“I’m never having sex with anyone ever again.”
This was the text I received from one of my lovers letting me know that he was ending our relationship. There was no preface. This was it. He was never having sex again. I was going to be his last partner—ever—even though he was only in his forties.
I have to admit, I was initially a little (ok, a lot) taken back. Like many people, my instinct was to blame myself for what was happening. Was I really so bad of a lover that he would never want to have sex again? I reflected on our relationship. I thought the sex we had was amazing. I couldn’t imagine it wasn’t at least decent for him. He seemed to enjoy it at the time, anyway.
The more I thought about it, I realized that this decision of his had nothing to do with me or the sex we had shared. What it actually was rooted in was his own personal problems. He was suffering from a challenge to his mental health, and the way it was manifesting was by shutting me and all other women out of his future.
I sent as gentle of a reply as I could despite my personal emotional pain: I told him that I was sorry the sex was that horrible for him because it wasn’t for me. He was able to respond to me that the sex wasn’t bad, and gradually the full story behind his decision came out. The reasons behind his decision were logical, though it’s still not the choice I think I would have made in the same situation.
In certain ways, he was one of the best lovers I’ve ever had, but right now, he can’t be with me or any woman. I hope that one day he is able to work through the issues he’s currently struggling with because him remaining celibate for the rest of his life is a true loss for both him and his potential future lovers.
I recently saw a tweet that (in my paraphrased version of it) stated, “I’m going to express an unpopular opinion: I don’t enjoy 69 because I want to be fully present when I give or receive.” When I read that, I wanted to scream, “Amen, sister!”
From the time I was a teen, tittering and gossiping with friends as we imagined what life would be like after we had lost our virginity, we somehow had picked up the idea that “69” or mutual simultaneous oral sex was the end-all, be-all of oral sex. I have no idea why this was part of the sexual mythology in our culture, but I know it was definitely true.
As with so many sexual things, the reality of 69 was far from what I expected. My first partner and I tried it at one point, and I was very much not sold on it. I couldn’t pay attention to both sucking on his cock and receiving his attentions on my clit. I disliked it so much so that I didn’t try it again until a partner after my divorce insisted we do it. Because he was a Dom, I followed his lead, and once again I discovered that I really don’t like 69. I love giving head, and I love having my clit licked. But at the same time? It all loses so much.
As a result, I don’t have 69 with a partner unless he insists, and most don’t. Most are like me in that they prefer to devote all their attention to either giving or receiving. There really is too much of a good thing at times, and 69 seems to fall in that category.
I believe that Hollywood does a great disservice toward American views on sex, arguably more than porn since more people see mainstream Hollywood films than porn. More importantly, most of us were watching Hollywood films at a younger age, and the sex scenes we were seeing on the big screen, while not explicit, were still some of our first impressions of what sex is “supposed” to be.
Think about it. What does the stereotypical Hollywood sex/love scene look like? For starters, it’s heterosexual. A man and a woman, both of whom have perfect bodies, are coming together to celebrate their deep and passionate love for each other. In rare cases, it’s carnal lust, but most often, the myth of “one true love” is part of the scene. There are almost always candles setting the scene and romantic music in the background. Birth control and condoms aren’t discussed or used. The couple’s movements flow, almost dance-like. Everything happens smoothly and sensuously. There’s very little foreplay, and yet the woman will reach orgasm. The scene will likely end with the simultaneous climax of both partners during penis-in-vagina sex.
After so many years of watching movies like Dirty Dancing and other romantic chic flicks as a teenager, I certainly had very set expectations of what things would be like when I finally got to have sex. As one might expect, I was sorely disappointed by the reality.
Let’s start with the literal mess that sex creates. Nowhere in Hollywood sex scenes is there a mess. Whether it’s sweat, semen, arousal fluid, squirting, menstrual blood or lube causing the mess, sex is inherently messy. In the Hollywood sex scenes, no one breaks a sweat and no one fumbles lube because of slippery hands. No one ends up in a cold wet spot on the bed. Hollywood sex is very sterile. In the real world? Not so much.
Real world sex is also not choreographed, but the sex scenes in the movies are very much pre-planned though most young people watching don’t realize this. The movie sex scenes involve days of rehearsal, hours of practice, and dozens of cuts. The actors involved don’t just hook up with the camera rolling. Hollywood sex is a staged, choreographed, intricately planned scene that in no way resembles what happens in most people’s bedrooms.
In the sex that most of us have, arms and legs often become problematic. It sometimes seems like there is an extra octopus involved even though you know there are (usually) only four arms and four legs. Human arms really need to be detachable at times because they get in the way or get uncomfortable being underneath a partner. Legs sometimes end up in weird positions. Knees and elbows often bump partners unintentionally in painful and sometimes sensitive places. Bodies will sometimes make unexpected and indelicate noises that are far from romantic and definitely aren’t something that would show up in a Hollywood sex scene.
Most of all, our bodies are imperfect. We have scars, stretch marks, and fat. Most of us don’t have a six pack. Our skin is not necessarily smooth. We have moles, acne, bacne, and skin tags. Our breasts sag. Our hair falls out or grows in places we don’t want it. Our bodies aren’t perfect, and yet at the same time they are amazing bodies that can give us immense pleasure.
And then there are the orgasms. While simultaneous climax does happen, it’s not the most common occurrence during sex. More importantly, sex is a lot more than penis-in-vagina which is what Hollywood glorifies. What most people term foreplay is actually sex, especially for women. Only 25% of women are able to have orgasms from penetrative vaginal sex, so for the other 75%, the Hollywood scenes are a complete mythology. Oral sex and manual sex are very common ways of helping partners reach orgasm, but rarely are those shown in the mainstream. Instead, Hollywood is still focusing on the “ultimate” myth of glorifying the almighty penis.
Hollywood could start doing so much to open up the sexual mindset of America. We need to be seeing sex acts, even discrete ones with no revealing nudity, that aren’t focused on penile-centric sex. We need to be shown women having orgasms from having their clitorises stimulated. We need to see couples taking turns having orgasms. And most importantly, we need to see both halves of couples helping afterward to clean up the huge mess sex can make!
One of the things I find really fascinating is that I haven’t seen the handwriting of any of the men that I have dated since my divorce. Not one of them. I’ve received numerous texts and emails from lovers, but not one of them has ever sent me a card or given me a handwritten love note. It’s really not that odd of a thing: in our modern world, most communication is done through digital means.
To me, this phenomenon seems stranger, though, because I haven’t seen any other random samples of their handwriting like grocery lists or notes to themselves lying around their houses. Perhaps that’s because many people rely on digital apps on their phones to take care of these items, though I still use good old paper and pen for them.
I’ve actually never seen any of them write a check because we rarely do that now, too, in favor of credit and debit cards. Even when guys are signing credit card receipts, I haven’t seen their signatures because our culture dictates that we don’t look at what other people are putting for tips on their receipts so we avert our eyes while others are paying.
To me, it feels like I’ve missed so much about my partners just because of this one simple thing: I’ve never seen their handwriting. I’ve seen their cocks. I’ve seen their naked bodies. Some of them have even let me see their souls. But not one of them has shown me their handwriting.
It’s an odd world we live in.
In the kink and polyamorous communities, there is a phenomenon known as “fluid bonding” that is held in high esteem. “Fluid bonding” is when a couple chooses not use any kind of barriers during sex and allow fluids to co-mingle. This is a sign of closeness and indicates that the couple is willing to share anything, including any possible STIs they might have.
I’ve found that fluid bonding is put on a very tall pedestal in the kink community and from what I can tell in polyamorous communities as well. It’s the biggest sign that one loves one’s partner truly, deeply, and unconditionally.
Contrary to this esteemed pedestal, I’m going to give what probably is an unpopular opinion: most couples are fluid bonded. Think about it. When you French kiss a partner, you are exchanging saliva which is a bodily fluid, one that can carry bacteria and viruses including HSV1 and 2. When a man fondles a woman’s genitals, he touches her arousal fluid and sometimes licks it off of his own fingers or makes her lick it off of his fingers and then kisses her. If a couple has sex while a woman is menstruating, even if they use a condom, it’s likely he will end up with some of her menstrual blood on his hands, legs, and abdomen. Depending on how much arousal fluid she produces, a man is also likely to end up with that all over his genital region as well.
What’s more, it’s rare for partners to use protection for oral sex from what I have experienced and heard from friends’ sex stories. I have never had a dental dam used on me, and I rarely use condoms for giving fellatio. Men directly ingest arousal fluid when giving cunnilingus. Women ingest precum in giving fellatio. Not one of the men I’ve been with who have been in their forties or fifties hasn’t leaked abundant amounts of pre-cum during our foreplay. I’ve ingested far more of it than I’d like to!
However, none of my partners aside from my ex-husband would consider us fluid bonded. Why? Because they have not ejaculated inside of me without condoms on their cocks. In the kink community, what “fluid bonded” really means is a man ejaculating inside a woman’s vagina (or in some rarer cases, her anus) without using barrier protection. The term “fluid bonding” does not really mean fluid bonding. What it actually is is an unconscious glorification of penis-in-vagina sex. Unless a man dumps his load in a woman’s pussy, they aren’t truly connected, aka fluid bonded.
The problems with this mindset are abundant and ridiculous. It raises the general STI risk as people who aren’t “fluid bonded” can still share STIs. More philosophically, it continues to promote an idea that “real sex” is only sex that involves a penis being inserted inside a vagina, and that’s far from true. Most importantly, it continues to feed the cultural male ego into believing that their semen is a sacred part of sex, and women’s vaginas and relationships as a whole are incomplete without that theoretically amazing jizz. Nothing could be further from the truth.
It would be great if “fluid bonding” was called what it really is: “semen-vagina bonding.” That’s far more accurate, and it lets people know what the true situation is. Furthermore, it doesn’t downplay other relationships which are just as “bonded” but which don’t glorify semen as what makes a relationship deep and true.
My neck is one of my most erogenous zones as I have mentioned previously. When a partner kisses my neck, it’s an incredibly sensuous experience. Some partners have learned about this from my blog, and others learn about it when I tell them in bed as we discuss what works for each of us. One partner learned unexpectedly from firsthand experience.
Most of the men I have dated haven’t been romantic types, but there was one who was incredibly romantic. I really enjoyed the experience of dating a man who was so romantic, and I hope to eventually date more. In the case of this particular romantic, our goodbye kiss on the first date turned into thirty minutes of goodnight kisses in the parking lot of the restaurant. What started as a simple beautiful kiss moved into the equivalent of two teenagers unable to control themselves while making out in public. Since we had closed down the restaurant, the parking lot was pretty much empty as we enjoyed each other immensely.
At some point, the kisses my romantic date had been planting on my lips began to wander. His lips found their way to my neck, where after a few kisses he found the sweet spot that really gets to me. As he did, I let out the squealing noise that I make when a partner hits that spot. My date stopped his kisses immediately, concerned that something was wrong because of the odd noise I had made.
“What’s wrong?” he inquired in a worried voice.
“Nothing!” I moaned back. “My neck is just very sensuous. Kissing me there is erotic, and it turns me on.”
“Oh, well, in that case then…” he replied, returning to kissing my neck as he had before making me squirm and moan in his arms some more.
By the end of that date, I was ready to jump into bed with him, but he had been clear before the date that he didn’t have sex on the first few dates. Thus, I had to wait several more dates before I was lucky enough to get to experience the romance of having him in my bed.
However, before we said finally said goodnight on that first date, my romantic man turned me around. He pulled my hair aside and kissed my neck once more. I let out a sigh of pleasure, and he made me a promise: as long as we were dating, he would always kiss my neck when he was giving me goodbye kisses. He kept that promise to me, creating a sweet, romantic, and loving gesture that I looked forward to each time we said goodbye.
Sometimes when I am having sex, despite my lover’s efforts, I know I’m just not going to cum. When I get that feeling, I’ve always let my partner know that my body is just not responding so he should do whatever would work best for him at that point. Occasionally when my partners have shifted to do something different that works better for them, I actually end up cumming with them. Several of my past partners loved to give me (not literal) shit when this happened. “I’m not going to cum” are my famous last words that often get me laughed at by partners.
However, one of my partners reacted very differently than others when hearing me pronounce these words for the first time. His head was between my legs and his tongue was caressing my clit when I told him, “I’m not going to cum, so you should do something else that works for you.” He lifted his head, gave me an unforgettable look, and said, “Oh, you’re not going to cum are you? Challenge accepted!”
With that, he dove back into my pussy with renewed vigor. He changed up what his tongue was doing, and a minute later, I was orgasming. After I finished, he cuddled next to me with an evil grin on his face. “Not going to cum, huh?” he rhetorically said to me.
“Ok, you win that one,” I replied sheepishly.
“You sounded pretty happy to let me win, too,” he retorted.
“Yes, I definitely was. You can be right like that any time you want,” I responded, kissing him with gratitude.