This morning, after coffee and watching Girls (an episode coincidentally about speedy weddings…) I tip-toed over to my stunning and amazing BFF Khadeja’s blog (Khadeja is the Body Pride photographer, if ya didn’t know).
Now, because I typically hang out naked with Khadejers on a once a week basis, her sex life is something I have a lot of information about. And vice versa (whether she like it or not — my fiancee is a very old, very platonic friend of hers – imaging him and I in the throes of passion usually ignites a wondrous look of disgust on her face). But this also means I am very aware of when she is not having the sex. And in our own little bubble of immersed sexuality (regular Body Prides, I’d Tap That, etc.), talking about your own sexuality is something that becomes pretty hard to avoid. I am of the opinion that this is a good thing. Each person’s own prerogative to speak openly, comfortably and frankly about their sex lives allows for a better, more comprehensive understanding of what is going on between the sheets (or in the stairwell, park, kitchen, car, sex club, orgy, etc…).
But I have also been at the other end of the spectrum where I just want to stop talking about my own sexual experiences (if for a day, week or month, this does happen) – and I of the belief that this, too, is a very reasonable need. Speaking as someone who writes a sex blog, this feels almost hypocritical to say. Mostly because I rarely leave out any details for you guys… I get pretty up close and personal with my own sexual experiences, which at times has been completely nerve-racking once I press the ‘Publish’ button, and at others, completely relieving me of the weight of shame or guilt or fear I was carrying around.
And today, Khadeja reminded me why it is important to keep sharing with her post about her current state of sexual experience, or lack thereof, and what is missing.
To summarize (but you should really go read it), there lies a desire to not have to teach someone how to give you pleasure. Basically: you don’t want to have to use your voice. Except to make animalistically responsive ones to things you like (eg. “mmmmmm”, “ooooh”, “OH OH OH”) and things you don’t (eg. “ow”…).
Which drives home a curious point, and one I am all too familiar with: in our realm of frank and open discussions about our vagina’s experiences, why is it so hard for Khadeja and myself to move our open gabs into a boning session?
I’m about to get married to a magnificent person whom I have a very wealthy and lovely sex life with – BUT, why is it still so hard for me to say something as general as “I really want to have incredible slow and fulfilling sex tonight” or “I really just want a do-me-hard-and-fast quickie” to “I like it when your tongue is on my nipple like that” or “Can you put your fingers inside me and hit ‘x’ portion of my vagina”?
Being immersed in this subject matter, I feel like I am an unofficial Kinsey. The amount of personal stories I have heard and listened to have turned into this strange cloud of general experiences. It has become difficult for me to navigate through each person’s individual narrative unless they have a especially different story (‘I was a stripper’, ‘I am a trans-man/woman’, ‘I am a fetishist of some sort’). My current general knowledge:
– A lot of women have had some form of hang-up about their vulvas or vaginas, but not all
– Pretty much all women masturbate, and the method of rubbing one out is astoundingly varied
– Most women need some form of clitoral stimulation in order to orgasm through penetrative sex, but not all
– Women and men are way more similar than we imagine
– Sexuality is wildly different yet strangely alike
– More women need to tell young girls that they have a clitoris and what it can do
– A lot of men wish women were more vocal with what they wanted
Now, here is a funny story:
This last winter, after my ex and I had split ways and before I met Jake, I was completely convinced that I was going to live the rest of my life as a non-monogamous passion-lover. I slept with the people I wanted to have sex with, unrushed and calm and always with an evening spent talking and drinking wine beforehand. It was lovely – I had truly become okay with being single if I could have each of these casual yet loving relationships with various men. I also learned that I was becoming incredibly indifferent to drunk one-night-stands. In my late teens I discovered how easy it was to pick-up, especially when drinking. Booze and sex went hand-in-hand. It was fun and I learned a lot, and in no way do I regret it. BUT, I was growing out of it.
Nevertheless, I went to a bar with a couple of single friends and drank and danced with boys and one was pretty cute with glasses and I was teasing him and joking with him without the intention of doing anything. But when I drink, making out seems to be my default, and it imminently happened with this cute, glasses-clad youngin’. When he told me he had to leave the bar with his friend, I indifferently said “That’s a shame” with not too much invested. He asked if he should stay or leave, and if he stayed, he’d need a place to sleep. I curled my lip and shrugged my shoulders, told him it was up to him, but I thought he was cute and if he did stay, that he might wind-up terrified of me anyway (I had informed him about my area of study and that it effected the way I engaged in intimacy).
He ended up coming home with me that night. To illustrate why this evening was probably going to be a shock for him, was that I had recently fallen into the belief, after watching the Bodysex Workshops, that every person I get naked and cozy with should have an up-close and personal relationship with my vulva.
This was fairly hilarious to witness, my more sober self was escaping with every moment and the stark reality that I had sat down some stranger on my bed and cajoled him into believing this was an absolutely necessary part of a one-night stand (it’s not). My belief of the moments: how could someone possibly understand what goes where and where to touch and what is what if they aren’t actually looking at it?? It is very hard to not see an erect penis. It is much different to stick your head between a woman’s legs and see an aroused vagina.
I wanted this young, inexperienced male to walk out of my apartment with a different interpretation of what sex could be. I was willing to risk his sexual sanity in order for this to happen. To that specific person: I apologize if I was a little forward.
The relevance of this story in regards to vocalizing your wants and desires is paramount because this one time in which I had (apparently) decided I’d leave nothing out, speak clearly, and describe specifically, turned into a very poor bout of sexy. Granted, he was likely not the best person to have tested this out on (either in terms of listening ability or sobriety). But more importantly, trying to have the sex I wanted to have did not work.
It is not something you can just conjure up out of no where with any Tom, Dick or Harry. I am of the impression that sometimes there is just no passionate chemistry and it might be more often than not, that one-night-standers are rarely on the same page for the expectations of how to extract orgasm.
In saying all of this, I understand how intricately weaved knowing what you want is within consent. And that the more you are able to communicate on a level that is much more comfortable and passionate than what I described above, the more pleasurable the sexual experience will be. This is something I plan to work on, and perhaps may come up with some form of project with Khadeja as to how we can both learn to vocalize what it is we want…