At some point in the years between birth, meeting a well-meaning but inappropriate giraffe in a caravan and my very first sexual experience… someone tried to tell me that ‘good girls’ don’t openly think, talk or act on their sexual desires. I call bullshit.
Slut, hussy, whore, harlot, tart, floozy, tramp, minx, Jezebel and trollop; all words used in an attempt to make women feel small and dirty.
Let me make this very clear, you will not and cannot shame me into submission.
You also, don’t have to. I’ll go there willingly and with pleasure, given the opportunity to give consent and with the right partner.
Who decided that women shouldn’t talk about their desire for pleasure or be open about what they like sexually anyway?
It still frustrates me that female nipples are offensive, sensuality is looked down upon and nudity has a bitter taste of shame attached to it; depending on who you’re talking to of course.
If being okay with my body, being open to sexual experiences with myself and others and confidently talking about sexy things makes me a ‘bad girl’; I’m okay with it.
Also, I give zero fucks when it comes to what society says we should and shouldn’t talk about anyway and I truly believe hiding your sensuality behind closed doors and mouths is a sure-fire way to breed shame and a wildly unsatisfactory sex life.
I know this, because for far too long I had terrible sex with people I genuinely loved because I couldn’t speak up.
I think often times human nature suggests that we should feel embarrassed or ashamed when asking for what we want for fear of rejection, humiliation or making your lover feel as though they aren’t good enough.
Let me tell you though, there’s nothing quite like years of fake orgasms to teach you a valuable lesson; you can’t get what you don’t ask for.
It’s a fact and totally perfect that some people are more sexually driven than others.
I for one though, was a very curious and experimental kid. Dial up internet meant the only way I was going to catch a glimpse of a world I knew nothing about was watching Big Brother uncut and secretly perusing my older brothers nudie mags.
There I was so desperately wanting to know more and to discover human sexuality. To understand why my body reacted in certain way to particular situations and looking for someone to tell me it was all super normal.
What I was offered though aside from being told ‘only dirty people talk about sex’ and a book about where babies came from was no communication about how sex ought be. My only guide was porn, which we all know is mass produced for a mostly male viewing pleasure. All that obsessing over tits and come shots.
Many years later and with the introduction of smart phones – I can pretty much watch anything I could ever imagine with the click of a button.
Although, I now wish I could unsee some of the things I’ve witnessed on the deep dark web.
For the most part – aside from watching The L Word on repeat, I gained a lot of my sexual education through porn. Brb guys, currently watching gifs of Shane from The L Word on a loop…
It’s true, watching porn isn’t the same or anywhere near as fun as real life sex but rom-coms aren’t real either and we still try to emulate fairy tale endings in our relationships every day. So, what’s the difference?
Speaking of real life sex, this brings me to the point of this whole blog really.
You see, for a quite a while now I’ve had my sights set on a mega babe. A babe to end all other babes. A babe that up until recently was ‘unavailable’.
I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve been having a little sook because like all millennials, I want what I can’t have and I want it now!
Contrary to popular belief, I am actually a nice girl – mostly – and I’ll always choose to wait it out.
The thing is, I don’t want your girlfriend or boyfriend but I’ll happily take them once they become your ex. I only want an unattached individual for sexy fun times and mind blowing connections, please and thank you.
My husband says I’m like a dog with a bone and I’m happy to take that as a compliment! In reality though, I’m just a girl who knows what she wants and besides, my parents always told me to have clear goals so you can’t blame a girl for chasing her dreams.
All this thinking, daydreaming and imagining a human via social media and text put me in quite a spot of bother.
The night before last, I was super nervous.
You know how they say you shouldn’t meet your idols because they’ll only disappoint you? Well, the same could probably be said for online crushes or humans you have been daydreaming about boning for well over a year.
Luckily for me, this wasn’t to be the case.
Now, I don’t know about you but first time sex with a new lover has the possibility of being just so utterly shit. It really can be a swing and an absolute miss; a nice night of Netflix and Disappointment, anyone?
For me, getting to know each other and figuring out what turns you both on is a turn on in itself. Discovering those spots that when hit just right, will annoy the neighbours in surrounding suburbs all night long is kinda my favourite part.
Turns out, first time sex is only shit when there is no sign of the 3 C’s; chemistry, communication and consent. From the very moment we kissed, I knew these were firing on all cylinders and I was super fucking relieved!
That’s the thing about great lovers, they’ll actually listen to what you like and they’ll try to give it to you. They’ll be attentive, sensual, passionate and uninhibited.
They’ll know that treating you respectfully and fucking your brains out aren’t mutually exclusive! Am I right ladies?
Your pleasure should be their pleasure and that goes both ways.
Truth is, I’ve never felt so safe, protected or entirely comfortable with another human being so quickly. The way our bodies intertwined, how perfectly we discovered each other and just how intimately and easily everything flowed.
Even with both of my dogs scratching at the bedroom door trying to ‘save’ Mummy… it was bliss, like, best sex of my life kinda bliss!
At one point, I stood in the shower watching the water rush over her lips and cascading over her perfectly chiseled jaw.
When those individual droplets hit her shoulders (which seem to have been carved directly from a dream I once had of a mythical time where I was surrounded by butch lady warriors fighting for my affection) I caught myself in a head tilt, a sort of ‘look at me I’m cute’ kinda moment.
Look, the point is she couldn’t stop kissing me and rightly so. I obviously didn’t have any complaints. Not. One.
Anyway, fast forward 24 hours! I’ve since waved goodbye to the babe to end all babes at the airport in one of those movie magic type kisses, complete with a leg pop, the look back and even, definitely maybe some butterflies as I drove away. I’d just like to do it all over again now thanks…
Curiously though, my entire body feels like I’ve been hit by the most insanely attractive and ‘number one kissing’ truck of all time.
I. Am. Sore.
It’s been a long while since I’ve been in what feels like a sex induced coma. I fuck you not, it’s as if I’ve been at the gym 24 hours a day, 3 years straight – working out every single muscle in my body, including the ones I never knew I had.
She tells me I’ll feel worse tomorrow and by the look of her biceps that (no shit) have their own biceps, she knows a thing or two about the gym. So I’ll take her word for it.
Everything hurts but it was totally fucking worth it.
So, thanks for indulging me. This blog really was just a letter of appreciation to my confidence for being able to ask for what I want, the ability to receive the pleasure I deserve and to a pair of eyes, so piercing they rival my own and leave me speechless.
I’ll leave you with this. One particular time on Tinder, someone asked me to choose between Roses and Daisies.
Apparently this was imperative so that she knew which flowers to put on my grave when she was done AND I QUOTE ”murdering that pussy”.
Now I get it though. I totally pulled an Amanda Bynes casually publically tweeting to Drake and asking him to “murder her pussy” but IRL and now I’m telling all of you because I’m such a #badgirl.
Just for the record, turns out I choose daisies.
RIP ‘Little P’.