Why is sex such a taboo subject in real life?

I don’t understand!

I can talk to my friends as we are very close about sex, but am curious as to why something so important to us as humans and intrinsic in our natures is considered almost profane.

Advertisements

Let’s talk about sex, baby, but please, no babytalk…

Following on from my first post about communicating during sex…  (aware that this may just be beginning to sound like a diatribe about my ex, but seeing as this is a place for sexual exploration & coming out of a long and miserable marriage, I suppose that is to be expected a little.)

So, like I said in my first post, I asked my ex to speak dirty to me – it didn’t work out & just got really awkward. I still remember why I asked him to, even though it was all of those years ago.  It was because until that point, and after that point, too, he’d use baby language in bed. The kind that you’d use when speaking to a small child. This is not hot at all (well, it doesn’t float my boat, in any case).

Language is so very important, although probably not the most important part of communication. It’s a bit off-putting when in the throes of passion to hear your paramour exclaim “I love your boobies” or “touch my willy”. Really! I’m an adult doing fun, adult things. Lovey-dovey talk is one thing, but babytalk in bed? No!

It still puzzles me to this day how it seemed that the only two ways he could talk sexually were either porny-degradey or mumsy-wumsy  styles. I think now that I’ve managed to unpack the reasons why, it’s not too surprising that I stopped talking during sex for so long.

Going through a dry spell at the moment, so any chances to test out my own sex-talking skills are somewhat limited at the moment. But, my imagination seems to be doing plenty of work all on it’s own, and am curious to see what comes out of my mouth then next time I do get lucky.

 

Let’s talk about sex, baby… easier said than done…

So, after miraculously breaking the bad-sex-spell without even having thought about it first (which you can read about here: https://mascarastreaks.wordpress.com/2013/09/01/the-first-fuck-was-the-sweetest/ ) I had to remember, or relearn what sex is supposed to be about.

My Canadian boy in Bangkok had such a sweet mouth, I loved hearing him tell me how hot my body was, how wonderful I tasted, him asking me to do things to me and telling me the things that he wanted to do. That turned me on as much as the sex. Instantly. Everywhere. I loved it.

The second or third day, we were wrapped up naked in each other in a hammock and moving really slowly and lazily, stopping and starting again and then he suddenly looked annoyed/stressed and said to me “Are you even enjoying this – I don’t know”. I was so shocked as I LOVED it and told him so. “You’re so quiet, how am I supposed to know?”

Of course, he was right, but I hadn’t even , aware of my reticence until it was pointed out. I don’t think I know how to talk dirty, I said. “You do, you just stop talking as soon as we start having sex, which is weird because you hardly shut your mouth the rest of the time”.

I was in shock as it wasn’t something I’d (even had to) think about for a very long time. I made a quick joke about having my mouth full and that being the reason why I didn’t say much, but I was reeling a little.

I remember early on in my long-dead-relationship, when things were still really good, asking the ex to talk dirty to me in bed. I was still a naughty young thing, then. It was diabolical. I still remember recoiling. “You dirty bitch, you slut, you’re a little slag – you love it, you little cunt”. It went down like a ton of shit. I hated it.

It turned me off. Not only for the lack of imagination, but for the degrading nature of the words, they weren’t sexy/naughty/filthy, they just felt abusive, degrading and completely unimaginative with misogynous undertones. Not that hot at all. I never asked him again.

I remember, too, asking him for particular things to be done a particular way, because that’s what felt good for me. Specifically, I could only take a few minutes of him going down on me at a time before it becoming excruciating. There’s a critical point that I get to where the line between pleasure and pain is crossed. When that line is crossed, it takes a long time for everything to calm down so that I can trying to reach those pleasure peaks again. If, after you say the same thing several times and it gets ignored, your mind (& body) starts to clam up, too. I’d managed to internalise these experiences and taken them forward without realising. A shock to the system to realise.

Learning to talk about and during sex again was much harder than remembering to do it. But it’s as pleasurable, even if I still feel self-conscious about it. Communication is key, or what is the point, even?