I don’t know how many of you have been with me since the beginning, but I’m fairly certain most of my regulars remember when I was just kicking the door in over at Medium. Like “hey, bitches, I’m a woman and I’m funny and I’m getting into this comedy writing club if I have tits or not”.
I would like for you to see exactly why I’ll never be a sex writer. Listen, the only way I could ever write about sex is on a level that talks about knowing you are in a good relationship if you can laugh together during sex. That’s it.
Y’all read this shit, circa 2019 from my days when I was just finding my voice on Medium.
Why is it easier to be a porn star for the night with strangers …
Than to break the vanilla cycle with our partner?
In some circumstances, it’s cathartic. In others, it’s a real life turn on. Telling a total stranger the things we wish our partners were doing to us, with us.
Things just tumble from our deep mental recesses like they’re fresh from a gymnastics meet when we’re telling someone we have no connection with, but all of that tumbling hits the mat facefirst when we try to open those same lines of dialogue with our partners.
Is it a fear of being judged for the renegade thoughts hiding in our gray matter? Like, dude may give us the stank eye, or draw back from a kiss if we mention a gangbang fantasy, even if there is no desire behind it for it to come to fruition?
As we’re cultivating relationships with others, the laying of long-term plans seems to tend to clip our old, single, sexually expressive wings. Like, “the good times are certainly over, let’s unpack that missionary sex your folks got us for our anniversary last year. I’ve been needing a box to pack all this lingerie in anyway, we’ve certainly no use for it any longer”.
For anything.
Ever.
It’s almost as though the comfort we sought in knowing and being known by another is doing the complete opposite. We find we’re nowhere near as expressive with the person we’ve been with for a year, whereas we had some of the most vocal, amazing sex ever with that MMA fighter during a drunken one-night stand in 2011.
The difference? We never had to look him in the eye again, so who cares if he judged us?
Does that speak to the type of relationships we are pursuing and becoming involved in? You can bet your underspanked ass it does.
What if we were approaching our nightly tryst with the old ball and chain with the same type of unrestrained fervor as that MMA fighter saw in us (and took full advantage of, phew, that could have easily resulted in a sprain). Are you involved with someone who would give you the recoil and stank eye, or do you think you’ll be needing the gift receipt for that missionary sex you were gifted?
So, as you can see, it all comes out funny. I’ve got to give it to those sex writers (not literally, come on man, they’ve already got enough happening in their bedrooms, and also in airport bathrooms).
I don’t think I’m cut out for the sex writing gig, but that’s probably because life imitates art, and we all know it’s pretty fucking tame down here in The Bay.
Love-
Q
You crack me up!!!! I couldn’t do it either…..I’d be on the floor laughing like a loon