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When Good Sex Goes Bad by Lucy-Anne Holmes

I’VE HAD AN EPIPHANY!

I love an epiphany, me.

Although they always make me wish I was called Tiffany.

Tiffany Epiphany.

As with all good epiphanies, this one followed something rather rubbish.

You see I was having sex. BEAUTIFUL SEX, for weeks and weeks. But then the other day I had sex with the same fella only it wasn’t beautiful anymore.

Nope.

It just wasn’t beautiful anymore.

The good nooky had been swiped out of my hands and replaced with this golden nugget of wisdom.

You can’t have beautiful sex unless you have honest communication.

You can certainly have sex without honest communication.

But it probably won’t be beautiful.

You see, at the beginning of my liaison with this man the communication, like the sex, was amazing. FRICKIN amazing. We told each other everything.  FRICKIN everything. (When I get passionate I use the word frickin in capitals. A lot. I’ve been known to use the word ‘man’ too. It’s something I need to work on.)

I should point out that when I say the communication was FRICKIN amazing I don’t mean it was nice. Man, sometimes he told me things that triggered G-string levels of discomfort. He once told me that sometimes he thought he should be with someone taller and more attractive. That he found my energy too fast. That he found my ‘wow, look at that!’ positivity annoying.

He told me stuff. It triggered my stuff. I told him stuff. It triggered his stuff.

But we talked about it. We shared the anger and the sadness and the madness it brought up. Then we’d stand in front of each other and look into each other’s eyes. We would be fully clothed but it would feel as though we were naked because we weren’t hiding anything from each other.

And afterwards we would hold each other’s gaze as we made love, and…and…oh man, it was unlike anything either of us had experienced before. And the orgasms…oh my frickin shoes, the orgasms! They went on for-bleedin-ever. We would howl and I would think that our howls sounded like they were coming from an ancient place, that they were the sounds of old, old wounds being healed. (I was in Amazing Sex Crazy Metaphor Land and I just didn’t care)

But then the communication went tits up. We stopped being totally honest with each other. And the really annoying thing is I can’t pinpoint the exact moment that the tits started turning upward.

Perhaps it was the first time one of us shrugged and said ‘yeah, fine’ when the other said ‘how are you feeling?’ Or the first time one of us sat silently thinking ‘I can’t believe they’re behaving like this’ about the other. Or the first time someone said ‘I don’t think we should talk about this now.’

I don’t know which of the little lies, or truth-dodges, was the one that tipped the balance. All I know is that the last time we had sex it felt confused, as though we had a dodgy reception. My body did respond to his touch, but in a different way. Somehow, I didn’t feel connected to the sensations that were happening. I didn’t feel connected to him. I didn’t know what was real.

The sex felt like another little lie. It just wasn’t beautiful and I wanted to stop it. I wanted to say, ‘perhaps we shouldn’t do this now. Perhaps we should try to reconnect with each other and then have sex.’

But I didn’t.

Why?

Well, maybe I was mistakenly hoping to create a connection with him through the sex. Or, more likely, simply because it’s bloody hard to truthfully communicate with a partner. Crikey, if I think about it, most of my 35 years have been punctuated by me not really communicating with the men in my life. And old habits, she says, rubbing her Nicotine patch, are hard to break. I look back at my portfolio of relationships and there I am again and again not articulating my anger or my frustration or my love. I don’t know how the truth came to be so terrifying.

So, yes, that’s my epiphany, beautiful sex isn’t about acrobatics or G-spots or even Tantra. It’s about connection. The connection that comes from really honest communication.

But, man, that communication can be FRICKIN scary.

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One comment on “When Good Sex Goes Bad by Lucy-Anne Holmes

  1. sarahhaque
    July 17, 2012

    In the Meantime Lucy, In the Meantime…
    Meanwhile, let’s have some sex.. gagging for some right now : ) xxx

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This entry was posted on July 15, 2012 by in Bea Aroused and tagged , , .
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