Oh the joys of lubrication

Lube is never just 'lube'

A couple of months ago, I was a guest on the Spit or Swallow Podcast hosted by the magnificent Halima Mason. We talked about many things, but a part of our conversation was shared on the internet and taken out of context. In the episode, we remarked on the cost of good lubricants and how who bears the cost for that can often be a metaphor for inequality and power imbalances in sexual and romantic relationships,. It was inconvenient to go into details then. Still, the resulting conversations made me realise we had largely overlooked how integral lubrication is to sexual experience and missed an opportunity to explore the far-reaching consequences of democratising this essential biological function by making it commercially available to everyone.

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But first, why does anyone need lube? 

Lubrication is foundational to pleasure because prolonged stimulation, even when pleasurable, will overwhelm and even hurt us sometimes. Lubrication allows us to safely explore our bodies and the bodies of others, extending solo or shared pleasure & simplifying aftercare. 

We need this kind of protection for a simple reason - our ‘senses’ aren’t actually very good at the short-term processing of stimuli. We encounter stimuli from a place of discovery, registering temperature (is it hot or cold), texture (is it rough or smooth), pressure (is it heavy or light), intensity (is it bright or dim/loud or soft), separate from the more complicated spectrum of flavour and aroma. These stimuli are new to us each time we encounter them so we process what we are experiencing into executable information by cross-referencing this new experience with our previous encounters and use what we learned then to inform present behaviour. This is how we know what kind of hot is suitable for tea vs a bath, if a person is sick or pregnant from how they smell. This is also how we gauge if it is safe or dangerous to continue to interact with the source of stimulation. 

The skin is our largest sensory organ, an incredible system tuned to record, process and respond subconsciously to the subtlest stimuli. The most tactile parts of our bodies, such as our hands, elbows, knees and feet, are deadened so we can function through constant stimulation. Meanwhile, our erogenous zones are hypersensitive pockets that trigger pleasure receptors, ordering them to neutralise our more rational impulses, so we can enjoy intimacy. Pleasure is the only emotional response that combines the euphoria of serotonin and the immediacy of adrenaline. This state of bliss requires effort to sustain, and effort can easily overshoot beyond the realm of safe play into overstimulation or injury. In those situations, lube is an enhancer, smoothening an otherwise uneven ride.

The right consistency of lube has just enough adhesion that entry is always smooth. Once parts are correctly aligned, and minimal pressure is applied, the lube draws the object in, suctioning it deeper as it coaxes tense muscles to dilate. Lube usually exerts some pull, ensuring that fit is snug but not constricting, a sensory feast. Each withdrawal forces the walls to pulse as they tighten to close the vacuum, resulting in a painless but unsettling sensory reaction, similar to touching something extremely hot or cold. In non-sexual situations, this kind of sensation is interpreted as a primal warning to alert the body to be cautious. But sex is usually consented to, so any unexpected pain is adequately managed and unforeseen complications de-escalated. There is reciprocated trust, the source of the sensation is known, and its arrival is anticipated. We feel in control and can allay our primal response to reduce contact with the source of stimuli until we correctly identify it and gauge its threat level. In intimate situations, we welcome this contact, opening ourselves as it maps the usually silent constellation of neurons that lay dormant within our erogenous areas, a secret code unlocking mutual pleasure. 

Everyone’s constellation is a little different so what constitutes as good lube requires both partners to find a viscosity that sits closest to their North Star of pleasure. This is where things like base material (silicone vs water vs oil), prior experience (desensitised genitalia) and personal biology are factored in. A good lubricant usually has a viscosity that mimics diluted paper glue. The formulation usually provides enough stickiness to bond light materials like paper to a surface but remains weak enough that forward propulsion initiates the bond and withdrawal disrupts it, generating friction that stimulates the nerves within and without. Without any kind of lubrication, sex becomes a struggle, even when the submissive partner is willing and both parties don't mind the gradually painful discomfort of dry friction. Discovering lube expands the scope of sexual encounters, eliminating the need to organically stimulate natural lubrication. 

Once it enters the realm of possibility, we become preoccupied with the cosmic alignment of a dependable fuck who, with the right lube, can merge lanes and reduce the drag that prolongs our ascent into white-hot pleasure.

We assess different lubricants using set parameters, then refine our expectations from brands & sexual partners, with the goal of hitting our peak performance zone. Many people spend years chasing the lube soulmate (or wet soulmate for the folks whose spring runs eternal), and become disillusioned when they realise the odds of peaking sexually only favours a small subset of the sexually active majority. 

Too many secondary variables ensure a person can never fully replicate the scenarios where they obliterated sexual milestones, keeping pace as the neurons climb to new sexual peaks nesting unexplored orgasmic pleasure. The physical, emotional and financial toll of exploring the full extent of one’s sexual desires is daunting, so people settle instead for lowering the barrier of entry and channelling their individual and collective energies towards finding and hoarding the lubricant brand with a formulation that gets them to a semblance of sexual synchronicity regardless of who they are fucking. 

The possibilities lube presents as a catalyst for sexual autonomy is a uniting interest among people who share nothing else in common, manifesting in many bewildering ways. The gay subsect of the queer community relies more heavily on artificial lube than any other group of sexually active persons. Because of stigma and oppression, a lot of gay sex happens in situations where its recreational nature supersedes its social function. There is an implicit desire to minimise the duration of awkward social interaction and advance to the familiar terrain of sexual conquest. So lube serves a dual function, aiding erections with minimal interaction and facilitating ease of entry. The recreational nature of gay sex shifts the focus in sexual encounters from ensuring a pleasurable sexual experience (personally, mutually or collectively), to matching the unrealistic expectations that hypermasculinity brings to sex. 

In place of care and personal responsibility, gay men invest in lube and other enhancers and are vested in advancing innovation in its formulation, acceptance and distribution. Their investments spur innovation, resulting in wide varieties to match diverse preferences. It is more common now to see amateur chemists embracing DIY science and formulating their own effective, possibly dangerous, inventions. All this innovation and variety serves a simple goal - to optimise the ship so even a blundering idiot can guide it out of the dock and into the open uncharted sea. Lower-grade lubes packed in single-use sachets are distributed freely at sexual health clinics and circuit parties, customs are marketed as status symbols for the upwardly mobile, heavy-duty formulations are sold in 10-litre gallons for ‘industrial’ use. Threesomes, trains, orgies, exhibitionism in public spaces, bath houses, dungeons and circuit parties; complex scenarios within the spectrum of gay sexual expression all made possible by the endless utility of lube. 

For women, lube is more prominently associated with masturbation. For the traditional cis woman (there is no ‘normal’), the optics of desirability pedestals spontaneous lubrication as the aspirational standard for fertility/sensuality. We are conditioned to desire the fountain that runs eternal, its waters brought to the surface by mere thought. Women are expected to drip, gush and squirt on command, to draw out orgasms from their partners and drive them to delirium. Female orgasms are often not the point in cis-hetero intercourse; men use sex to indicate interest, exert control and reassure doubting partners, while women use sex to show submission and gauge emotional compatibility. Penetrative orgasms for many cis-traditional women are a grand event only possible with a handful of special partners as the majority are more focused on aiding natural lubrication only to the point where they can proceed unencumbered to penetration. To have artificial lube on hand in those situations is often interpreted as a sign of sexual promiscuity, a vote of no-confidence on the man’s sexual competence, or a failure to meet this absurdist feminine standard.

For the more functional female orgasms needed for emotional regulation, solo adventures aided by digits or toys are preferred. The heterosexual partners who can recognise this need, prove themselves skilled in sexual synchronicity or orchestrate situations that reward specific kinks/fetishes get the privilege of spontaneous, lube-aided penetration. Women who choose, or are forced by biology, to take an active role in their sexual encounters also have a robust relationship with lube, as penetration is unwieldy and fraught with the risk of pregnancy. This includes queer women, sex workers, women with biological dysfunction and women who prefer a dominant role in their sexual interactions with heterosexual men. 

And, of course, female sexual liberation and the right to consent brings us to the debate that has kept lube as a private preoccupation instead of a socially accepted component of good sexual etiquette. Sex positivity has always been connected with lubricants and has shown up in civilisations where progressive ideas found mainstream acceptance. But there have also been ages, past and contemporary, where the rejection of sex positivity has been followed by the suppression of access to lubricants. 

Because of its association with hedonistic pleasure, a concept many fear will bring societal collapse, lube is regarded as a force for individual good by people who wish to promote personal autonomy or a catalyst for evil by those who want to uphold patriarchal institutions. These groups are fundamentally at odds with each other and seek to advance their agendas using instruments of state. The level of acceptance or rejection of lube in public discourse and government policy usually correlates directly with which side has more sway in the government and other areas of influence. 

In ancient Greece, where olive oil, the second food-grade lubricant, was widely used (seaweed was the first), sex was prevalent in situations outside procreation and explored outside gender binaries. Dildos became so publicly accepted that they were also documented as part of daily life around this time. Petroleum jelly, invented in the 1800s to salve wounds and reduce wear on machinery, was quickly co-opted as a lubricant for the other ways in which its properties, water resistant and slippery without unpleasant sliminess, enhanced sexual pleasure. Its discovery is directly tied to the Industrial revolution and the influx of personal wealth, and the free time it suddenly provided to thousands of people. KY Jelly, the first ‘made to purpose’ lubricant, was launched in 1904 as a sterile surgical aid before it was reformulated and sold as a lubricant. The creation of these two synthetic lubricants allowed for mass production and distribution at a previously unimaginable scale. The almost warp-like leaps in social development we have experienced in the last century are a good measure of how effective lube has been in fomenting radical change. 

So in many ways, lube is not just ‘lube’.

Ease of access to good quality lube speaks volumes about a person’s social standing and active privilege and the politics of a country. The scenarios in which a person chooses to introduce lube into a sexual encounter speaks to their situational awareness, their understanding of their bodies and respect for their partners. Their perspectives on who should have access to lube and what they can use it for say volumes about their politics and morality. As such, quantum leaps in progressive change are often met with violent resistance by those who benefit from sexual repression and a patriarchal social order that prioritises respectability over pleasure.

In modern-day Nigeria where overt expressions of sexual autonomy are policed and legislated to control, businesses that cater primarily to recreational sex in Nigeria are largely prohibited, limiting access to lubricants and other sex paraphernalia. Pharmacies and supermarkets owned by persons with considerable influence are the only businesses able to circumvent these prohibitions. Even then, they must make concessions, stocking medical-grade lubricants designed primarily for enemas and medical inspections or ‘massage’ gels and oils, which leverage a technical loophole for plausible deniability. The only other organisations with the legal backing to distribute sex lubricants are NGOs focused on health and civil rights, which have the support of the US and countries in the European Union. These NGOs exist partly because these first-world countries seek to control our populations by encouraging sexual autonomy through contraception and safer sexual practices, even as they clamp down on sexual freedoms in their own countries. 

If these considerations have never factored into your sex life, this would be a good time to widen your perspective. Where do you stand on the right of access to lube?