Oh M Gee, guess what happened to me?
I HAD SEX!!!!!!!
That’s right, I am the only sex columnist who has sex so rarely she gets the caps lock out when she does. Historically, my sex life falls into one of the following, periods of regular bad sex, epochs of occasional, extremely drunk sex, or sustained stretches of no sex. I have been resting in the latter for some time.
And this sex, that I just had, wasn’t even bad sex. (which is what I refer to when the man’s do da goes straight for the lady place with not much action anywhere else)
And this sex wasn’t even good sex (which is what I call it when I have an orgasm too)
And this sex wasn’t porn star sex (when you are manoeurved into a minimum of 4 positions and you moan like you’re enjoying it)
It was none of these.
It was beautiful sex.
What makes me describe it as beautiful sex? Well, it could be the exquisite way he touched me. Ever so gently he explored my whole body. Yes, my whole body…….if you know me, you might want to sit down for this…. even my feet. The most surprising bits of me became power points of arousal. When his fingertips brushed the back of my knee I groaned. ‘Calm down, Lucy, it’s your knee,’ my inner critic said, but I ignored it as he was slowly working his way up my thigh. It could be that we took our time. Oh wow, we took our time. Sexual energy was literally sloshing around my body so that when he eventually nipped at my nipple, blimey, I was drowning. It could be that we looked into each other’s eyes, so I felt connected to him through the whole experience. I sensed his delight in me and in the sex, and I sensed his respect for me and for the act that we were doing together.
So, yes, I’d say that it was beautiful sex.
Now, you’d assume that I’d jump up afterwards and start singing ‘eye eye yippee’, wouldn’t you?
Well, I didn’t.
Far from it.
I lay there naked next to him and I wept.
I am so not cool.
‘Why are you crying?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t think I deserved to be touched like that’ I said.
And he kissed me.
And this is where I get a little mournful because the phrase ‘I didn’t think I deserved to be touched like that’ keeps repeating in my mind.
The strange thing is that the words came out of my mouth before I could think about them. And, this may sound ridiculous, but it felt as if my body, which has had a lot of sex, was speaking. The tears felt like a release, as though my body was relieved that it had finally been touched in the way it was supposed to be touched.
I lost my virginity at 14 on a friend’s bathroom floor. It was fumbling and painful and punctuated by me asking whether the condom had split every 30 seconds. I thought I loved the boy. He dumped me a few weeks later. Since then I’ve always been drawn to sex, but always been slightly disappointed. One early long-term relationship was with a man who used a lot of pornography. He treated me like the women in these films. I don’t think either of us knew it could be any different.
I think I was crying for all of this, and for all the sex that was rough, or disconnected, or desensitized by alcohol. For the sex that I didn’t enjoy, or had to imagine a fantasy to ‘enjoy’, the sex where I felt I was acting a part and the sex that made me feel empty after. Somehow being touched tenderly in my sexy areas bought up the sadness of all the times I had allowed myself to not be touched lovingly there.
I’m not blaming the men who I had sex with. Not at all. They were doing the best they could and so was I. But I do think something’s a bit amiss in our society when it comes to this old sex malarkey. I might be wrong, so forgive me, but I get the feeling that England’s not a place where a great deal of beautiful sex occurs. It took me until the age of 35 to find some and then it was in Mallorca, with a German.
For years and years and years, I simply didn’t know that beautiful sex was an option. My mother didn’t tell me. The Catholic school I went to didn’t tell me. No one did. My peers and I were left with the odd VHS porn film to enlighten us as to what sex was all about. Nowadays, it’s online pornography that our young people get their sex education from. And, in my opinion, online porn has made sex ugly. But I don’t think we should simply tut and blame online pornography. It’s our fault too. It’s our fault for not offering ourselves and our young people an alternative, our fault for not talking honestly about sex and how beautiful it can be.
It seems to me that, as a society, we’ve curiously managed to be obsessed with sex and to ignore it at the same time.