This is a viewpoint of Catalyst from a person with serious social anxiety issues which sometimes manifest into mild agoraphobia. Add on top of my social awkwardness a “neutral face” that makes me look forever pissed off + food allergy issues turning me into a manic panicked individual minus the cool hair color….and yeah. I got through this as best as I could, albeit I wasn’t at my best this year. It bothers me, it has made me feel like shit about myself, and compounded my self-doubts. I tried. I failed a lot. I fucked up. Hopefully next time is better?
I’ve been trying all week to put my finger on what went wrong for me at CatalystCon this weekend. I’m not saying it was bad. It just wasn’t exceedingly awesome for me, as awesome as Momentum had been the two years prior. I think it was me. I mean sure, there were issues, we don’t like in utopia. The restaurant, while being extremely willing to make me a safe meal, was still having the same major issues as last year: a 30-45 minute wait on your food. When the weekend is so jam-packed, that’s a big problem. I didn’t eat there much, and in fact snarfed down a sandwich alone in my room every day. There are the catacombs of Crystal City, under the hotel, but the fact is that they’re large, confusing and not at all accessible to someone who can’t do steps – or someone with a baby stroller (forget if you are in a scooter or wheelchair).
I wanted to attend Dirty Bingo, since it seemed to be the thing to do and I enjoyed it last year, but when we got there it was about 90 degrees in the room and jam packed. At least 3 times as many people as last year. I was NOT dealing well with overcrowded spaces this past weekend, which happened a lot. A “Sexy Soiree” party after dinner Saturday was the same – crowded, loud and too warm. I ran away fast.
Lest I sound like I took nothing away from the weekend, I want to sing the praises loudly of the session I’d waited for since CatalystWest had announced it last fall, Toxic Toys of course. This session alone made it worth my while and that session has lit a fire under me like nothing else. And even though I felt kinda invisible the whole weekend, I was still appreciate of the wonderful people that exist in this bubble of the world.
I decided to hang out this time and put that over sessions. There were sessions I had wanted to attend, but I only went to Toxic Toys. I tried a few others, which were popular and/or the room was way too warm (the panel that the Swingset crew did I saw about 1.5 minutes of before I had to either exit the room or pass out).
Highlights included a truly lovely dinner with Tantus and fellow Tantus reviewers; hanging out with my beloved Crista and her wonderful boys; having my brain filled with geeky facts from Lorax of Sexand SexualScientist; chatting with MarvyDarling/Sarah – she is tiny and energetic and freakin cute, she is wonderful; I got to hang out with Sandra from SheVibe, and her crew, and I love her so hard; ohgodtoxictoys talk about my ultimate thing right there; Metis introducing me to Tom of Sportsheets who really wanted me to see a rusty metal ben-wa ball (and that’s going to be a post, oh boy, will that be a post); all of the time I got to spend with Jenna of Tantus, and just general awesome conversations with friends. I wish I’d had more, though. I had hugs from some of my favorite people (good lord Tim can give hugs like nobody’s business, I heart that man) and just talked about sex toys so very much. This was wonderful.
I think Catalyst outgrew that hotel. Which is a good thing, on so many levels. But it became so difficult to find people, to move, to talk. And that all led to me becoming more introverted than I wanted to be. I couldn’t handle it. I was so overwhelmed, that by Sunday’s (fucking awesome) closing keynote with Carol Queen and her husband Robert Morgan Lawrence, when Robert said that the whole room was filled with sex educators, that we were all educators my first thought was “Can I put that on my business card?” but instead I tweeted and wondered if he really meant us all, if me with just this blog could use that term too, I couldn’t stand up and ask the question. Lorax did it for me when I shied away. I simply did not have the ability to speak up and stand up and have everyone look at me, in case I would say it wrong or dumb. My social agoraphobia was just in full swing by then. After the closing keynote was over, I wished I had had the ability to go up and say something to Robert and Carol, but I did not. I retreated and shrunk. *sigh*
The dynamic of this year compared to previous years for me was SO different that it has a small part of me questioning if I’ll attend next year, if there is another CatalystEast. I have an idea for something that might make Saturday evening more my style, but I have a feeling that it isn’t something that can be pulled off by me. I would like to take the ideas that have been done this year and past years for a “party” gathering, where food is served, but those were held in rooms that are on the hotel room floors called Presidential/Executive suites – they are small, and end up being so crowded that you can’t hardly move and so loud you can’t really hear. And hot. And overwhelming to people like me. So my idea then is to have something on Saturday evening for a few hours, extremely casual. Pizza. Utilize one of the meeting rooms like the sessions were in. I’m thinking a few hour event for sex bloggers of all types, hosted by the Sex Blogger Co-Op, sponsored by a lovely store/retailer, where the bloggers can all talk to each other about bloggery things and sex toys, and the sex toy manufacturers that are in attendance can talk to us casually and we can talk to them and it’s all just….casual. Networking, sort of, but mostly just being able to hang out with and geek out with our crowd. Perhaps a trivia game thrown in with some prizes of sex toys. I think there were a number of sex bloggers there that I never even got to meet this time. Anyways, since this idea of mine isn’t as big as the other things that go on, like readings and Cinekink and bingo, I doubt I would be able to make it happen the way I envision.
Am I wrong in assuming that many of the bloggers who are bloggers like me are social “misfits” like me? Not everyone, of course, but many? Or am I really just that much of a special snowflake? ;)
Oh, and to update those who were wondering: I had planned on doing the big silicone lube vs silicone sex toys testing at Catalyst. But when Jenna and Lorax and I started talking about it and doing it, especially after hearing about the bio-cumulative effects of cadmium, we wondered if perhaps there could also be a cumulative effect of the silicone lube. Like that maybe a few minutes wouldn’t do much, and maybe 24 hours wouldn’t do much, but what about doing it all over time, again and again? So IN THE NAME OF SCIENCE I plan to hack up various brands of silicone and start performing even more in-depth tests. The results won’t be done for a few weeks. But it will happen!!
And finally I’d like to send a really huge thank you to Laura and The Tool Shed, my latest site sponsor who heard my last minute “Oh shit, life fucked me over and my funds for Catalyst are dangerously low” moans, and their banner resides over there in the sidebar. I was so sad that Laura was too sick to attend this year herself, because in addition to running a freakin awesome sex toy shop in Milwaukee, she is an awesome lady all around. The Tool Shed is super sex-positive and is a member of the Progressive Pleasure Club. Anything that The Tool Shed carries is a safe item.Read More
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I wouldn’t quite say that I have Obsessive-Compulsive Planning Disorder but it’s close. I got it from my mother, who also passed on her compulsive over-packing syndrome. Toss in a case of Chronic List Making, and you would think that I have a complete inability to be spontaneous. That’s not exactly true; if I know that *something* is going to be happening, then yes I need to have an exact plan for it. If you text me and say “OMG let’s go to ____ right now!!” if it’s within my doing, I shall be doing.
Let’s take last year’s MomentumCon. I took the train down, then had to catch a subway, then locate the hotel. But I’d never been to the train station here, and of course I was worried about locating the subway and navigating it. So I did research. I drove to the train station two days before my trip as a dry run, to ensure that I didn’t miss the turn and end up getting lost and missing my train. I used Google Maps street view and satellite to figure out how to get from the train station to the subway. I printed out subway time tables. Yet still I was a nervous wreck at all junctures. It’s just how I am. This year I’ve decided to drive down, since it will (hopefully) mean 3 less hours of travel time, but now I’m all anxious over being able to find the turn-in for hotel parking on the first try, and anxious about the whole parking situation. If I leave for dinner, does that negate the daily parking rate?
Packing? Oy with the lists already. But in my defense…when I don’t make these lists days/weeks in advance? I forget lots of shit. Just this past week I visited my mom and I didn’t make a list. I forgot my back-up sleep medication, miscalculated what to wear by an entire day’s outfit, and forgot at least 4 other things. My brain just doesn’t work very well on these things. So I make my lists days and, for more important trips where forgetting something could be monumental, even weeks in advance. I leave them up on my computer and every so often I will think of something else.
Last year’s trip was made a little bit easier because I was rooming with Crista and knew that I likely wouldn’t have to worry about say, being alone for dinner. Yes, that bothers me. But this year things are still up in the air for things to do and the whole gluten thing makes it even more complicated. Last year we spent a lot of time eating in the hotel restaurant. I will speak to the manager when I get there, but I just don’t have much confidence in their ability to prepare me a safe-from-cross-contaminations meal. I’ve scoped out other places to go eat, but I sure as hell don’t want to go alone. And I don’t want to go off-site for lunch and risk having to miss an after-lunch session, or go hungry. Despite trying very hard to work out the whole “what to wear” issue, here we are 2 weeks away and I’m up in the air on at least 2 of 3 outfits. To say that it’s upping my anxiety overall is an understatement. And now topping things off is the worry that I will need to seriously conserve my spending from here on out and while I’m at Catalyst. Blah. Let’s top things off with the fact that I just trimmed my overgrown bangs, realizing only after that I don’t like how I look with bangs, plus they’re a pain in the fuckin ass to “do”. Can’t just wash and go with my hair.
Let’s add in the fact that, since I’m driving myself, I feel the freedom now to essentially over-pack. The thought of packing my Ninja cooker actually did come into my head, as a way to avoid the restaurants and have safe food…but I like the social aspect and want to spend time with people as much as possible. I’m bringing items for people (note: if you’re on Toyswap and are interested in anything I have, and you’re going to Catalyst, let me know and I can bring the item with me) and for my own comfort. I have an overabundance of makeup samples and trials from Sephora, and am bringing those for my friends to paw through. I’m bringing my Devine Playchest for Crista to have. I may pack my Fucking Sculptures dildos for people to fondle. I’ll definitely be bringing gluten-free foods so that I’m not in danger of going without (or worse: having my bacon cheeseburger on a piece of lettuce).
It occurred to me too late about business cards. I still have some mini-moo cards from last year, although they’re a bit outdated now. But I don’t have it in me to design new ones, nor do I have the funds. It’ll have to do I suppose for the 3.5 people who may ask for one.
I think I’ll go pack a few things tonight. Nail down an outfit. Wonder what I’m forgetting.Read More
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Oh, life. What a fuckin pain in the ass it can be. And confusing.
It shows that I’m not keeping good tabs on my site when it takes a potential advertiser to point out that I’m no longer page-ranked. I thought it was a glitch that my PR is 0. But no…I checked my Webmaster account and Google basically is telling me that they found suspicious links that look like I’m “selling pagerank” or something. From what I gather, the only way to fix this is add rel=”nofollow”. Until I “fix” things, Google won’t give me my page rank back. I don’t know how to feel about this. This is just another way for them to crack down on links. Many advertisers are gone, slowly falling away. One asked to be removed and replaced as a post sponsor, for sidebar links were counting against them. *sigh* Buy more sex toys, please, to keep my coffee cup full! =/
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I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that I won’t be doing e[lust] anymore. It was honestly a snap decision, but one that feels….mostly right. I’ve always been the gal who did a lot for others and shouldered a lot of obligation, mostly obligation that is brought upon by myself. I kept e[lust] going this year out of obligation. But after 3 years I’m ready to let it die or pass the torch. Either way it’s going to feel a bit odd to me. I’m sure I’ll write a flowery, sappy post about it soon enough. Such a fuckin sap, I am.
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Another thing I’m trying to wrap my head around is wondering how such a shitty turn of events in life can bring me something so wonderful. A door slammed closed and a beautiful window opened. ACK that sounds so cheesy. She would thwap me for that. While I’m not interested in dating anyone now or in the foreseeable future, I’m more than happy to have a friend with benefits. Girly benefits are even better than I remembered! “Fun” stuff aside though, have you ever met someone and just marveled at how alike you are, how many of the same things you just love and how is it you’d not met eons ago? It’s like that. I always used to wish I’d had a best friend of the experimentation sort when I was growing up. A little late in life for “experimentation” now….damn! Oh well. We can always pretend. Ahem. If this were 2009 I’d be going into a lot more details, but these are new and different times for my blog, new directions and all that. SERIOUS BLOG IS SERIOUS. kinda. meh.
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Add another quirky disorder to my long list. I spent my childhood thinking that I truly WAS lazy/stupid, until I learned as an adult that I had Inattentive-Type-ADD. I’ve now finally found that my hatred for certain sounds is real, that many people have it and that I’m not the only person. I ran across an article about the girl who chronicled her suicide attempt on Twitter and it said that she has this disorder called Misophonia. I read it and the lightbulb came on. While my hatred of sounds doesn’t make me depressed or want to commit suicide, it does cause various degrees of extreme irritation or rage. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. The list of trigger sounds is scary accurate for me in a couple of areas. mine include nearly everything in the “mouth and eating” category:
crunching, sucking, smacking, chewing, swallowing, Gum chewing and popping, Gulping, slurping, water bottle squeezing, ahhs after drinking, tooth sucking, wet mouth sounds, kissing sounds, spitting, nail biting, Toothbrushing, Flossing
When my mother and I would take trips together I would end up driving whilst wearing headphones and blaring music, due to her predilection for foods such as hard candy, carrots, celery, pretzels, dry cereal and gum. And she chews with her mouth slightly open. It drives me insane. When I try, as nicely as possible, to tell her that I cannot help it but I find it irritating and can she please stop or close her mouth, she takes it very personally. Glares at me. Sighs. “I can’t do anything right”. “Everything I do annoys you”. I can’t wait to show her this site. I’ve been known to leave check-0ut or customer service lines in stores if the person next to me is chewing their gum loudly and cracking their gum. I will “internally” plug up my ears (hard to describe – like I can pop my ears myself, it’s similar to that except I hold that and breathe louder so that I hear my own breathing) if there is a lot of kissing on a tv show or movie. I cannot tolerate the opening sequence to Dexter, either.
Frankly if a person naturally does most of the things on that above list, we’re unlikely to be friends. Unfortunately for me I have two family members who cannot be disowned that fit that. I think back now to coworkers and other acquaintances that I’ve harbored great dislike for and realized that I feel that way about them as a person because they are “noisy”.
As for the environmental sounds listed, some bother me mildly and others make me want to hurt the person responsible. Rumbling bass from too-loud cars is one. Cats cleaning themselves is another….I’ve been known to yell at the cats and throw socks at them if they’re too loud. We had a cat once that was a VERY loud licker and man did I ever yell at her. I feel bad, but I cannot control the irritation. The last time I had to sit at the DMV, I made sure to bring my phone and I blasted music into my earbuds to drown out the people around me.
Sadly this is yet another thing with no known cause and no “cure”. AWESOME. At least I have a name for it instead of “get over it” and “you’re just intolerant” or “you’re so easily annoyed”. I wonder if this is a dopamine-related thing? All I know is that while I’m not quite as bad as some of what is portrayed in this 20/20 episode yet watching it makes me tear up in empathy.
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I’ll leave you with this lovely image found with these other lovely images. There’s just so much to be said about everything in this ad….so much.Read More
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Inspired by Stoya’s story over at Jezebel, I’m speaking up along with all the other women. This paragraph, after talking about how men treat her on the street, “They say I have a sweet ass, nice tits, a real pretty dress. They say I’m their future wife, or I’d look good with their dick in my mouth.” really spoke to me.
Before you try to tell me that it’s because I take my clothes off for a living, let me tell you that this started way before I was 18. Let me tell you that every single woman I know has at least one truly terrifying story of street harassment and a whole bunch of other stories that are merely insulting or annoying. Let me remind you that in a room of pornography fans, who have actually seen me with a dick in my mouth and who can buy a replica of my vagina in a can or box, I am treated with far more respect than I am walking down the street.
A few years ago my work experience took me to a place that I’d never been before. No, I don’t mean a new city or a new type of job….I mean fearing my walk home from work.
I grew up in an area that predominantly white, middle-class. My town, regardless of the financial status, was predominantly white. It didn’t matter where I worked, the most distance I had to walk from my car to the door of the building was during Christmas when the parking lot of the retail store was full. I didn’t have much urban experience; the closest large city was an hour away and we only went there for special occasions. But a few years back the job I had moved us to a different city and I worked downtown.
The city was poorly laid out, and only the upper tier of government workers had access to the parking garages – either by way of their income or they were given the parking spot for free because of their high position. So us lowly workers had to park in lots anywhere from 1/3 to a full mile away from our building. The downtown office area was literally surrounded on all sides by the lowest income residents of the entire area. Next to one lot that I parked at for awhile was a small “camp” of homeless people. The poorest people in the city….they’re not the ones who gave me trouble. It was, every single time, the “hood” guys. Black, latino, white, mixed. All loud, thuggy, blowhards. And every single one of them scared the crap out of me thanks to the handful of men who harassed me on the streets as I would walk from my office building to my parking lot.
Somehow the public’s thought is that only pretty women get harassed on the street. Women who expose skin. Who just naturally attract attention. I never would have expected that I would get harassed and hit on, but it happened over and over. I was a fat, moderately attractive white girl dressed in what was usually bland office wear. During the time period that I worked there I was in 2 different buildings and 6 different parking lots. I couldn’t afford to pay for the garage – it cost 3 times as much as the lot. But after one harrowing, scary experience combined with bad winter weather and the darkness that hit just in time for my walk, I called enough and we somehow scraped together the money for a few months of garage parking. When we were starting to not be able to afford it, luck intervened and we were prepping to move away.
I’ve never been good at handling myself when put on the spot. Ever. I don’t have snappy comebacks; when confronted by an angry person I shake and become meek. Fear silences me. So when I was first hit on / harassed during my walk to the car, I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t yet rude, but I was walking down an alley by myself. He did make me uncomfortable and I didn’t know how to respond. He scared me so I didn’t want to ignore him. I was afraid to walk to my car, I didn’t want him to know which one was mine. I ended up seeing a store that I could duck in to. Other encounters were more or less harmless, but no less uncomfortable. Sometimes I would walk with headphones on and music playing. I thought that this would give me the excuse of music, that I wasn’t ignoring them on purpose and therefore wouldn’t anger them. Apparently unless I donned a gigantic pair of true headphones, this tactic was useless. One day after nearly being hit by a pissy driver, I was passing a trio of white tough guys dressed all gangster-like who said a few obscene things to me but I didn’t make eye contact; I pretended that I didn’t hear them and felt it would be enough as I obviously had a pair of hot pink earbuds in. I guess they didn’t see that because their words then turned nasty and frightening and they started to follow me a little. I kept on going towards my parking lot and continued to pretend as though I didn’t hear. But I was terrified. Unlike the guys that people think are typical of busy NYC streets doing their catcalls, the men I encountered actually expected me to interact with them. When I did not, they turned on me. We’ve all seen on reality-type shows like Dateline or even just the news how people will ignore a crime happening right next to them. Despite being surrounded by cars and people, I did not feel safe.
No one else in my department had to work as late as I did, or if they did they didn’t park anywhere near me so I always walked to my car alone. I was always scared when I would see non-professionally-dressed men walking towards me.
That kind of fear, day to day, is fucking unacceptable. Yet it exists. Everywhere. Every day. To all kinds of people.
Remember when I was happy? I was really and truly happy. Sure I had it all figured out. SO SURE. But sometime around the time I was preparing to visit my mom and my friend, I stopped finding time to exercise. And while I was there, my mom said one, small stupid thing that maybe had a bigger effect on me than I even realized.
I lost my happy. It’s fuckin gone. It doesn’t help that while I was at my moms, I had a goddamn dream about the one person I’m trying to hate and forget. I finally parted ways, officially and thoroughly (as much as life circumstances allow) with the man who dominated (literally) my first 1.5 years of blogging and who was a major fixture in my life for nearly 4 years. I stopped writing about him and even had to remove some posts and change some posts because someone from his real life found his old blog, found his Blogger account, therefore found all his old comments on my posts and connected some dots. Big dots. Life went into a tailspin for him and I supported his need to keep his life from falling apart, so I covered the tracks as best as I could. Even though I needed and wanted to write about him sometimes, I couldn’t. I suppose I could, now. I suppose I could tell everything. If this woman from his past does still read my blog, I don’t frankly care if she would see it and realize that he lied to her. It was years ago. None of this applies anymore.
ETA: I love you guys, you know that? Just wanted you to know. Your support means the world to me, and I’m coming back slowly. Getting my groove back on (nerd, so fucking what) and making the most of everything I have. Enjoying new friends and living in the present…not the past anymore. I’ve moved on, way past “rage” to literally “no fucks left to give”. If he lives, dies, thrives, fails…none of my concern or care. Liar liar….*shrugs* go away.
Tangent, much? Wow. I don’t know if that stupid dream (all of 10 seconds) invading my head space did it, if my mom did, if it was the stress of the piece of shit car he gave me finally dying and the need to replace it now a true need and not just a want to replace it simply because he gave it to me and I wanted to rid my life of all things Him. And with the need to replace the car came stress about buying the right one and stress of a new expense.
ETA: Our wonderful families pulled through and I finally have a BRAND NEW car. And I love every inch of it. I pet it sometimes. It’s awesome. It even heats up my ass. I feel incredibly lucky and supported by our families. I couldn’t have gotten this car without them and without my husband’s love, support and help.
I never got back into exercising. Weight loss stalled. My back really hurts, and I know it’s because I stopped doing the workouts. I have stayed gluten-free though, I won’t be going backwards on THAT.
So as I deal with this whole “losing my happy” I keep coming back to wondering what the fuck I should do about this blog. Nobody that read my blog in the first year or two still reads, and understandably so. I don’t date; I don’t have any desire for any kind of online flirtation; I literally cannot force erotica posts and I have no desire to take photos anymore. What’s left? Grumpy rants, the occasional OpEd piece about sex toys, and sex toy reviews. I seem to be doing at least one thing right, since I made a pretty decent amount in commissions lately, but that’s offset by the fact that blog advertising is WAY down. Man did THAT bubble burst. So my long, drawn-out point is that…I’m no longer “Dangerous Lilly”. But my dumb ass picked that as my domain. My blog header image still tries to pretend that “Dangerous” Lilly is just on hiatus, whilst Professor Lilly takes over for a bit but I really think that “Dangerous” Lilly has left the building. Some days I truly consider deleting all of my old erotica, photos and D/s blog posts. Delete all the shit that I wouldn’t really want a real-life friend seeing, all the shit that I think makes this site less professional. But if I deleted all of that, there would be a shit ton of traffic to my blog that would end with a 404-Not-Found error. Now, probably half of those people never go beyond the page that they landed on, but maybe half do. Maybe some come back. Who knows! And then with all of that old shit deleted, I’m most definitely not even “used to be” Dangerous Lilly, the moniker is then very confusing. So what the fuck do I do? I’m known by this name. I can’t just buy a new domain.
Except that I don’t even really want to write reviews most days. I’m behind on that. I haven’t really had a truly, awesomely good rant lately. No really great educational posts. Just kinda…..blah. I’ve been at this for more than 4 years. I’ve been feeling so blase about this that this year I let my blogging anniversary go with nary a word. So few people that were regulars in 2008 are still around. Many bloggers don’t even last a year.
I’ve been considering lately a new banner. One that drops the old blog name of “This Could Be Dangerous”, something that was with me since the first day on Blogger. Of course, that means a lot of people would still keep me in their blogroll as that and newcomers would be confused but oh well. I wonder how many other places I’m listed that way. Maybe I could do something totally different for the header, where I like scratch out the “Dangerous” part and write in “just plain Lilly”. Ditch the little b&w pics. I suppose this would then be a great time to completely change my theme, to one that auto-updates itself, but goddamn I spent days worth of hours making this theme perfect. And then if the blog’s name isn’t “This Could Be Dangerous” and I don’t really WANT to be referred to as “Dangerous Lilly” unless I have to be, wtf do I put in the header, what do I call this place? What do I say about myself in the important section of real estate so that people know what they’re getting here? Ugh. Maybe it really is just time to hang up the hat and admit I have nothing left to say here.
ETA: Nope. Not hanging up the hat just yet. NEW BANNER. REVISED LAYOUT. YES.
So yeah. This is a post of absolutely no value, but I kinda just wanted to write and let it all out. Maybe I’ll get some feedback.
ETA: I love you guys. Srsly. The support you’ve given via comments and Twitter? More than a sex geek girl could ask for.Read More
When I recently visited my longtime friend, the topic turned of course to sex at one or two points. Clinical, theoretical, opinionated talks. One topic, after numerous drinks by the couple, turned to how much noise my friend makes in bed. Or, rather, doesn’t make.
My bold, outspoken, ballsy, loud-mouthed friend is the exact opposite in the bedroom. That’s not to say she’s “frigid” (I hate that word). She loves sex. Her sex drive is crazy high. She especially loves sucking cock and freely, openly admits this in most cases. It turns her on immensely. Unfortunately, this is the only real thing that her boyfriend knows for sure arouses her. When it comes to sex she literally tightens up. He will see glimpses of her arousal and pleasure bursting at the seams but the moment a sigh escapes her lips she unknowingly clams up.
The discussion about this was basically him openly, and lovingly, telling her what she does/doesn’t do and telling her why he’d like her to be more free. To wake the neighbors. Not just for him, but for her, as well. He reasons that because she’s not at all vocal, be it in voice or body language, to his ministrations, he’s never really sure what or if she is enjoying. After a while, my friend started to take it all the wrong way and assume that he and I were saying that there was something wrong with her and that she wasn’t good enough in bed. He insisted that the sex is phenomenal, he loves it, but he knows that she could enjoy it even more and therefore so could he. That getting her off gets him off. Seeing that he is indeed giving her great pleasure is the best thing for him. I would have to agree with him on that…I absolutely need that feedback, I thrive off of it. I know my husband does, too.
We know why she’s like this. She was married to the first and only guy she ever slept with for a long time. Her and her ex had been together for something like 15 years. Her ex wasn’t much into sex. He never, not even on their wedding day, told her he thought she was beautiful. Sex was always brief, perfunctory and very infrequent. Quiet was encourage. Experimentation was not. So the boyfriend of less than a year has a LOT of “damage” to undo. My friend just feels weird making noise. Or saying anything. And then the circle goes right back.
Another topic in this long conversation came around to how rough each of them likes their sex because somehow my friend and I got to talking about BDSM a little bit. She wanted to know what it all stood for, what the words meant. She liked the sound of both masochist and sadist. Rough sex was discussed between the two of them….a little spanking, a little throwing around, etc. They’re both in great shape and she’s got the most incredible pain tolerance. Yet he’s not quite comfortable with being rough enough to spank her. He’s afraid he’ll hurt her. She’s afraid of hurting him. Despite both of them sitting there telling the other “It won’t hurt that much, don’t worry about me”, they kept insisting the same thing. It was like a huge circle talk of frustration. I’d like to think that some good came out of it all though. I’m hoping it did, since last week she texted me for recommendations on ball gags and wrist restraints. Yay!
So what do you think?
Does making noise mean better sex, if it’s genuine and not re-enacting the scene from When Harry Met Sally? Are there better ways for people like my friend to convey what is working and what isn’t, when they’re not comfortable saying a peep?Read More