To begin with, I want to reassure you that, despite everything else you see on this blog or the internet at large, there isn’t a qualitative scale of good to bad ratings for sexual engagements… There’s no right or wrong way to have sex, and no prescribed menu of activities that must take place for it to be considered “good.”
Dear Tyler,
I’ve got a question you should answer on your blog. It’s definitely an uncomfortable ask lol. But I don’t know who I can talk with about it or what to do to make it better. I think I’m bad at sex and it’s left me depressed and avoiding sexual contact because I’m worried that somebody is going to call me out on it. I only like [some things], and not [others] and it’s hard to find partners who will go along with that and not think it’s weird. Should I just give up and assume that sex isn’t for me, or should I try to change what I like to do?
– Ready to go solo forever
Dear Solo,
Don’t give up yet.
Or do. I can’t tell you what to do, and I personally know some guys who have deeply fulfilling sex lives alone and don’t spend any time worried about what others will think about it. But I’ll come back to that option in a moment.
To begin with, I want to reassure you that, despite everything else you see on this blog or the internet at large, there isn’t a qualitative scale of good to bad ratings for sexual engagements. Some may be more fulfilling than others. Some might be outright disasters where everyone involved embarrasses themselves thoroughly enough that they never need to speak to each other again. And some can just be ‘meh.’ There’s no right or wrong way to have sex, and no prescribed menu of activities that must take place for it to be considered “good.”
Without knowing you personally, and being able to ask you follow up questions about what you mean, I’m going to assume that your sexual experience is relatively limited – which is absolutely FINE and says nothing objective about who you are or what you’re good at. We were all limited in experience at some point, until we eventually weren’t.
The trouble is, limited experience brings with it limited perspective on what good sex is, and even what sex itself actually means (does there need to be penetration? does everyone need to have a million orgasms? Is it even possible for two women to have something one could consider sex?). Without understanding the bigger picture, how does one know where one fits into it?
Sometimes a metaphor is helpful. Often when I’m talking about sex, I use food as a simulacrum; there’s a lot of good overlap, almost everyone understands food as an idea, and people often have less shame associated with the enjoyment of cooking and eating, which makes it easier to dissect.
In this case, though, I’m going to use running. Running is a thing human bodies were meant to do. It’s an incredibly natural function for the structure of our bones and muscles, and can be part of a process by which we keep those bones and muscles healthy. But I am a terrible runner. I don’t have the attention span for it, nor do I have the stamina to do it for any distance (because I don’t do it often, I can’t do it well). When I watch people on the treadmill next to me who are clearly avid runners, I am envious of the way they look while they do it; intensely focused, effortless in their movement, and each step elegantly propelling them forward like gazelles. I know that I don’t look that way when I run; my head bobs up and down too much, I get winded quickly, and if I were an actual gazelle, I would be the first to be eaten.
But that doesn’t mean that I can’t do things adjacent to running. I’m incredible at the stairmill and can go for hours and miles. Somehow this doesn’t wind me in quite the way that sprinting does. I can do a stationary bike while maintaining perfect cyclist’s posture all day long. But I suck at actually running. Partly because I don’t like it, and partly – because I don’t like it – because I don’t do it.
With sex, it’s the same way. There are some things I don’t like, and so I’m not especially adept at them. I don’t practice them, or experiment with how to do them more effectively, and so they just aren’t things I engage in with any regularity. That doesn’t mean I can’t do other things, or that I’m not “good at sex” (however one is qualifying that premise), in general.
My suggestion to you is this: stop worrying about how “good” you believe you are at something, and (to mis-co-opt some advice from Marie Kondo) worry instead about whether or not it brings you joy. If you get great enjoyment out of something – for the sake of argument, we’ll say bottoming – but you’re not particularly skillful at it, practice it and explore it as much as you can. Learn what you like and what you don’t like as much, and then bring that understanding into your partner-based experiences. If you have trouble relaxing enough to make bottoming fun with somebody else, a fuckton of experience stretching out your hole with vibratey things and plugs in your solo time is a great way to train your body what those sensations feel like and that it’s normal and good and ok to feel them.
Rather than abandoning the idea of running (sex) altogether because the handful of times you’ve done it it’s been hard or “bad,” is never going to make you a better runner (sexer).
That said, it’s also fine if you discover that partner play just isn’t maybe for you. I encourage you to look up solosexuality, read the work of Melbourne Bator, and poke around bateworld.com a bit, and see if that path is right for you.
But whatever you do, stop (as much as you are able) worrying about whether or not you are “good” at sex. And stop fucking with people who would label you that way. You deserve better. And experience is how we get better.
Once per month or so, we’ll use this space to answer reader-submitted questions about sex, sex work, porn, and gay stuff. I’ll share what I know, and source the answers to stuff I don’t.
If you’ve got an Uncomfortable Ask, share it with me and I’ll do my best to find some truth for you.
Tyler Dårlig Ulv is an Ontario-based blogger and professional companion. He has worked for Rentboy.com, Manhunt, and contributed to publications like Queerty and Thought Catalog. You can follow him on Twitter and Instagram, or find out more about his work at his website and blog. Tyler lives full time in Toronto.
I like to cuddle, massage, give hand jobs, kiss and suck off my partner. Penetrative sex is of no interest. Am I boring? To some, yes. To MANY, No.
Sexual communication was the first thing that popped into my mind.
Having a real conversation about what you like, your needs, your expectations is very important when establishing a new sexual relationship.
Often it’s important to discuss your expectations objectively instead of like orders.
For instance, one might say “I expect sex to be sweaty but I don’t like sweat.” or “I expect it to be a confusing rush of touching, but I want it to be slow and less spontaneous.”
Often just saying that to a sex partner will relieve some stress or help you find something deeper about yourself.
We are horrified of sexual communication. Is it because we’re horrified of good sex?