Read this today and I have to say, it was very eye opening.
"As a guy, my whole job during sex is not to come. Because once I blow my load, the sex is pretty much over. Oh, we can do, you know, some other stuff, but then it's that embarrassing kind of sex where one person is just doing it to make the other person feel happy.
...Seriously, would you look at all the tangled snarls of fucked-upness buried in that paragraph? That whole statement is like a Micmac Indian burial ground full of decaying pets, about to turn rabid and bite your face off.
But man, it's the way I feel when I fuck.
There's a lot of talk about feminism being a universal solution, because it's not just women that this male-dominated society hurts: it's guys, too. We eat our fucking emotions until our heart explodes on us. We're forced to act as caretakers, providers, even if we're really not suited for that. And, as IPCookiemonster's fucking awesome essay just opened up for me, this concept of maleness even poisons my bedroom.
And once I start unpacking how I feel in that most vulnerable of moments, naked and nothing but pleasure in front of sometimes a mostly-stranger, there's a lot of weird shit bound up in how I withhold my orgasm during sex. Because if I'm not really thinking about how I approach it, I treat sex like it's my job to give my partner about two or three hundred orgasms - you know, the usual - and then call a halt to the proceedings by squirting everywhere and collapsing. If she's having fun, I am, even if I'm not.
"It does amuse the shit out of me how guys often say, 'I'm going to cum!' like they're very surprised or expect this to require some sort of preparation."
See, and the reason I do that is because it's like the conductor warning you this is the last stop: I know that there will be zero fun for you after I orgasm, so you'd better hurry up and get the last of those rocks off now, baby, because hey, once I'm done, we're done. LAST CALL FOR SEXOHOL.
Which is - let's be honest - fucking stupid.
Of course I can continue to pleasure my partner after I'm done, and it's not like I haven't. But there's this weird pressure around me as a guy who tries to be Good In Bed that a) my goal is to perform for her entertainment as long as I possibly can, and b) the only worthwhile thing about me is that cock, and if it's not erect, I'm kind of useless.
Again. Micmac stupidity. But the more I unpeel this particular idea, the more I think of an issue that my wife was having: she was telling me that the sex was taking too long. Part of that is that I'm getting older, and take longer to climax. But that was supposed to be a good thing.
No; as it turns out, after about fifteen minutes of the usual intense shenanigans, she was getting worn out. I could continue to make her come, but it wasn't as enjoyable, and she felt as though I was doing it for mostly me. So she asked me to cut down.
And that's been hard. Really hard. Because I actually had a riotously negative reaction to that - I mean, if I was making her come a lot, wasn't that supposed to be satisfying for her? That was like telling me my job at McDonald's wasn't to flip burgers. How the hell did that work? And then, afterwards, we'd have this really crazy white-hot sex where I'd just ride to the tip of my excitement and back, eight minutes of fucknectar generation where our skin seemed to ignite...
...and I'd feel guilty. Because all I'd done was just climb on top, fuck hard, and get off. There was no technique, no skill, no withholding, just me getting my rocks off while she got hers off.
I kept asking: Was that good? And she'd tell me yes, it was just the kind of sex she wanted, and the fucked up thing was that I kept probing her on that, because clearly she was lying, or misguided, or just not understanding what she liked.
Because for me to just have an orgasm without performance was weird.
I didn't set out to do this, either. My Dad never sat down with me and said, "Son, you'd better fuck her for at least thirty minutes or you're one of Those Guys who poll poorly on Cosmo." There was no broadcast on NBC when I was in seventh grade telling me the appropriate length. But there's a thousand songs about lasting all night, and the usual jokes at the expense of premature ejaculators (because hey, after they come, what's left, amiright?) and all those funny movies where the guy has to impress the girl because it's a real privilege to get access behind those moistened panties, you'd better bring your "A" game.
And slowly, the goal moved from "Did I satisfy her?" to "Did I feel like I satisfied her?" - which isn't the same. On the one level, I was banging the hell out of my wife in pure triumph, licking her to seven or eight mind-blowing orgasms before hopping on and mastering her with my Novocaine-numb cock....
...yet that often wasn't as hot as, yes, a ten-minute quickie. But I disdained the quickie. That wasn't proper. There was no chance for Ferrett, captain of Cumdor, to show his quality.
"Once we've both cum 4 or 5 times, it seems like pretty awesome sex to me, even if it only takes 10 minutes. I refuse to let culture dictate to me what good sex is."
That's something I need to remember. I can have fun in the bedroom, too. And I liken withholding my orgasm to being on a freeway; I can get off at the first exit, no problem. But if I don't get off right away, sometimes the next exit isn't for thirty miles. There's a lot of times I wanted to come, and it would have been really much better for me to have come right off, as opposed to feverishly trying to recapture the spontaneity of that orgasm forty minutes later, wringing it out of a dead dick.
But I didn't. I held off. Because I wanted to do the right thing.
And I think the question is, "What is the right thing?" I have, as a rule, taken the total exhaustion of my partners as an unqualified Good Thing; if they can barely move, their muscles brimming with lactic acids, then I'd Done My Job. But maybe running a fuck-marathon wasn't what they wanted that day.
Maybe it would have been better for both of us if I'd just gotten off right when I wanted, and was willing to play more afterwards if she wasn't done.
I dunno. I'm pretty open sexually, and still there's a lot of weird shame tangled around the roots of my sex drive. I've written before about how hard it is for me to just sit back and be pleasured, because somewhere along the line it's become ingrained that I'm the tool to pleasure, not a person who can be pleasured. I get embarrassed by really good dick-sucking, because what if I cum in her mouth before I fuck her and oh God she's looking at me and I'm not doing anything except squirming, this must be so disappointing (except, you know, how I love to eat pussy so much and obviously that's a turnon when I pleasure her, but it can't be the same in reverse).
There's a weird in-between place. I never want to be that purely selfish guy who just wants to get his dick sucked and pass out, never eats pussy, never really cares about the foreplay. But I think, ironically, by going to the other extreme I've actually blunted my ability to be the best lover I can be, because there's this layer of artificial MUST BE MAN-GOD I've built in when sometimes, it's just okay for me to get overexcited and show her just how fucking aroused she made me.
And in a way, it's kind of exciting to have that as a guilt-free option in the bedroom. I'm freshly 44, and still learning awesomely interesting things about the way I fuck. It's like there are endless worlds to explore in sexuality, a ton of hidden assumptions to be pulled aside to reveal a vastly much more interesting universe squirming and moaning underneath. It means my sex may be better. It means I'll be taking more risks.
And even in all of that, there's a part of me that says, YES, AND YOU MIGHT BE BETTER IN BED. Which is society, telling me that as a guy, it's My Job to be the best. Is that other men? I don't know, I don't sleep with other guys, so my view on how other men act in the sack is thoroughly colored by the filter of however the girl in question felt about that man. Do a lot of guys feel that pressure, or is it just me?
(And I think a lot of BDSM is actually, in many ways, a cry for help from guys like me. I think, "All right, you're gonna suck my dick now" in the Master's voice is really just a sideways excuse for men to go, "...all right. I can be pleasured now. This is a societally acceptable form for all the attention to be on me.")
No matter. Time to ignore that voice, wherever it may emanate from. And do some work for me.
– TheFerrett"
No comments:
Post a Comment