Let’s talk about sex

Henri Gervex (1878)

I’ve talked about having sex but have I talked about the sex itself here? I only say this because I don’t want you reading further if you’re not prepared.

First off, I think women sometimes have a hard time wrapping their minds around the fact that I’m so sexual. To them I am weird and fat. Ok, not wrong there. But they can’t square the me they see with what they expect men to want. This is a mind fuck for women who haven’t had a come to Jesus meeting with their inner misogynist. I assure you these women are not having mind blowing sex.

The men I date never have this problem. I have, shall we say, certain assets that win them over.

  • First, this puss of mine is on the visually appealing side. I didn’t choose it so I don’t take credit for it. Nor am I intentionally expressive. I make a lot of faces. I have no poker face.
  • Second, I have a personality and intellect that is incredibly seductive. At least on the front end when it is novel and not yet annoying.
  • Third, given the right circumstances, I’m the most confident woman in the whole room. This comes with age and a frank understanding of one’s own record and potential. To some men, this comes off as intimidating. Others start questioning what I say as delusional. Some people buck at generalizations I make. But that’s because they haven’t known me long enough to see that my brain constantly aggregates data and, through inductive reasoning, comes to conclusions. Plus, I lean a little witchy. Some things I just know. Eventually they’ll get the hang of it.
  • Fourth, and I’ll leave it to the experts to explain, my ass. And before you ask, no it’s not a fetish. It’s just currently in vogue. Gotta make hay while the sun shines.

If I’m lucky in any respect, it is that my assets tend to repel self-hating jerkwads and basic fuck boys. That doesn’t mean I’m home free. I still attract moral degenerates. They just tend to be of the insidious variety. But at least they’re always interesting.

On that note, I don’t identify as sapiosexual (although, if Mark Ronson asks, I am). Sapiosexuals have to be intellectually stimulated by someone in order to be sexually interested. I’ve gone on dates with engineers and scientists and doctors (but never ever lawyers). NONE of them interested me. You know what does? 1) Encyclopedic knowledge of artsy stuff; 2) good storytelling; 3) bald, naked ambition; and 4) this slow burn look I get from a man who knows what he wants and doesn’t waste time actually getting it. I believe this last one is called BDE (big dick energy).

Oh, and two magic phrases: “get the fuck outta here” (when I blow their minds); and “good girl” (which always blows mine).

Where does this all lead? I’ll tell you where, to fucking fine ass successful dirtbags who are really, really good at the sex stuff.

So now that all that’s out of the way, the sex. I’ve racked up impressive numbers for someone who was in a monogamous relationship all through her 20’s. But that’s volume and we’re talking quality here. What I mean to say is that I have a big enough data sample from which to draw a quantitative analysis, as well as qualitative.

And it is sentences like that last one that weed out the dummies and the basics without me having to do any heavy lifting.

Ok, so I almost never initiate any physical touch. I don’t even give off a vibe that I want to be touched. It’s a game of chicken. No matter how attracted I am, they have to break first. I can’t be bothered with men who don’t know how to initiate because it means that they’re lazy in bed (this is one of those generalizations that some men would balk at…because it’s true and it cuts a little too close to the bone for them). If I initiate, it means I’m bored and I want to move onto the next step. If I initiate, I only do it once because it’s never happening again.

So the guy initiates…usually with something bold. And this is touch. They’ve already flirted. They’ve clearly communicated that they’re interested. And they just swoop in. One in ten guys has gotten this right. And in each case, that opener was the clearest sign that they knew what they were doing.

The next sign: good kissing. I suck at kissing right now because of this temporary bridge in my mouth. It messes with my tongue placement. But normally, I’m stellar and I only want to, in the local parlance, fux with same. I can make out for hours. I’m awful that way.

Next sign: all the foreplay. Guys who rush to penetrative missionary position sex are all about the destination and not the journey. The sooner they’re done, the sooner they’re gone and good riddance to them. I am about the 26.2 mile journey. I want a marathon man. I want all-night, hedonistic, every pleasure fulfilled, or at least attempted, we’re-in-this-together kind of sex. And this, my friends, is why I skew to athletic and skinny types. In my experience, when they’re anything less, they can’t keep up. Also, I will give max 45% to someone I feel is too sex pedestrian. None of the fun extras. None of the talk. None of the gymnastics. They didn’t earn 100% me. I will just lie there and think of my grocery list. And they will never know what they’re missing.

Next sign: the manhandle move. Nothing…nothing…is sexier than a guy who will flip you over or pull you to the end of the bed or grab you with force during sex. They don’t use baby voices. They don’t ask. They don’t negotiate. They take what they want without an offer of apology. And they have nothing to apologize for because it totally works for both of you. Oh boy, does it.

Note: this is very different from nonconsensual touch. No one ever, ever, ever has the right to touch you in a way you don’t want or that makes you feel uncomfortable. But that is also your job to communicate what your boundaries are and to be really good at enforcing them. I can’t stress this enough. Even so, sometimes confusion happens even with well-meaning participants. There’s a lot of gray area. So, basically don’t hook up with dudes if you’re not prepared to knee someone in the balls and run if they overstep your boundaries.

Next sign: eye contact. If he’s locking eyes with you, he’s having sex with you and not just your body. And that is when toes curl and oxytocin starts flowing. It’s a headtrip for them too. Eye contact is second of the top three sexy things you can communicate, after touch and before words.

Next sign: communication. I like a talker, or at least an appreciative grunter. It’s immediate feedback. It doesn’t have to be Proust. Sometimes a strategic, “Oh my god you’re so sexy!” does the job. Just as long as it’s authentic. In my case, it’s usually some comment about my ass. That thing should have its own Tinder profile. Weirdest thing someone said to me during sex? “I’ve never fucked a lawyer before.” My response? “Me neither.”

If a guy can do all this to me, he’s basically unlocked real me. Not the bitchy, neurotic know-it-all I am on the streets, but the calm and quiet sweetheart I am in the sheets. I can count on one hand the number of guys who’ve picked the lock. This is what I’m addicted to. I am not about the “D” or the boyfriends or the love. I am about who I get to be when I’m at my best. And, whether I like it or not, my best is when I bring the best out in a man. I was meant to be a housewife. The house just has to be a penthouse.

Fuck me right and I’ll cook you breakfast and send you milkshakes through Seamless.

The point is that I’m like laminate tile. Lay me right and you can walk all over me for life. Fortunately for me, it doesn’t happen too often. At least not statistically. Temporally, sometimes there are more than one on the scene at a time.

I said it, I meant it, and I really don’t care to change. Falling for a commanding guy who will shut me up and flood my body with good feelings will never get old. As long as that’s true, I’m free to hook up without any fear of catching feelings. I can fuck like a dude. Because most guys don’t know how to bring out the woman in me. That’s probably for the best.

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