There are plenty of different attitudes toward sex. It might be your favourite hobby; you might have sex with men or women or both or none; you might exclusively
associate it with love or relationships or you might sleep with someone new each weekend. Frankly, it's no one else's business what you get up to in the bedsheets, and your attitude is not invalid just because it differs from someone else's (within reason, but we won't go into that). That said, however liberal your attitude, we are all part of a culture where the gap between what
we see online or TV versus what is realistically plausible is ever blurred.
Porn is one of the biggest culprits
for instigating unrealistic expectations about sex. We mention this a lot in
relation to female body image, but it is certainly not just women who are
idealised. Male sex icons all tend to have rock-solid abs, mega penises and
most impressively, the ability to provide their partner with repeated
mind-blowing orgasms every single time.
I don’t doubt that people like this exist.
These scenarios must occur. But meanwhile, I’m interested in the situations
that we don’t see in the media.
Like, how often, sex is awkward.
Or messy.
Or, sometimes, it literally just
doesn’t work.
And this can be for a variety of
things: stress, tiredness, intoxication, past experiences (or lack of
them), pain, confidence issues, anxiety…
I’m not claiming to be a sexpert. If
anything, I’m an expert in the above factors, which we don’t really talk about.
They aren’t always fun to talk about. But here we go.
When I was younger, I went to the
doctors because I felt a stinging pain when I went for a wee or when I had sex.
The nurse easily detected a fissure - a small split, sort of like a paper-cut - on my labia. I have
particularly dry skin, so she was unconcerned and simply advised me to keep the
fissure clean and dry. Oh, and not to wear any cheese-wire thongs (I’m still waiting for
the VPL to become a look).
It was nothing serious. Just a teeny tiny cut.
It was nothing serious. Just a teeny tiny cut.
Alas, keeping a cut on your vulva dry is sort of like trying to stop an umbrella from getting
wet on a rainy day in Blackpool.
Six years later and I’ve been to the
gynaecologist, received sex therapy, spent way too much money on prescriptions,
seen a sex psychologist, been offered surgery, continuously changed contraception and even used
anaesthetic gel - that’s right, to numb my vagina (wouldn’t recommend).
It's tricky to comprehend. Normally cuts heal within a few days and we forget about them, but because of where mine is, it never could. A few years ago, I suffered
from it every single day and it certainly impacted my sexual experiences. You know the frustration when you have an ulcer or a toothache and you want to eat because you're hungry but are reluctant because you know it will hurt? And sometimes you start eating, but can't finish it all? Or sometimes you do because you've worked out how to chew without it hurting, but you can't seem to find that spot again the next time? And sometimes, the ulcer just seems to be having a day off, and you forget about it completely? I would
look at people with envy and think about them having uncomplicated sex with
their uncomplicated vaginas. How could a 2mm cut cause me so much grief that I
couldn’t even have normal sex?
But then, what is normal?
For me, it was suddenly stopping if
the cut was stinging, only wearing Sloggi pants (so breathable, fully
recommend) and not being able to shave properly. It was buying endless supplies
of lube because my body had essentially trained itself to keep my cut dry, so I
would never ‘get wet’ even if I was sexually excited. It was not being able to
have sex at all because I was in so much pain, and my partner respecting it. It
was carrying Aqueous cream with me wherever I went. It was feeling constantly
drained and ashamed because I wasn’t able to do what everyone else was doing.
That was my normal, and they
certainly don’t show that on TV. They rarely show anyone’s normal.
They don’t show the awkward condom
fumble and the sweat and the creaky bed and the ‘can’t get it in’ and the leg
cramps and the redness and the sweat and the pubes and the smudged mascara and
the SWEAT and the accidentally-already-finished and the loo roll mop-up and the
sticky sheets. And they don’t show anyone ever communicating but how is anyone
supposed to know what you like if you don’t show/tell them, and how are you supposed to know what THEY like if you don't ask?
I’m not saying this would be a good
watch. But it would certainly have saved me years of hideous shame because I
thought when people said sex, they meant porn.
Humans are complicated. Just as people have different dietary requirements, people have different sexual requirements. Whatever the reason, remember, it's absolutely a thousand per cent okay to have needs that aren't explored when we think about 'normal ' sex. There is no normal. If you read Georgie's last post (if you haven't, get on it here), sex isn't about party tricks. It's about feeling safe, engaged and comfortable, which includes not feeling ashamed to speak up when you need something, however unconventional that may be.
Humans are complicated. Just as people have different dietary requirements, people have different sexual requirements. Whatever the reason, remember, it's absolutely a thousand per cent okay to have needs that aren't explored when we think about 'normal ' sex. There is no normal. If you read Georgie's last post (if you haven't, get on it here), sex isn't about party tricks. It's about feeling safe, engaged and comfortable, which includes not feeling ashamed to speak up when you need something, however unconventional that may be.
And actually, I can have sex, even
with a fissure. As cliché as it sounds, the far bigger obstacle was
my feeling of insufficiency, which I think is something a lot of young people, men
and women, experience. Nobody I’ve ever slept with cared about my
fissure-related problems. As George mentioned, when someone wants to sleep
with you, they want to enjoy you and please you, not judge you.
So instead of worrying about whether
they will care that you need to stop and go for a wee, or if you need to grab
some lube, make it normal. Reality is
sexy. And then, as they enjoy you, you might just enjoy yourself, too.
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