Remember Kelly Lebrock’s annoying Pantene commercial in the late 80’s? “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful!” It was a great line, and we all used it… picking on each other, laughing at ourselves, and basically taking it for what it was; a joke. But there are women out there who will tell you that beauty is a curse. Being really, truly, drop-dead gorgeous … the kind of gorgeous that turns heads when you walk into a room, the kind of gorgeous that doesn’t require make-up, hair styling, or flashy clothes. The kind you can’t get away from… it can be a major curse. I do understand that. I mean, imagine trying to talk to someone; trying to make a point about something, and having them so mystified by your appearance that they couldn’t hear you. That’s got to be severely frustrating. So, too, I find, is being “great in bed.”
Yeah, that’s right… I’m bragging… I’m great in bed. Deal with it. If you want to think I’m telling you I rock the house down because I want you to be jealous or because I’m trying to get attention, think again. (For the record, I’ve been celibate for the past year. The reason why, at least at first, was a heart so horrifyingly broken that the idea of anyone touching me was just too much to bear. I couldn’t even deal with dinner, much less deal with sex. I did go on one date a few months back. Nice guy; pretty easy on the eyes, polite, articulate, we had a lot in common… but when the check came and I realized the date was coming to a close, the idea that he might try to kiss me chilled my blood so cold that I couldn’t even fake a polite excuse. I haven’t bothered with attempting another date. If you’re out there, Jim, sorry about that. I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s the truth of the matter: It wasn’t you, it was me. Lately, though, the celibacy has been because I haven’t met anyone I want to sleep with, and, as far as sleeping around goes… been there, done that.)
I’ll be the first one to tell you how much I adore sex. The pleasures of a man’s body are positively boundless. There’s a reason why, when people have incredible experiences in life, they compare them to sex. It’s because sex is the be-all, end-all of our existence. You can argue that point any way you like, but great sex is better than great anything else. In my early twenties, I went through a period of unabashed promiscuity that would make a hooker blush. Don’t ask me how many men I’ve slept with because I honestly don’t know. And, FYI, I’m not ashamed of that. I’m not proud of it, either. It just is. I was young, I was pretty, I was built, and it seemed I could have any man I wanted…so I did. I loved the first time with each one so much; it was such an exhilarating feeling. I don’t know about anybody else, but for me, first times are just about the height of physical sensitivity. There is no more erotic feeling than that of the first time you touch someone and feel their body temperature, their heartbeat, their skin against yours. The tension, the nervousness, the newness of it all is something you can never, ever recapture.
I just wasn’t someone who was ashamed of my body, or uncomfortable with my sexuality, or even concerned with lady-like modesty. I never quite understood the concept of Catholic guilt, even though I was raised Catholic. I wanted to experience the men I dated, not just run down some scripted small talk, be paranoid about spilling salad dressing on myself and then sit by the phone hoping he’d call the next day. I still can’t stand the thought of that; it’s so phony. I’m a passionate person and when I met men I think it was obvious that, although I wasn’t throwing myself at them, I wasn’t like most women, either. Maybe it has something to do with being raised predominantly by my father, but for whatever reason I’ve always identified more with men than women. I just find that men are easier to talk to, easier to get along with, more easy-going in general. So, I spent a lot of time with them. Men are so terribly attractive to me. The way a man’s body feels, the sensation of the muscle tone underneath their skin, the smooth yet slightly abrasive sensation of a freshly shaven face, the deep gravelly tones of a male voice, the Adam’s apple, and honestly, there is nothing like a pair of big, strong hands on a man. Testosterone just makes me weak in the knees.
Aside from the sex, each one of those men had some kind of impact on me. These dates weren’t just a pick up followed by a tawdry one-night stand. I didn’t see each guy one time and say “See ya!” I dated them, just nobody serious and nobody for any extended periods of time. The dates always involved a lot of conversation, most times on a pretty deep level. Beyond the bedroom, there was a lot of learning and sharing going on with them, and it was equally as satisfying. I never slept with anyone I didn’t want to sleep with. I slept with all of them, and it was because I wanted to. If that makes me anything less in anyone’s eyes then they’re shallow and they don’t know a whole lot about life; and dare I say, they’re somewhat repressed. This was a period of exploration in my life and one that I enjoyed and wouldn’t trade. Dating all of those men was wonderful, and yes, sleeping with them was, too. I don’t apologize for it, I got a lot more than sex out of those men, and anyone who uses anyone else for just sex isn’t having all that great of a time.
One of the greatest things I learned from them was that what really, truly turns a man on above and beyond anything else, is a woman who is confident enough in herself, comfortable enough with herself, and has the self esteem to let go of her inhibitions in the bedroom. In a committed relationship, men do equate sex with love. They do see how you relate to them in bed as a sign of how you feel about them. Whether you trust them, whether you’re honest with them, whether you feel bonded to them; they seek that out physically. Whereas women want open, honest, intense conversation and think that relationship bonding develops from that, and want to know what men are thinking, what they’re feeling, what they dream about… well… men simply aren’t as complicated as all that.
Men want open, honest, intense shared sexual experiences. Men want that from you because when you let go, when you share yourself, your fantasies, your inner trollop with them, (hmm… how do I put this delicately?) it makes them cum like a goddamn freight train from hell. Truly, that’s what they want to share with you. They want to give you that same thing back. If you want to have that open, honest, intense conversation that will bond you with your man, try starting out by talking about sex. It’s not to say that’s ALL that men want, but it’s a definite crossroads between the sexes. And if you open up to him about sex, he’ll open up to you about other things.
Now then, I told you all that so I could finish telling you this: There are times, for me anyway, when being great in bed has come to haunt me. Men I’ve slept with in the past, old flames and men who broke my heart so badly I can scarcely believe it will tell me how amazing I was in bed, and although the logical side of my brain knows that it’s meant as a compliment, the feminine, more emotional side of me remembers the conversations, the laughter, the inside jokes, the shared experiences that took place outside of the bedroom, and just wants someone who once made love to her to say, “more than anything else I remember your heart.” And leave off the “and the sex was great!” Somehow, though, I suppose that knowing I gave them my heart when I gave them my complete and honest, uninhibited self in bed, I should be flattered that they recall the physical aspects of our relationship so fondly. Those men who’ve broken my heart, they remember a woman who was a hellcat in bed. A woman who was willing to explore, a woman who indulged their fantasies and made them feel like mighty Zeus – and they all made love to me that way, too.
After all, I loved each and every one of them with everything I had. Each of them brought about physical and emotional sensations with their very existence; first with the way they looked, their smile, their voice and their scent, then with the way they spoke and expressed their thoughts, and then the feel of their skin, the texture of their hair, the vast differences in the way each of them laughed and touched and kissed and made love. And each of them, each of these very different men never ceased to surprise me in their minds, or in their hearts. They were never what I expected but they were all great, and I wouldn’t trade one single experience, broken heart or not. But please, boys, remember, though I may have torn the roof off of your bedroom, and yes, the sex was great, I am a whole person with a lot to give, and aside from sex, I also gave you my heart.