Welcome to Leeza Uncensored

What it's really like being a sex educator online in India

expectations vs reality

Sex. God, you don’t know how satisfying it feels to type sex without an asterisk, emoji, or misspelling. Sex. SEX. SEX! Yes!

Maybe that’s where I should start then.

Over the last few years, it has become near impossible to provide clear and accurate sex education on Instagram without my page being restricted. I’m a sexuality educator but I haven’t been able to use words like sex, penis, vagina, or clitoris on the platform for almost two years now, let alone tell you in detail how and where to use Leezu’s toys for the best orgasms of your life.

Yes, you can use our clitoral stimulator Pyaari on your nipples too. Or along his shaft and balls. You can use the Lipstick vibe on your clit or even around the butt hole externally. And using Pyaari on the clit and Jaadugar inside the vagina, at the same time, is absolutely soul stirring. Wow, it really feels like I’m living life on the edge just typing all those words! Ah Substack, I like you already!

On Instagram, the s-word has become ghapaghap. Boom boom. Doing it. Because even writing s*x sometimes gets me in trouble. Can’t say masturbation so I go with Hasthmaithun. The banana, eggplant, avocado, oyster, cat, and peach emojis have to serve as hieroglyphics for the genitals. I still don’t have a good emoji for the clit though so I have to go with some horrendous combination of letters and numbers and hope for the best. Cl!t? Cl1t? You tell me.

While I’ve really tried to think of these constraints as an opportunity for creativity and humour and I tell myself every day that nothing can stop me, how dark is it that in 2025 the world still thinks these words are unspeakable? Unwritable. Obscene. Explicit. Why can’t everyone just calm their tits ffs?

By making sex an unspeakable word and topic, the powers that be — whether families, schools, societies, governments, or social media platforms— actually provoke, not mitigate, an almost unhealthy curiosity around sex along with a heightened sense of shame, instead of cultivating a healthy, relaxed, and shame-free culture around sex and the body.

Sex education censorship has also limited my ability to answer questions with honesty and scientific accuracy: THE ENTIRE POINT OF MY PRESENCE ON SOCIAL MEDIA!!!

So I hope you’ll start coming here for the real stuff. And coming in general too. Everyone deserves that.

Ha. I joke. But I did want to talk about something I’ve never talked about before: what it’s really like being a sex educator online and in India.

Let’s start with the sweetest, most batshit, most wholesome: my DMs. I get women telling me they had their first orgasm after using one of Leezu’s products, people asking me how to make the first move, men telling me they want to suck on my toes and people incessantly asking about incest.

It’s truly wild. Mostly though, it’s interesting. It’s almost the entire human experience happening all at once, conveniently being delivered to me everyday. Of course I’d love it if I wasn’t also being borderline sexually harassed in my DMs, but even the creepy messages are an indication of just how much we need sex education across the country and the world.

I sometimes wish I could have discussions with each of the people who take the time to message me, whether to celebrate their first orgasm, or deconstruct why they thought it appropriate or necessary to tell a stranger on the internet that they want to fuck them. But that’s simply impossible.

The other thing about social media is that everything has to be so damn quick and short.

Countless men are in my DMs asking how to last longer than the current 30 seconds they are working with, but want the answer to arrive at the point in about the same amount of time. When I started out making my YouTube videos in 2017, I could take my time to break down concepts while retaining nuance. Now, it feels like most people are only interested in a reel that lasts 30 seconds or less and a carousel with as few words as possible. I hope together here on Substack, we can do more together, patiently. That we can take our time.

Because from the moment I had my first orgasm, I knew that the exploration of sex and pleasure was meant to be an unrushed, intentional, and nurturing learning space. When I think about how many years it took me to learn how to have my first orgasm, after I had been sexually active with other people, I am astounded. It took me over a quarter of a century to learn how to come.

When I finally used a toy for the first time at 26, I had neither watched porn nor masturbated before, even though I’d already been having partnered sex for 7 years. Neither I nor any of the men I’d been with over those years seemed to know how to make me climax, and it felt too awkward to talk about, so I just faked it. For nearly a decade! As with most things, I had to put in the work myself and come to the conclusion on my own - all puns always intended.

I’d had the privilege of a private, international education and one might think that sex education is taught openly in those settings, but one would be wrong. Sex education classes in my relatively fancy (but Christian missionary founded) boarding school were severely lacking. We were made to carry an egg around our campus for a week with a male partner, with the challenge of not letting it break, to learn about being parents. We watched horrific videos in a cold and damp AV room that showed in extreme detail all the STIs we could possibly get in our lifetimes. I don’t remember learning about enthusiastic consent (those words hadn’t found their way to each other yet) and the words pleasure, orgasm, and clitoris weren’t in the room with us at all.

At the Ivy League university that I attended on scholarship, things were definitely better - we had a consent training workshop during the first week, led by the Resident Advisor (RA) — a student in charge of each dorm — and I saw the power of peer to peer education first hand. Our RA also had free condoms on her door, provided by the administration. I became an RA myself the following year and loved having these conversations too — but the university’s focus at the time was on consent and contraception, not pleasure. Not even an Ivy League campus could ensure a dating pool where people knew (or cared) how to make a woman come.

During my first sexual experiences in college, I realised I had no idea what I was doing, and that few others had any clue either. I’ve already written about my first encounter with a penis in my book and on social media, but for those of you who haven’t come across it - I was at a total loss as to what I was supposed to do with it. And I wasn’t sure who to ask.

I have a liberal family who support my work wholeheartedly, but at eighteen I certainly didn’t know how to go about asking them whether they had any tips on how to navigate my blossoming sexual life. My friends and I would talk lightheartedly about our sexual escapades, but not in a way that would really deconstruct or guide our experiences. And there weren’t a lot of places I could turn to online, either.

So now, when men slide into my DMs to aggressively and inappropriately hit on me, ask how they can last longer, wonder if their dick is big enough or tell me about how they once had sex with their aunt, I try to suspend any feelings of judgement, and refuse to let myself get offended. Instead I see it all as data, as vital information that is informing the sorts of resources I create.

And yes, I will continue to make the quick, bite-sized sex ed videos in the hope that they will be pushed by the algorithm onto the screens of people who want or need that information. But I’m equally committed to making sure people also realise that when it comes to understanding sex and sexuality…

it. takes. time.

It takes time to understand our bodies, our desires, what brings us pleasure, what makes us orgasm. It takes time to work with our partners to figure out what we each like separately and where we overlap on the Venn diagram to create that sweet spot of magic.

Rome wasn’t built in a day - but they were laying god damned bricks every hour.

And I look at my own work as a sex educator in much the same way: a labour of absolute love, but a labour nonetheless. I have carved out my niche, a space that I’ve tried to nurture and grow. I’ve planted some seeds and seen flowers bloom, I’ve built greenhouses and bridges and treehouses. My house is a work in progress.

With the endless censorship, I often feel like I’ve taken one step forward and twelve steps back, but I am committed to continuing to create a sex education that is robust and mindful, that moves with the times. One which is accessible and realistic. One that doesn’t shame. One that honours and celebrates bodies and orgasms. One from which I learn every day myself, not just pretend that I already have all the answers.

I hope that you’ll join me as we continue to plant the seeds for a fulfilling sex education. Because if that’s what you want - to get better at sex, better at understanding our sexuality, becoming kinder and more generous lovers to ourselves and to our partners - we need to do the work. Brick by brick.

I’ll see you back here soon. Maybe we’ll talk about anal.

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