My girlfriends and I got to talking the other night (okay, actually it was several nights with several different girlfriends and several bottles of wine). You may guess where this is going. The funny thing is, I thought I did too.
However, while I might have thought it would lead to relationships and sex, I didn’t quite expect to hear such varied tales: text messages, camera phone photos, “IM sex” (?), naked test car drives, mandatory “pull-over” stops on road trips, key parties, partner porn screenings, threesomes, strap-ons, bar bathrooms, role playing starring as “Naughtia.”
I hung on every word. I laughed and smiled. I looked out at these friends and was proud, amazed, and perhaps, at times, curious.
Then I got to thinking about the stories I have to tell. Currently, I am in a serious relationship with someone I am very much in love with. We have sex frequently and as far as I feel and we’ve discussed, we are both really happy with our sex life.
We do tend to have what would be called (compared to what is listed above) traditional sex, specifically—missionary style.
I realize this sounds really boring. It’s hardly the number one most viewed configuration on YouPorn. But I love it. He does too. We both are able to have orgasms and look into each other’s eyes and spoon afterwards. We do try other positions, usually when we’ve had a bit to drink. But truthfully, we tend to revert back to the thing we like most—me on bottom, him on top. When I really look fondly on our intimate moments, I remember the mornings, the sober times, the moments where I was in ecstasy looking at him with flushed cheeks, feeling a sense of peace, his arms around me. At these times I was looking up.
So, back to the bar. All these tales of wanderlust and adventure made me self-conscious. What if I’m not sexy enough? Not racy enough? Should I be initiating more than I am now? Should I buy toys? Should we rent porn? How in the hell does one introduce anything kinky after two years without looking like a total sex-starved geek?
I started with a baby step. It was not my idea; it came from one of my super-sexed girlfriends: a text message, racy enough, but mild enough so as not to shock. I decided to try it one morning when I was alone and my boyfriend was traveling for work. I woke up, typed in my “sex text,” and sent it. No reply. Nothing. Not all day in fact. My message just sat there on my mind and in his phone with no reciprocation. Oh boy.
At first, I freaked.
