How to have sex for you and stop acting like a nympho – Part One.
That’s right, in my 30th year I realised I’d learnt to have sex for myself and that I’d stopped screaming like a porn star for no apparent reason (it really does look rather odd unless you’re sporting stripper heels and a diamanté thong). In fairness the screaming bit only lasted a week or so of my sexually active life as – in my opinion – it’s both distracting and really quite exhausting, but I guess it wasn’t until my mid to late twenties I started having sex for me and not just because I was in a relationship and that’s what you’re supposed to do.
There’s many reasons why we may feel it’s expected to have sex every minute, coming (or faking) at least 20 times, each time we experience intercourse. Porn, women’s magazines packed with awkward sex tips, ridiculous articles on old school ways to keep your man. But as the years went by, it became apparent it was a load of utter wankshit.
I suppose the confusion lay in the fact I have a very high sex drive and enjoy sex, so surely I should be bonking (do people still use that word?) all the live long day? I actually recall the week it all changed. I was busy, I’d been working double shifts, my back ached and my boyfriend at the time and I hadn’t sex for a whole week (what a frigid bitch) so I found myself trawling through my calendar in search of a sex window in case he’d begun to get bored and was going to leave me. I found myself thinking “Right, so if I pencil sex in for fiveish on Sunday, that gives me 40 minutes to get home from work (where I spent eight hours dishing out skin care samples to those with weathered, sun blasted skin), have a speedy shower, quick shag then trackies on just in time for a take away and Downton.”
What the actual fuck? It was the worst shag I’d ever had and made more so because I felt I was squeezing him in, not taking the time to please either of us. I also later found out whilst I’d been busy shifting skin care he’d gotten bored and treated himself to a wankathon so I really needn’t have bothered.
I should point out, I’ve been very lucky and never felt pressure from any of my partners, so who is to blame? Me! For indulging those stupid magazines that do nothing but fuel women’s insecurities. If they’re not telling you to stop eating, they’re telling you how to keep your man and let’s face it; if they’re going to cheat, they’re going to cheat. If the relationships destined to end, all the penciled in sex in the world is not going to change that.
Yes, sex is important, it’s so fucking important but you should be enjoying it too. If you want to have sex five times a day – do it! If you have the energy to work, do a spin class, eat and have sex three times in one night go for it! But if one night, you go out for a meal, you over indulge, stomach full with a three course meal and you feel you ‘should’ because it’s been a few days, think about it – do you really want to be riding away with a bloated belly and indentations from your clothes where they’ve become to tight from over eating? Sleep it off and have morning sex. I can guarantee it will be better for both of you.
