Fucking Good
My most hilarious sexual experience yet was from a few years ago. I’d liked her for a long time and then suddenly, she was willing to do the sex.

I was so anxious. I didn’t trust my body or know what to expect. Very little in this life is as disappointing as being on someone’s case for years only to drop after four strokes. No no no.

Most of my longer bouts before then were intoxicated, so I figured that was a surefire way to go. I smoked and drank and got all ready. I was bursting with anticipation. This was going to be a finishing.

She arrives. We talk and play. Slowly, the clothes come off.

And then the shocker: I can’t get hard!

I‘m not exaggerating when I say I wanted to die. I wanted to enter the ground and disappear. After all those years!

I tried different ways to get myself up but nothing was working. Physical arousal was a dud. I couldn’t go mental. I got desperate and exasperated. Eventually, we gave up.

I learnt quite a few things about myself from that encounter, but most importantly I realised something: in all of my plotting and scheming, at no point was I really thinking about her.

I’m wiser now and I understand that sex is patient.

Everyone is different and it starts with learning body language. Sometimes I’m lucky enough to meet someone whose language I’m familiar with, but when that’s not the case, I’m eager to ask and learn.

I get more clearly that sex is a buffet. Movement. Sound. Eye contact. Toys. Cunnilingus. Control. Submission. Conversations. Dicking is only one of these things. Sex doesn’t have to end because someone can’t get hard.

I’ve learnt to communicate more. To ask, because not many people talk. To listen to what I’m being told. To hold the position when it matters. To pay attention to what they aren’t saying. To talk about the sex when we’re done.

I understand how important psychological safety is. Sex should be comfortable. Awkward, yes, but shameless. There’s no sex like when we let ourselves go. Moan. Writhe. Scream. Speak in tongues. Whatever.

My body hasn’t changed but I understand it so much better. Sometimes I come early, sometimes late. And that’s okay. I can now pace myself to control it, but sometimes I don’t even care. If I come in three seconds, glory to that WAP; I wash off and get back to work.

Most importantly, I’ve learnt to focus on the other person. Sex is an expression of care. I’m not doing this to come; I can do that all by myself. I’m doing this for the shared experience. “I want you to fuck me” means I want you to make me feel good in ways that I can’t possibly do alone.

And whew, there are many ways.
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['Diary', 'Sex']