I stepped outside this morning (11am, really) onto the balcony; half aching from yesterday’s workout and fully not giving a shit how I looked. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other and covered only by my ridiculously nerdy wizard robe that my husband somehow convinced me to buy at Target. I stepped out and as soon as I did, some hot, sweaty, muscular hunk of a man, post-jogging, turns around the corner and we make eye contact. *sparks*
“Oh, this is awkward” came flying out of my mouth.
Great. Now I’m probably considered the crazy cat lady who wanders around all day in a black robe with giant white stars all over it and looking half dead. Fuck it.
I sat on my patio chair anyway and chugged my coffee. I felt like giggling the whole time. Here’s this random dude, in his random life, bumping into me, the crazy hobbling, dorky cat lady, who had one kinky time the night before. Ah… if he only knew. I should’ve hit on him. Coffee was more important. Chug. Chug.
In this place of “I give 2 shits”, I began thinking of the night before and how I had the sex I wanted.
How do we get the sex we want?
I began thinking about this question…
I find so many clients or friends struggle with this, ready to renounce sex altogether and do something rash like become a monk. I won’t lie, I’ve struggled with this question as well. Why? What happened in those awkward or unsatisfying moments where I left the sex session thinking; “What the hell just happened? That wasn’t sex.”
My science-based brain had to search for answers to this problem. What is going on here? If I’m not having the sex I want, what is the problem? Is it everyone else? It cant be that 90% of the population really does not know how to ‘tango’.
Hmm… not having the sex I want… my kind of sex… me… I…. bingo! That’s it!
A few days ago I concluded, as you would’ve noticed on my twitter feed if you’re following me, that we will not find the perfect lover until we, ourselves are that perfect lover we seek.
Do I have observational proof of that? Yes, I do (cognitive bias, of course). The many times I’ve had wonderful, fun, fulfilling sexual encounters (not all ending with penis in vagina) I was in control. Not domina style every time but in control of myself, in control of what I wanted. In control of finding it thrilling to ask for what I want. In control of letting my vigilant nervous system relax, my mind relax and my body falling deeper into the sensation. To make sure we are…