There’s nothing wrong with aiming to please in bed, but when you totally count yourself out of the pleasure factor, that’s one-sided sex. Sadly, there was a long period of time when I thought a guy’s orgasm was the only goal and it set me back in a few ways.
- It took me way too long to figure out what I like in bed. Asking what I wanted in bed was the equivalent of telling me to explain a Stephen Hawking lecture in Korean. I had no clue because I was so used to just doing what needed to be done for my partner’s orgasm—I didn’t even consider my own, which I now realize was cruel and unusual punishment. I was always tip-toeing around my sexual needs. In fact, it was like they didn’t even exist.
- I didn’t think women ever orgasmed during sex. I know this sounds so silly, but I really didn’t think it happened. To me, the female orgasm was basically a myth. When I found out it was possible, I wanted to sue a few guys who seriously screwed me over (literally). While I was able to get myself there with my hands or vibrator, I thought that was as good as it got.
- I couldn’t have spontaneous sex. My whole life had to be standing still in order for me to have sex; I couldn’t just do it out of the blue because then I wouldn’t be prepared to pull out my standard moves to ensure my partner got off. I was mercilessly striving for the guy’s orgasm and sucking the fun out of everything in the process (pun intended). Yes, I even mapped out missionary and I’m yawning just thinking about it.
- I was hardly ever exploring my lady parts. You know that old saying that if you leave a muscle unused, it depletes and goes away? Well, my vagina definitely went through a neglected phase where it was solely used for sex. Since the sex only had one goal—to make sure the guy I was sleeping with was satisfied—my attention to my lady parts was basically nonexistent. I didn’t masturbate, I didn’t touch myself at all. Sad times.
- Queefing absolutely terrified me. When you’re having amazing sex and you let out a queef, there’s no embarrassment because it feels too good to give a damn. That’s the sexiest kind of breaking wind. But when you’re literally just having sex to get the other person off, any noises besides the theatrical moans you throw in here and there are super awkward. You don’t even wanna know how uncomfortable it is holding in a queef.
- Missionary position became a trigger word for me. Missionary is totally a last resort now that I’m no longer doing the whole one-sided sex thing. The thought of voluntarily participating in it makes me want to gag, and not in a good way. It’s a reminder of all the time I spent brainwashed into thinking sex was all about the dude. Traumatizing.
- I became way too sexually selfless. It took the right person (AKA my now-husband) to really give me a bit of a reality check. Sex is a two-person activity, so why shouldn’t both people’s pleasure matter? Relentlessly giving my all may have been great for my past partners, but getting pretty much nothing in return was something I should never have accepted.
- My sex life was too boring to talk to my friends about. All of my friends had crazy sexual adventures to report every time we hung out. Meanwhile, I wanted to find the nearest hole to crawl into when the mere mention of my sex life came up. Yeah, I was having sex, but it really had nothing to do with me. It didn’t even seem like I was the one doing or getting anything out of it. It’s like I was mentally still a virgin when it came to the idea of real physical intimacy and pleasure.
- I lost my confidence. When you exist solely as a tool for a guy’s pleasure, it doesn’t make you feel sexy or wanted. You turn your body into something that’s merely consumed rather than something that’s cherished or desired. It took me a while to shake that robotic, lifeless phase of my sex life. It took vocal, honest, and damn good sex with the right person to get me back on the confidence train.