Go Ask Alex: How do I get my partner to be more dominant in bed?

Got a question that would scandalize your group chat? That’s what this column is for. Go Ask Alex is an anonymous space for queer readers to ask the questions they’re afraid to ask anyone else—about sex, love, life, and everything in between. It’s judgment-free and completely anonymous.

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Hey Alex,

I’m very attentive in the bedroom. I tend to initiate intimacy and foreplay. Whether I’m ultimately topping or bottoming, or both, I tend to be the one starting it.

This puts me in a service-oriented position in sex that makes most of my partners sit back, relax, and enjoy it passively, and most of the time, that’s fine with me. I like that. But sometimes I’d love to be the passenger princess.

How do I communicate this in the moment? Some stuff is obvious. Like, I can direct a guy’s head to my d*ck to show I’d like a turn. But I’m talking about more intimate stuff. I want them to want to do it. And it’s hard to ask for more subtle things like “gentle intimacy,” like nibbling on my earlobes or kissing the inside of my thighs. I love that stuff, and it’s stuff you don’t really want to have to ask for, you know? I want someone to be tender with me, but when I’m directing the show, I don’t get that.

— Jake* (he/him), Seattle

*Name has been changed.

Hey cowboy.

I understand. You wish guys would be more dominant, more assertive. You’re not explicitly submissive, but it’d be nice for someone to lead. You feel you’re typically the “go” guy, the “take the bull by the dick” guy, and sometimes you’d rather just be along for the ride.

That’s valid. Sadly, the idea that horny bedmates can pick up on that without explicit instruction is, in most cases, a fantasy. That’s why kinky people love kink: its explicit guidelines, its stated roles and script. Kink culture teaches stating what you want—in many cases, it’s built into the role play: “Tell daddy what you want.” “Yes, sir.”

That level of directness — lists of wants, limits, yeses and nos — is necessary for kink, but it’s overkill for gentle, easy hookups, the playful, tender stuff.

So how do you ask for “gentle intimacy” without it feeling like a list?

Subtly. That’s the art of good sex.

First, drop the idea that talking happens before or after sex, not in it. The best sex has quick, intentional talk the whole time. Not long conversations or checklists — just small signals, small asks.

When you say you’re “directing the show,” I hear an approach many people share: sex is something you plan and then execute, like a ballet. That idea isn’t helpful. It turns sex into a playbook.

It’s not a playbook. It’s not ballet. Unless you’re doing a specific fetish scene, there’s no penalty for changing direction. The small mistakes and misreadings — the energy dips, bumps on the head, moments of uncertainty—are what make sex feel human. Good sex shifts and responds. It’s a dialogue. It’s talking!

This reminds me of a private letter between writers Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin, which was, in recent years, helpfully shared on Instagram by the renegade literary minds at Dream Baby Press in New York. In one, dated 1932, Miller writes to Nin: “When you return, I am going to give you one literary fuck fest. That means fucking and talking and talking and fucking and a bottle of Anjou in between, or a Vermouth Cassis. Anaïs, I am going to open your very groins. God forgive me if this letter is ever opened by mistake. I can’t help it. I want you. I love you. You’re food and drink to me.”

I mean, fuck. Whoever came up with the idea that talking kills the mood has never read that. In seven sentences, Miller perfectly captures good sex. It’s fucking and talking, talking and fucking.

A lot of people think talking in sex means stopping everything to explain yourself in full sentences. That will kill momentum. No one wants to pause mid-fuck for a TED Talk. What works better are short, direct sentences that fall somewhere between a breath, a request, a beg, and an order. I say these softly, in a low voice—like I’m in a library and need to say something juicy without getting shushed. Something like:

“I want you to take over.”

“Will you play with my butt?”

“Kiss my ears.”

“I love it when you rub my back.”

These aren’t forceful. Think of making your eyes both assertive and begging, dominant and submissive. A good sex partner will appreciate these cues and think “Fuck yeah!” and a great one will say it out loud.

This language doesn’t interrupt sex — it is sex.

Most sex therapists agree: clear, direct requests boost connection because your partner doesn’t have to guess. The “gentle intimacy” you describe almost never happens by accident. It usually has to be guided. That doesn’t make sex less hot. It makes it hotter.

People can’t read minds, and expecting someone to “just know” will lead to disappointment. I understand the desire not to ask, but that fantasy comes from movie sex and porn — often people’s earliest sex education—and both are coordinated, artificial things. They’re both closer to ballet than real sex. Nobody fucks like that.

I worked on porn sets once upon a time. They have scripts and cues. It’s a shame that so many people base their ideas of sex on these fake, unnatural products, but that’s the world. Real sex has pauses, stumbles, instructions, mistakes, giggles, and gasps—moments of raw humanity porn doesn’t capture. The best thing about growing up and having sex is learning how much better it is than the movies. And it’s better because of talking.

You’re setting the tone of these encounters by leading, and your partners are responding to that. If you want something different, say so. If you want to be the “passenger princess” (a new phrase for me — I love it), say, under your breath: “Will you take over? I want you to lead for a little bit.” Then let go.

If they won’t, maybe you’re not a match. But in most cases, with good and eager partners, the ask won’t be unsexy. It’ll be hot.

Alexander Cheves is a writer and former sex worker who spent more than 12 years in the adult industry. He writes Out’s sex-and-culture column Last Call and is the author of My Love Is a Beast: Confessions (Unbound Edition Press), which Kirkus Reviews called “not for squeamish readers.” In Go Ask Alex, he offers candid advice for readers with real questions they’re afraid to ask anywhere else. Send your question to askbeastly@gmail.com —it may be answered in a future column.