After yesterday’s love making, I felt a shift in myself like a veil had lifted and a new Stella was born.
I let go completely to the notion that I needed to force anything in the bedroom including my own orgasms. My husband relieved me from the duties, and I gladly accepted his offer.
“We should have done this a long time ago, sweetie,” he said to me in bed last night. It was late, maybe 10:30pm and we each laid on our pillows facing the other. It was an intimate moment as we shared deeper thoughts about the day’s activities.
He went on to tell me about how each woman he’d ever been with expected him to bring her to a climax. “Brandy was the only girlfriend who actually touched herself like you, but she didn’t cum that way. She just rubbed her clit to stimulate her pussy more. You’re the only one who actually made herself orgasm like that.”
I was shocked to hear that about the women my husband had been with over the years. A part of me wanted to say they were faking orgasms, but then another part of me was sad thinking about the conditioning we women have to not touch ourselves during sex. My husband said that he got the feeling that they didn’t want to share that with him that perhaps they believed good girls don’t do that! But did he actually make them cum?
“Most of the time I did make them cum. I’d do my best to not orgasm until I’d made sure she had, and if that wasn’t always possible, I’d at least make sure we maintained a good ratio of at least every other time. It’s really a pride thing for men and it made me have to learn each woman’s erogenous zones and preferred positions. You were so different because you just said, ‘Look at what I can do. I can make myself cum with my finger and it’s fast and easy! You don’t have to worry about me.’ You were really masculine in that way.”
In that moment, the entire plight of modern femininity hung on my shoulders. I’ve always felt sorry for women who say they don’t masturbate and touch themselves during sex. They seem so caged and controlled. They seemed to rely on a man’s goodwill and talent to experience pleasure on their own.
Now I feel sorry for women who are so damn liberated they require no assistance or pleasure during sex at all. They can make themselves cum, so their partner doesn’t need to be attentive or talented at all. It’s like setting yourself up for exactly the same life of less liberated women, the life of fitting yourself into a tame little box of people pleasing, but with less help from anyone.
How perplexing! Which is right? Which is ideal? Who is actually enjoying sex more? I guess like most things, the sweet spot is somewhere in the middle.
Depending on a man to bring you pleasure seems silly but so does teaching a man that he doesn’t need to. It’s the same with money. Depending solely on a man to provide seems risky but so does teaching a man to not ever take care of you.
I picked up the book “Succulent Wild Woman” by Sark and thumbed through to the chapter on sex. She writes about killing the “good girlfriend” and describes her as the kind of woman who does everything right. She is sexy but doesn’t live in her body, she’s assertive but fake, she’s nice and never too emotional, she never changes plans last minute. She seems powerful but is actually powerless as she worries about making everything pleasant. She doesn’t fart audibly and most definitely not exuberantly, and her orgasms are effortless and pleasing.
It struck me last night that as much as I think I’m the “cool wife,” I’m basically the “good wife.” I’ve made myself pleasing and pleasant and easy to get along with. I listen attentively, look pretty effortlessly, speak kindly of everybody and never ever pass gas, especially not audibly, regardless of how uncomfortable I am.
And what about my easy, tidy, pleasing orgasms? They were always on time and never made a mess. They felt good despite being short and empty, and my lover got to feel proud like his duties were done despite feeling striped of the real work required to pleasure a woman who’s open to chaos and spontaneous fun.
“When did you discover all of this?” I asked my husband as we cuddled tight. “Was it something you’ve been thinking about and finally put together?”
“Not at all,” he smiled. “I realized it when we were making love. I realized it in my body that you have been denying me the control you so desperately need of me. I’m now going to train you, to be like all of the women before you, to rely on me to take you to heaven and above.”