Being Sex Educated
Eshaan Akbar talks rides, repression and representation
Eshaan Akbar is about to be a global megastar (according to his closest friends, anyway). The comedian, also known as Michael Pakintyre on Instagram, just opened for Micky Flanagan at the O2 arena, is currently on a national tour with his show The Pretender, and is about to be on all of our screens in the upcoming season of Netflix’s Sex Education.
We meet for chai at Dishoom’s King’s Cross location. Whatever you have to say about Dishoom, you can’t argue that its chai is elite — one of the only things Eshaan and I seem to agree on. He thinks transition lenses are cool…I don’t. I think Aziz Ansari is a sex symbol and he vehemently disagrees. Jokes aside, I couldn’t have asked for a better person for the first Brown Bodies profile. Enjoy!
When did you first become sexually aware?
When I was 10, I was at a family friend's house and they had a book of sex positions in Spanish, courtesy of their Spanish nanny.
But I would say I had my first sexual thoughts looking at my mum’s Littlewoods catalogue. The lingerie pages would do something for me, even though I wasn’t sure what something was.
I was convinced that I wasn't ever going to have sex because at school I was voted ‘Most likely to remain a virgin until 25’ so, at 18, I deep dived into all things sex. I found a sexual health book that had a whole section about the vagina, the clitoris, the labia, and erogenous zones and I spent three years learning from it.
What was your first time like?
The first time I had sex I was asleep. I woke up to a woman I knew giving me a blowjob and then she rode me. At 21, I felt like I was living the absolute dream. We entered a three month sexual relationship after that.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m a man or because I was young but I didn’t consider what had happened wrong. It wasn’t until seven-ish years later that I thought, ‘I wish I hadn’t been asleep for my first time.’ I'm not angry or upset about it. I’m glad it happened as it was the start of my sexual journey but it probably wasn’t fine. It probably falls into the realms of sexual assault. When I discuss it with friends, they’ll say, “but you carried on having sex for three months after, so…” and that makes it quite confusing.
But there are positives…and not only because my relationship with her was chafing central. The post nut clarity opened up all these chakras for me and I realised there was a whole world of sex out there. It’s allowed me to have a positive and exploratory relationship with sex.
What are you like, now, as a sexual partner?
I like exploring women before they explore me. Women have a more emotional response to sex and their bodies are more complicated — menstrual cycles mean some women might be very horny a week before a period and others horny on their period. So, I like taking time to figure out what makes a woman tick. Selfishly, I benefit because they’re so much happier.
It’s all about having the conversation to understand what the person in front of you is willing to do and is willing to explore — especially, across the kink spectrum. For example, with some partners I like to take more pain than I do with others. Sometimes, it can feel like they’re taking something out on me and that’s not pleasure…that needs therapy.
Have you always known you’re straight?
I’ve kissed three men four times. The first boy I kissed was at school at about 15 when I wasn’t sure if I was gay. This boy said, ‘I'm gonna kiss you now’ which he did and then showed me his penis. Sadly, it didn’t do anything for me.
The other two have been gay men who’ve been convinced they can turn me and I never feel anything. They did make me a more tender kisser, though. Men aren’t good kissers — they’re a bit too aggressive.
So you’re Pakistani-Bangladeshi. Did you ever talk about sex growing up?
In many respects, I had a very traditional household: My mum was the matriarch and the disciplinarian. I wasn’t allowed out to see friends because she believed nothing good ever happened after 8pm.
Yet, my parents did a remarkable job of mixing that with the non-traditional. At 11, my mum explained periods to me. She made me buy her pads and would never let me put them in a bag. I never associated any of that stuff with shame.
She also talked openly about her ex-husband who she lost her virginity to at 17 — he’d raped her. She said he was the worst sex she’d ever had.
My brother and I will have the odd conversation about sex. We didn’t really have a choice because the first time my brother — who is ten years younger than me — had sex, he decided to have it in my bedroom because ‘l had all the nice books.’ The most unforgivable thing though was that he didn’t change the sheets!
My dad was a bit more conservative. An example: Both my parents have walked in on me having sex (on separate occasions) and my dad just acted like nothing had happened and my mum asked me if I’d made her come.
Did you?
Yes, of course.
Well done!
Thank you!
Your parents sound very cute. What was their relationship like?
When my mum died, I realised what love was.
Their relationship was often difficult, they argued a lot and they slept in separate rooms. But when my mum needed my dad he dropped everything to be by her side. The love that they’d hidden in a very Asian way was on show when it was needed most.
They hadn’t had sex for a long time and, until then, I had believed that meant they weren’t happy together. Relationships lose their sheen when the sex is lost, right? Now, If I'm with someone and we’re not having sex for a while, it's not immediately indicative of a problem for me. My parents’ love took the pressure off of sex for me.
Like me, you now live with your family. How’s that?
When you grow up as a South Asian kid in the UK you’re forced this idea of independence. Everyone living together feels odd. My dad, my brother and I live together and it's a beautiful thing. It meant I was there all the way until my mum passed away — it made me believe in living together even more. Or, at least, close together.
The only downside is I do have to have quiet sex all the time.
In your standup show, you talk about South Asian men not being perceived as sexy. You ask your audience to name three men from the South Asian diaspora who are considered sex symbols and you often get crickets. I mean, I can name at least five…
Go on…
Dev Patel
I’ll give you that.
Hasan Minhaj
Nope…no white person here will know who he is. [Reader: I put this to the test by asking our bemused neighbouring diners if they knew who he was…they didn’t.]
Riz Ahmed
Mmm yeah, but he’s not Chris Pratt level of known.
Eshan Akbaar…[at this point, I know I’ve lost. We also have a fight about Aziz Ansari being a sex symbol. I’ve since been told that’s definitely not a hill I should die on.]
…
How does that affect brown men growing up? How did that affect you?
Sex and seeing yourself as attractive has been a difficult journey for South Asian men for a long time.
South Asian men are told: ‘If you do well in school and get a good job, you'll find a good wife’. Men are taught that their entire worth comes from what they can provide, not their personality or their sexual attributes. And it has two negative impacts:
We’re not taught how to provide beyond financial wellbeing.
Sex becomes transactional. They think, ‘If I’m giving you everything, then at least you should give me sex in return’. We’re not taught that sex isn’t guaranteed in exchange for financial provision.
From conversations with mates, it feels like South Asian men often don’t explore themselves sexually. We’re not taught to talk about sex in a healthy way. It’s seen as something dirty, secret and quiet.
Even when you're with a partner for a long time, the repression keeps our desire for pleasure locked up.
Figuring out how to unlock that leads to happiness in partnerships. People need to talk about sex. Men need to talk about sex. In a non Andrew Tate way.
How’s that affecting their relationships?
Men and women find it hard to find partners within their communities because they’re being taught different things. Men are having to learn that it isn’t emasculating if a woman is successful, can articulate her needs, and earns more. (Side note: I’m really open about having a partner who earns more than me. Delighted, in fact.) Indian Matchmaking [The Netflix show] is the perfect case in point for this. Independent women want more than money — they want personality beyond ‘I went to Dubai’ or ‘I go to the gym.’
I consider myself very privileged that my parents were keen for me to develop a personality. They knew that I’d be OK academically but they wanted me to be able to hold a conversation, to wine and dine, etc. My dad was a minicab driver in Pakistan and when he got here he had to learn how to act when ambassadors came over or when my mum took him to the Queen’s garden party. I watched him and I knew that’s how I had to be too.
OK before I let you go, you have to tell me all about Sex Education! How have people taken the news?
Sex Education is so sex positive. I'm grateful for such visible brown representation like that.
My brother watches the show and couldn't quite believe it. My dad didn’t have a clue what it was and was like, ‘Why is your first acting role called Sex Education?’
In Bangladesh, the press picked up the news and I received a lot of hate. Because my name is Muslim, people on the internet tell me what I’m doing is disgusting, that I’ll end up gay and that I’m doing a disservice to my culture. My Asian-ness gets policed a lot but I’m comfortable with how Desi I am. I let it all wash over me because they're not paying my mortgage, are they?
Do you have sex on screen?
No, but I’d love to. There’s not many of us on our screens and it would be good to see a bigger brown dude. I'm not ashamed of my body and I think I wear my size well.
Thank you for reading! There was so much more I wanted to add, both hilarious and serious. I may do a bonus piece for paid subscribers — let me know if you’d want that!
In case you’ve become obsessed with Eshaan after reading this, you can find him on Twitter, Instagram, and on tour.