Did you have sex in high school? If you didn’t, you really should’ve because it was sort of amazing. It’s the worst sex you’ll ever have without knowing it. Like someone could actually just ram their tongue in your bellybutton for an hour and eat the lint, and you’d just be like, “Oh my god, my body is trembling with pleasure! This is so experimental and hideously kinky! WHERE’S THE WHIPPED CREAM? CAN I EAT THIS WAFFLE OFF YOUR PUBIC HAIR NEXT?! I saw it in that movie 9 and 1/2 Weeks...” Ignorance is seriously bliss, you guys. Since you have nothing to compare it to, everything feels fantastic and Kama Sutra-y. You want to be Samantha Jones from Sex and the City talking about your sex life all blasé in the high school cafeteria. “Yeah, we’ve done anal. I mean, we’re just really free, you know?” You honestly believe that the sex you’re having is fantastic and daring and adventurous when, in reality, it’s strange, painful, and often lasts the duration of a Ramones song.
Bad sex doesn’t become Bad Sex until you’ve actually had good sex. In fact, you could live your entire life thinking you were having the most mind-blowing sex until you meet someone who actually knows what they’re doing, and then you’re like “Oh, JK.” Sometimes good sex can be a curse though because when it gets taken away from you — and it always does — you’ll forever know its truest potential. You’ll no longer be satisfied by a couple of thrusts and a colorful O face. You’ve been touched by an angel and now you have to wait until the next one comes along. Hint: You might be waiting a long time. Like imagine yourself waiting in the ER with no healthcare next to a man with a gunshot wound who’s already been there for four hours. You might want to just take home this guy with the man bun in the meantime.
All of this being said, do you ever get paranoid that you’ve been having tons of bad sex without knowing it? How do you know if you haven’t found the peanut butter to your sex jelly yet? People always talk about sex as either being terrible or amazing but what I’ve found in my own experience is that a lot of is unremarkable. I’ve dated people for long stretches of time and when it ends, I can’t remember what the sex was like for the life of me. The go-to descriptive word is always “nice.” The sex is nice. Um, you know what’s nice? Puppies, Ellen Degeneres, Unitarians, your friend’s mom, 75 degree weather, a hug from an orphan. Sex shouldn’t be just nice, right?
There’s something sweet about all the bad sex you have in the beginning. There’s no judgment. You might be ultra vulnerable but you’re protected by your partner’s own ignorance. If something doesn’t feel perfect or if things are awkward, it’s okay because you’re young and this is just the starting point. No expectations here! You just want to explore someone’s body and have them let you do things to it. It doesn’t stay this way, of course. With every new person you sleep with, it gets to be more noisy. Bad sex is bad sex, good sex is good sex. The definitions have been made and set in stone. You have a checklist that needs checking off. There’s something so… clinical and disheartening about it. In some ways, I wish every time could feel like the first time. I mean, except it would be longer, nicer, and no one would have Cheeto breath.