Charlotte Green

It has been so long since you last had sex that neither of you are really willing to bring up the subject because you both know the discussion is going to be extremely embarrassing and awkward.

Because an orgasm is rarely cute and contained. There are the wilting Victorian climaxes, and they can be lovely, but many more are loud, proud, and kind of awkward-looking.

You spend several hours extra getting ready — possibly even buying new clothes — when you know that there is a chance you might see them tonight.

There is also the familiarity. It becomes like a kind of drug, something you can’t take big enough hits of when you are looking for something, anything, to make sense to you.

You show that you have not been beaten into a patriarchal pulp by all of these ridiculous expectations that you don’t show how you actually feel.

And we are afraid to be open with this need, with this passion, because we don’t want to lose you. That is really the crux of it.

Something truly ugly happens in people when we feel that we’re losing something we love, something that we put in the work for and cared for, such as our significant other.

I don’t care if he’s bringing home the foreskin. I don’t care about any of this because we are not obsessed as a culture with making sure men’s bits look like something made for a Bratz doll.