As a woman, I'm unaccustomed to sexual performance anxiety. Our problem has traditionally been the generation -- not the utilization -- of desire.
Still, there are moments when, in the midst of our recommended daily landslide of feral passion, we get caught up in some mechanical dilemma.
Example: After the rush of devotion that goes into good oral sex, should one crown the achievement with a kiss? If a peck is okay, is French? Or, how do you shift from bottom to top without twisting your ankle or grunting "heave-ho"? If your partner's abs can't heft both your bodyweight and his, is it cool to help out?
In the seek-and-destroy attitude we have toward taboos these days, one should wonder why these problems haven't been discussed into oblivion by now. Scrutinizing sex is our favorite hobby. It's our most lucrative hobby. We know the average sperm-count of a 20-year-old male, and which yogic pose makes the G-spot accessible -- information that is much less useful than how to move in tandem without breaking a bone. Yet even men, who are equipped with locker room keynotes and Maxim, wouldn't know how to answer direct questions about the gear-work of sex. They wouldn't even pose them in the first place. Why?
Here's a theory: When we talk about sex, we really just talk about orgasms. It's not the gear work -- it's the clock striking twelve. The last open questions that are still out there are concerned with something new -- the disturbing discrepancy between the magnetic grace of Hollywood sex and our own.
Apparently, we expect ourselves, while doing the aptly named "nasty," to be as blasé and cat-like as Mel or Sharon. We deny that giving oral stimulation while receiving it presents a conflict of interest, that sperm tastes like old pennies and stale mayo, and that straddling a man is tougher than two hours at the AFC. Similarly, our fathers once thought themselves eternally damned for preteen masturbation, while our mothers tried to assemble an orgasm from nothing, or not at all -- until they were blessed with 1969.
I suggest we move on from the evaluation and re-evaluation of all issues that are purely orgasm-oriented and -- if we can't provide a user-friendly instruction booklet for looking, sounding and tasting sexy while having sex -- at least accept that being graceful in the bedroom is yet another unnecessarily high-flung goal. Let's make 2004 the year we learn to relax in bed.
For those of you who disagree: There's nothing wrong with glitzy sex. Just be certain that you're comfortable enough with your partner that you could be flatulent in bed. Kissing after cunnilingus is case sensitive, but most prefer a five to ten-minute interval. If you want to roll from the bottom to the top, take a break from fondling and press your hands against the mattress. And watch those ankles.
(Katja Schubl is the Cavalier Daily sex columnist. She can be reached at katja@cavalierdaily.com.)
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