Better Porn

That Was Great Sex

I’ve yet to met a woman who thought she was bad in bed.
I’ve known plenty of women who can rattle off an impromptu,
critical dissertation on the carnal failings of most men.

“He didn’t get me off.” “He treated my nipples like
Xbox control sticks.” “He came before his pants were off.”


Not all women are great in bed. Is the onus
on dudes to break the bed-springs? I say no.

It is both of our responsibilities
to be the best lay possible.

There are women who kick back Cleopatra-style
and dare their men to please them. Women who
use men like giant, hairy vibrators, and women
who are so eager to please, it can be overwhelming.

Everyone Feels Sexually Inadequate

There’s this schism between myth and reality,
the pretence that we are doing it every night,
that our sex is perfect, that we come together.

All those films and ads showing lithe sexy bodies
in showers, beds, on beaches. The media kids us
into thinking ageing is negotiable.

It fetishises youth and beauty, inaccurately
representing what most of us walking down
the street are actually like.

We’re sexually inhibited. We don’t have frank,
honest conversations about it with each other.

The upshot is that we create myths around our friends.
Everyone is better than I am, everyone is having
this wild sex life, while I’m not. The grass is greener.

Compound that with the images we are bombarded
with via the media. Lots of young people are
having fantastic sex and orgasms galore.

No wonder there is this rift between how
we present ourselves and who we really are.

We’re bombarded with articles on how to
reignite your sex lives. There’s always
a list of ways to have sex that’s
always exciting, different and novel.

They stoke up stack a myth, one used to sell
an aspiration about achievement and performance
Which we’ll never measure up to.

There are a lot of commercial reasons why
that message is put out. It’s not just insulting,
it’s pernicious. It’s the ‘be happy’ rule
that’s become part of our conditioning.

We’re not allowed to admit our inadequacies,
our less that fulfilled lives. It’s as if
we fear the bubble bursting.

“I’m fine, everything’s alright, of course
I’m happy, I have a wonderful sex life’.

We’re living under pressure, conditioned
to believe our lives have purpose.

Are You Promiscuous?

Never-Ending Debate:
How Many Fucks Make You

So many so-called sex experts need to place sex within marriage or committed relationships above more temporary affairs in order to bolster their own morality. I might go that far?12, 13, 14 or, well, okay, 15 lovers, but 16, and no man will ever want to touch you again!

During the fifteen years I’ve been sexually active (with some pretty long dry spells in between), I’ve been in monogamous relationships, been single, had one-night stands, threesomes, and hookups. I’ve slept with people I loved, and people who I’d just met.

Some trysts were amazing, some were forgettable. But isn’t that the same with everything we do?

I can tell you that one of the best lovers I’ve ever had was during a one-night stand. I was hopelessly besotted with someone else, so much so that I thought about him all the time, thrilled when he said hello to me, and was so locked inside my fantasy life I couldn’t see my way beyond it.

This other man sweetly propositioned me, and I turned him down, explaining my crush. “Maybe I can help you get over him,” he suggested.

And that’s exactly what he did. We had a torrid night in his apartment, and he drove me home the next morning and shared some of his own heartbroken moments. It was hot, but also sweet.

I’d be lying if I said I wished my number were lower, but not because I have some artificial limit on how many lovers I think is acceptable.

Rather, there are plenty of people I’ve bedded where, looking back with the power of hindsight, I see how wrong they were for me. But even those experiences have taught me things about myself, and my sexuality, and have informed my future choices.

To most, women are reduced to nothing more than our number of partners; not our sexual comfort level, sexual satisfaction, or any other indicator of sexual health and happiness.

It’s the number, not the people informing that number, that matters. That tally becomes the sum total of our sex life, regardless of what we got out of it.

It’s possible to try everything under the sun with one person and be completely content, or sleep with 100 people and still feel unfulfilled.

The notion that men are so fragile that they’ll be tortured by the idea of a woman’s prior experience is hopelessly outdated.

Sure, some men long for the chaste virgin, but others want a woman who knows what she likes, and doesn’t like, in bed. Men who hold onto the ideal of the virginal women aren’t always that thrilled once they get her into bed.

Conservatives are saying that if you’ve screwed more than 15 people, you’re a big slut who should hardly dare show her face, let alone expect to date or marry. I’m proudly claiming my past paramours. If you want to call me a slut, go right ahead.

That urge says more about you than it does about me. Some are happy to cast aspersions, make ridiculous proclamations, and pretend they know best for everyone. If that sounds like you, so be it. I’ll be busy doing you know what.

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