"So, what do you like?"
A question many of you dread during sex, and how to respond.
What Makes For A Bad Lover?
Do you believe that there is such as thing as a bad lover? Or are people just bad listeners?
Understanding what brings you sexual pleasure is completely subjective. What you like, the next person might not like. What you like with one person, you might not enjoy with another.
Sex, and pleasure, are so nuanced. And yet we don’t teach ourselves, or others the skills to navigate such a personal and ever-evolving experience.
Some of you might argue that specifically women’s pleasure is “too complex.” If you do, I know you’re bad at sex. So congrats on outing yourself.
Why such a strong judgement from a Sex Therapist, you might ask? Because much like cooking a meal, it’ll be bad if you don’t bother to get to know what will make it good.
That doesn’t make cooking complex, it makes you a bad cook.
We are in a crisis of complacency when it comes to embodied experiences. With the rise of AI, and technology infiltrating our bedrooms and bodies, have we become disconnected from understanding what brings us pleasure?
And if so, what then, makes for a good lover?
Sex: Sometimes Maybe Good, Sometimes Maybe Shit.
I’m in a session with a client (or rather an amalgamation of women clients, for confidentiality reasons.) She’s presented with anxiety about sex, pleasure, and orgasm.
“He always asks me, ‘what do you like?’ and I have no idea what to tell him, so I just say, whatever, and then the sex isn’t that great and I can’t orgasm.”
She continues, “am I bad at sex? Do you think some people are just better at sex than others?”
Similarly, another common client presentation, is the person who feels sexually inexperienced. This is both men, and women, by the way.
They like to ask me, “I’ve never had ‘real’ sex'. I’m so scared I’m going to be bad at it. So I’m here because I don’t want to be bad at it.”
I like the ask all of these people the same question.
What do you think makes for a good lover?
They then list the following features, or characteristics (there are lots more):
They’re kind and respectful of my boundaries.
They listen to me.
They ask questions, or are curious.
We feel connected.
They prioritise my pleasure.
They understand my body, and what feels good.
Sometimes I like to ask people; and how do you expect people to understand your pleasure?
To which they would reply, “they should just know.”
My favourite answer.
Regular Almond Cap, Thanks.
I would like for you to take a moment to consider my situation in this conversation. I’m talking to highly anxious people, who are telling me a good lover is someone who listens, and prioritises their pleasure, but the way they execute this, is by ‘just knowing how.’
What would you say next?
You’d probably say something like, “how can you expect others to know what you like without communicating it? They can’t read minds!!”
Which is exactly right, you’re so smart xx
But now the clients says something like, “But if I talk too much, I’ll ruin the mood! And what if I don’t know what I like? What then?”
What would you say?
I imagine you might feel stumped.
Here’s what I say.
If you and I went to grab a coffee, and in the cafe you asked me what I wanted, and I said “whatever you want!” or “you should just know!” what is likely to happen?
“I get you what I like. I probably order the wrong coffee.”
What coffee do you drink?
“Regular Latte.”
Cows milk makes me shit my pants, so how do you reckon I’m going to enjoy having coffee with you?
“You’re probably not going to enjoy it.”
If you see me cringing, or squirming in discomfort how does it make you feel?
“Uncomfortable, concerned.”
And if I insist I’m having a good time?
“Frustrated that you’re lying.”
What would you rather me do instead.
“Just tell me what you want. Or say you don’t like that coffee.”
So let’s say we go back to the beginning, and you ask me “what do you want”, what is it you need me to do?
“Communicate what you want.”
Suck shit losers, you’re gonna have to talk (professional and derogatory).
It brings me the purest form of joy, to see a client squirm at the realisation they will indeed, need to communicate their preferences.
I often get immediate pushback on this; “but what if I don’t know what I want!!”
How did you learn what coffee you like? You tried a bunch of different things until you found something you liked. Black coffee, milky coffee, nut milks, animal milks, iced, hot, sweet, bitter, big, small...
You’re allowed to take up space to figure out what you want. Not exploring it isn’t bloody helping, so you may as well.
You’re also allowed to try things, not like them, and change your mind. This is informed, ongoing consent practice. That’s the bare fucking minimum.
When I was travelling, I would order my regular almond cap, and occasionally get handed a cows milk coffee. I can often smell the difference, and definitely taste it. It’s fucking rank.
I have never, not once, finished those coffees. I immediately get up, and say, ‘can I please check this was made with almond milk?’ they often apologise, it was a mistake, and just replace it.
Twice I’ve had people push back, ‘It’s definitely almond.’ they say to me. ‘I’m fairly certain it’s not, could I please have a new one anyway?’ They always make me a new one. And even if they roll their eyes, I don’t care. Because I’m sure as hell not risking diarrhoea for hours just to avoid a few moments of awkwardness.
I will be difficult. I will be intentional. I will take up space, so that when I sit down to drink an 8 billion dollar coffee, I enjoy every single sip.
Sex is literally the same.
Cheat Code.
Sexual pleasure is accessible if you know what you want.
How do you figure that out? Well it’s nuanced, and subjective, but I’ve put together a workbook inspired by the work I do with clients, that I’ll release this week (make sure you’re following me on Instagram for details!), that helps you to figure it out at your own pace. It includes a breakdown of an exercise I came up with for clients, based on evidence-based, therapeutic and somatic approaches. I call it The Pleasure Journal.
Other than that, what makes for a good lover is someone who doesn’t assume what brings you pleasure, but takes the time to learn it.
They notice things, they catalogue things, they enquire about whether those things are still wanted.
They don’t assume, but rather explore. Instead of assuming the clit is a little magic button and the only place worth touching, they might explore how sensitive nipples are, or how sensitive the inner and outer labia are, or the inner thighs, or your lips.
In my opinion, good lovers are made together. If they’re curious, and you’re willing, you’re most likely going to have a great time.