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?