The languorous roll of the eyes, the racing pulse, the sweat stained sheets, and the fire kindled in your lover’s eyes – this is the sex we should be having according to modern media. The truth is that sometimes my sexual scandals are erotic novel worthy, but often they are wine fueled bumps, clashing teeth moments, stiff mechanical routines, or five minutes of laughter rather than hours of orgasmic fun. And I have to remind myself that this is fine.
I have lost count of the number of nights I have fretted into the pillow questioning whether I was having good sex, how many times a man has apologized for being a little too swift in the sheets, and how many moments I jerked back from wondering if the backwards cowgirl was the most flattering position to be in. As if some director was going to dive from the cupboard shouting ‘cut there’s cellulite in the shot!’.
I have to remind myself that sex should be less about ego and more about actual adult play.
There is the argument that we put sex on a pedestal, that it’s the ultimate event, and this can be damaging to the whole experience. Hollywood loves to oversexualize, the male gaze is never far from our screens. The women are slim lined and stunning, the men slick and handsome, the lighting tender, and the missionary position or woman on top a go to vanilla favorite. No one is laughing, everyone’s mouth is arced into a soft O, and there is this intense solemnity locking the whole thing in.
I hate that Hollywood and modern media are writing the scripts for my sex life, forcing us to be competitive, cinematic, and falsely close in our sexual endeavors. In some ways I think this stops us from giving ourselves to the moment, losing our inhibitions, exposing our true and naked vulnerable selves, and having a powerful experience as opposed to something distant, mechanical and made for the invisible cameras.
I don’t know about you ladies, but I want to live something real. I want to be aware of how I feel. To laugh and bump noses with someone in bed, to moan unabashedly, giggle freely, and slumber happily afterwards.
I don’t want to lie awake wondering if I ticked all the boxes, if they ticked all the boxes, or to associate what should be an act of pleasure and play with anxiety and neurosis.
Because really, how the hell is it even possible to climax with those complexities running through your head?
I’ve been making a real effort to switch off the invisible cameras, to forgo those Hollywood moments, and to forget about what I’m told good sex should feel / look /sound like. My motto becomes think less and play more in that moment. The giggling, the clashing teeth, and even the awkward fumbling has since only added to the sensuality I feel in the moment, because at least
I’m having fun, we are laughing, throwing caution to the wind, being downright ridiculous at times, but we are free and unashamed. This isn’t just notches on the post, it is a true authentic experience, and this makes it wonderful.