get it or want more information Google now.  

 To top off my whole pride experience, I am struggling with my depression. I know I am far from alone in the queer community with this struggle, and recently, I have been somewhat thankful for this challenge. All the terrible thoughts and feelings that come with depression make it hard to have any self-confidence. But you know what? When a queen finds it hard to wear her crown, she learns about humility and the struggles her fellow monarchs face. As we move forward and learn to wear our crowns, let’s remember our history, actually listen to POC, and respect the queens. If you still don’t get it (even after Googling), then it’s time for you to sashay away.

[sexweekut]

Pissed

By Anonymous 

Why is it when I ask you to come over, you are busy and will try to make it. But when you are horny, I'm the one that has to drop my shit and run to you. Why is it that I am shamed when I invite myself over, that it is "very bold" of me to have even asked. We both agreed to this. So why is it wrong for me to want you but perfectly fine for the opposite? We set up dates, you bail. I think, 'Maybe we should start sexting. That will get him to invite me over!' Instead I get "Cool", "Yup", "Nah", and so fucking help me "K". I send you nudes, you open them, then send back pictures of your dog. I honestly don't know why I try with you. You piss me the fuck off when I just want you to get me off. 

[sexweekut]

Untitled

By Anonymous

You lie on my bed naked the sheets only covering the most glorious parts of your bare body Talking of where you want to end up

I picture it's with me

You stare at the ceiling when you talk making shapes out of the popcorn spatterings It's almost too easy for us both to pretend I'm not in the room

That I'm not melted by the shape of your mouth when you daydream That my heart doesn't swell when you say you could tell me anything

I beg myself Not to say it Not to think it Not to feel

Not to disturb the delicate balance of you coming into me in only the rarest moments So I sit in forced silence while you tell me about Texas and poetry

Holding my breath careful not to burst the delicate bubble around you me us

this moment

I know it will burst anyway I know you will leave anyway I know I will never forgive myself for all of the things I do not say

I know I will not say them anyway

[sexweekut]

Barriers to Romance

By a Fifth Year Senior

To be sexually active, step one is always going to be in starting a relationship, whether it's a long term romance or a consensual one night stand. But it's not always that easy. Obviously it's harder for people who are shy, or insecure, but that's not what keeps me from dating.

I'm autistic.

I don't have aspergers per say, but at a young age I was diagnosed with high functioning autism. Social interaction is extremely difficult for me. I'm awkward, I have irrational levels of social anxiety, and there are social cues that I simply can't pick up on. Whether it's a close friend, family member, or a total stranger, I struggle to even look someone in the eyes when I'm talking to them.

It doesn't happen often, but in the past girls have even told me directly that they liked me, girls that I kind of liked as well, but I always freeze up in terror when that happens. It's an extreme semi-irrational sort of terror. I don't know what to say, or how to say it, or how to act moving forward. I just stammer until I find a reason to leave the conversation, after that I'd struggle to say even a single word to her in the future. I could barely say hi.

For me, it's easiest to be comfortable when I'm alone, but I still long for love and sex just as much anyone else. I've been single and abstinent my whole life, not by choice, but by circumstance.

Sex Week has had a lot of great events in the past. There have been events dealing with what you can do with your partner, and what you can do alone. There have been events dealing with religion and sex, such as the choice to be abstinent. There have been events about sexual health, safety, and preference.

But in addition to these important topics, in the future I'd love to see events geared toward people like me. There need to be events for people who have their own barriers to romance that they desperately want to overcome, in order to live a fuller happier life.