So I recently attracted an actually available man.
I mean actually available, people. It’s amazing.
He’s emotionally available – is willing and maybe even looking for a relationship, and not in the clingy, needy way. He’s mentally available – isn’t so crazy busy married to his job that he has no space for anything real elsewhere in his life. He’s psychologically available – meaning isn’t already involved with anyone else. And he’s physically available – lives in the same city as me.
Actually, seriously, 100%, legit available.
And my body’s freaking out.
I haven’t historically done very well with the whole commitment thing. My body usually feels safer in uncommitted relationships, where there’s no risk of a) getting bored, b) getting rejected, or c) (the big one) getting trapped.
So right now there’s a big part of me that’s having a cow.
Then there’s another part of me that senses something huge is possible, something mature and undefined and important.
Because he feels like an adult. It feels like dating an adult. He actually has self-awareness. So do I. We can actually have real conversations, and conversations that include the possibility of being in a relationship together. That shit was never even on the table with the last few guys I slept with!
But the sex isn’t outstanding. It isn’t amazing, mindblowing, the best I’ve ever had, out-of-this world sensual, world-rocking, exquisite.
And I can’t tell whether this is more of a problem for my body or for my mind. I can’t tell whether my mind is grasping onto this as The Problem, the Problem To End The Relationship Over, simply because it’s uncomfortable with the prospect of any type of real relationship. Today in my meditation I had a moment of mourning the loss of an ex-boyfriend with whom I had AMAZING, INCREDIBLE, MINDBOGGLING sex, the kind where you really just can’t feel ANYTHING else but pleasure. I’ve had that feeling only a few times in my life, and unfortunately, pretty much all of them were with that one motherfucker (fuck him).
However, I feel like I can teach this guy some of that. I know my body well enough, and I have enough vocabulary, and he’s a safe enough person, that I can teach him how to touch me. And that gives me hope.Maybe true for men…not so for the fairer sex.
It also intimidates the fuck out of me. I’m terrified that giving him direction will have him lash out at me.
Now, this is mostly an old, unconscious fear from my childhood. I’m basically afraid that anytime I correct or criticize or in any way challenge someone, they will me and shut me out and maybe even want to hurt me.
Now, I can intellectually grasp that this is an old fear (and not exactly true) — but it doesn’t make it go away.
So it’s not surprising that it’s fuckin’ edgy to talk about sex, to describe what I want, to be specific about how to give it to me.
What would make it easier?
I’ll tell you: if he asked.
Guys: if you want to know about sex – if you want to know how to please your woman, ASK HER. Please ask. Please make it safe for us. Let us know that you want to know, that our comments are welcome. You may have no idea how difficult it truly is to speak up about it, and you may not realize how sensitive our body parts are. You likely have no idea how many of us have bent inwards from the pain, from your fingers on the most sensitive part of our body, grinding away, doing what you think feels good but can really be excruciating.
And why don’t we speak up, you ask? Why don’t we tell you? Why do you have to feel the sting of betrayal to learn later that what you were doing not only didn’t feel good, but hurt?
Because we’re scared. We say we’re scared of hurting your feelings, but I think the real reasons run deeper than that. We’re scared that if we challenge you, you won’t like us anymore. We’re scared that we don’t know our bodies well enough to direct you. We’re scared that we won’t say it right, or that we don’t even know how to start. We’re scared that if we say the wrong thing, you’ll give up, reject us, kick us out of the bed, and hate us forever.
Or maybe that’s just me.
Whatever the case, I often find it useful to focus my energies on how I’d like things to be, rather than how I wouldn’t.
So here’s what I want: I want to stay stable and grounded throughout this exploration. I want to be actually present, in the moment, for what is actually happening. I want to take it from there. I want to be open to learning about his body, and I want him to be open to learning about mine. I want to teach him all the secrets and mysteries and tactics and awe-inspiring richness that exist within sex for me, with me, with us. I want us to figure it out together, and I want it to be fun, creative, experimental, and bonding. I want it to feel good. I want him to feel good. I want to feel connected. I want to feel slow and languid and cherished and worthy. I want to feel fingertips all over my body. I want kisses up and down my spine. I want soft nibbles on my earlobes and hard bites on my neck.
I want really good sex with someone who really cares, who is open to learning, who wants to know, and who isn’t afraid to ask.
I want that. Maybe it’s even possible for me to get it.