How has sex changed for you? This is one of my favorite questions to ask a lover. In fact, it’s becoming a pre-rec for getting in my pants. If the answer is “meh. not much.” Oh, we will not be having sex.
I remember looking up at the off white of my dorm room ceiling, literally dick inside of me, thinking, “there is way to much hubbub about this business for it not to be better than this. I mean, wars. Wars have been fought over, well, definitely not this…” No wars have been fought over silent sex in a twin bed where he runs to shower right after and you lie in bed alone, unsure if you should feel dirty too.
We didn’t know any better. We didn’t know anything. Besides put on a condom. And that there’s a round peg / round hole scenario. And maybe something about an orgasm.
I didn’t know what sex should be and so I made my own meaning. I dated men, I dated boys who didn’t yet know themselves. And since we didn’t speak, I thought sex would do that for me. For us. I thought it would tell me that I’m worthy. That they see me and hear me. That I’m safe. But it didn’t say that. Because we hadn’t.
Sex speaks for us only through the language we’ve given it. Through what we’ve said out loud on either side of it. It deepens not through repetition, but exploration. Sex changed for me not when I found a partner who could fill up all of me, although he did, but when he asked me what I loved about it. No one had ever asked me that. We had sex that night in the presence of both our answers. It has never been the same since.