Has there ever been a term so alarmist, so ominous—and yet so ubiquitous—as “lesbian bed death”?
Coined by sexologist Pepper Schwartz and social psychologist Philip Blumstein in 1983, the term refers to the way sexual desire supposedly fizzles in long-term lesbian relationships. In their initial study, Schwartz and Blumstein surveyed hundreds of couples about their sex lives, and found that lesbian couples reported having less sex than gay male and straight couples—and that the frequency with which people had sex was likelier to dwindle over time in lesbian relationships.
While the concept resonated with some lesbians, it doesn’t tell the whole story. For one thing, as critics like the psychologist Suzanne Iasenza have pointed out, the original survey asked couples how often they’d had “sex relations” within the last year—and there could have been confusion amongst respondents about what exactly “counted” as sex for the purposes of the study. Sapphic sex is usually defined more expansively than straight sex, and many lesbians report significant sexual pleasure and fulfilment from non-genital activities like kissing, hugging and naked cuddling, which aren’t included in a heterosexual, penetration-focused definition of sex.
Lesbians also tend to have sex for longer than straight people do, according to a 2014 study from the University of Utah: the median lesbian sex session falls into the 30-to-45-minute range, while hetero sex typically lasts 15 to 30 minutes. Another study, done in 2017 at the University of Denver, similarly showed that Sapphics “derive sexual satisfaction to a greater degree from the quality or intensity of sexual encounters” than from sexual frequency. Does it really matter that lesbians have sex less often, if—as that Utah study found—they report feeling just as sexually and relationally satisfied as their straight counterparts?
As with most things sexuality-related, there’s a lot more nuance to the idea of “lesbian bed death” than data in studies can show us. To help untangle gay fact from gay fiction, Script spoke to three Sapphics about how lesbian bed death has—or hasn’t—shown up in their sex lives and relationships.
Age: 37
Location: The Hague, the Netherlands
Occupation: Adult content creator
Relationship status: In a non-monogamous marriage
Last year, my wife and I decided to pack up our lives and move from Las Vegas to the Netherlands. It was the right decision, what with all the discrimination and risk that trans people increasingly face in the U.S. (I’m non-binary and my wife is trans)—but the stress of the move tanked our sex life for a while.
In the six years we’ve been together, it has generally fallen to me to initiate sex, because I tend to be the “top” in our relationship—which is usually not a problem, because I’m a horny little guy who sometimes needs it every day, while my wife is a lot less sexual. While moving though, I was so stressed from all the planning that I just didn’t feel as much desire, and didn’t have the spoons to get things started. We went from having sex multiple times a week to maybe once every couple weeks.
We still did a lot of hand-holding and cuddling. I work from home, and sometimes my wife would come into my office and give me what she calls “drive-by kisses.” Touch remained a vital part of our relationship—but I missed sex, and the specific ways it helps us connect.
It helped to start carving out time for sex in our calendars, especially since an average sex session for us lasts about two hours. Some people think scheduling sex is unsexy, but the more I think about it, the more sense it makes: We’re both in our late 30s and we both have a lot going on. Scheduled sex almost feels like planning a date with someone new—it’s exciting and helps build anticipation. Saturdays are usually our date day, so on Saturday I can be like, “Hey, baby, what toy do you want to use today?” and she’ll be really excited to spend the day thinking about it.
When we arrived in the Netherlands, it was like flipping a switch. It made a huge difference no longer having to worry about our personal safety constantly. At first, the relief was so palpable that we would have sex every day—which was a lot, ’cause I gotta work!—but now we’re back to doing it two or three times a week. Honestly, there’s just not as much stress here, and it affects every part of my life for the better. Having my sexual appetite back makes me feel more like myself again.
Age: 29
Location: Toronto, Ontario
Occupation: Speaker and coach for late bloomers
Relationship status: In a monogamous relationship
I’m a late-bloomer lesbian. I identified as bi in my early twenties, but came out as a lesbian in 2021 when I realized I didn’t want to date men anymore. I’ve been with my current partner, another late bloomer, for about a year, and haven’t really experienced so-called lesbian bed death. Growing up as a sex nerd, I was aware of the concept, but I feel way more desire in my current relationship than I ever did with men. Now that I’m being perceived correctly in my non-binary gender by someone I’m actually attracted to, I feel way safer and more excited.
Since both of us have predominantly been with men before, I think me and my partner both felt a certain pressure to be very sexually available to one another, and to have a lot of sex at first. But as our relationship has continued, we’ve talked about it, and expressed that we don’t want each other to feel pressured to perform, or to “push through” when one of us is stressed or not in the mood.
When straight commentators say that lesbian couples eventually stop having sex, I wonder: How are they defining “sex,” and what purpose does that definition serve? In my relationship, I’ve come to prefer the idea of “sexual currency,” which I see as a continuous current of sexual energy that flows between us even when we’re not actively having sex. Libido naturally ebbs and flows depending on what’s going on in our lives, but we always find ways to make each other feel loved or cared for, like kissing or giving compliments. There are lots of ways to satiate a desire for connection and closeness; sometimes we have sex, but other times we might just make out in the shower for 20 minutes. I think in a long-term relationship, having lots of different access points to that feeling of erotic connection is a real strength.
The way I see it, lesbianism—especially queering your ideas of sex and relationships—actually helps you avoid many of the pitfalls that could otherwise contribute to a drop in sexual frequency, like poor communication and feeling pressured. Whereas stereotypical straight culture encourages couples to retreat into an insular “nuclear family” that can create codependent enmeshment and a drop in desire, lesbian communities help me see myself as my own person who is allowed to have my own desires and boundaries, which helps sustain desire. So, please don’t let the fear of “bed death” make you feel afraid to be a lesbian. Being a lesbian rocks so much.
Cat
Age: 26
Location: Rochester, New York
Occupation: Teaching assistant
Relationship status: In a monogamous relationship
I’ve been with my partner for about ten months, and while I wouldn’t say the term “bed death” necessarily applies to our relationship, we’ll sometimes go a couple weeks or more without having sex, because doing bottom prep is a bit of an ordeal and takes a lot of energy. After I get bottom surgery, which I’m working toward right now, I think we’ll have traditional sex a lot more often, because it’ll be so much easier and less dysphoric for me.
But we’re also kinky, and there are random moments where my partner will spank me while we’re watching TV on the couch, or she’ll spoon me in bed and bite my shoulder, which is nice. When sex was infrequent in past relationships, I sometimes felt less connected to my partner, or undesired—but in this relationship, there are sexually intimate things that happen almost every day between us, even when it’s not full-blown sex, and those small moments can make a big difference in how desired I feel.
Being on estrogen and progesterone has made me a lot hornier, but it’s harder for me to reach orgasm now, and sometimes I miss how easy it was, pre-transition. That being said, a lot of the desire I find myself feeling now isn’t the desire to have an orgasm—t’s the desire to do something partner-oriented. If we went for months without doing anything remotely sexual, I’d probably feel that sense of “bed death”-like disconnection. But we have all these other things we do together that are functionally similar to sex, so I don’t particularly feel like anything is missing. I think couples who want to have more sex should communicate about the little things you can still do even when you’re not in the mood for sex. You never know when being spanked or bitten might foster a vibe that leads to something more.
