Hello, My Beauties. This week on #fetchat, we’re tackling the subject of sexual differences in relationships. We’re lucky to have author, Isabelle Lauren (@RomanticaIsa on Twitter) with us this week on #fetchat.
Still. It’s a tough topic because folks have big, scary feelings about sex.
#Fetchat is a weekly Twitter Chat I co-host with Nikki (she/her) from loveisafetish.com (@loveisafetish on Twitter). Explore the kink/fetish landscape with us and learn about folks making a difference in the BDSM community. Join us every Wednesday at 5 pm, EST by either searching “fetchat” on Twitter or hanging out on the @Fet_Chat feed.
Let’s start here: sexual differences in relationships are normative.
Whether your poly or monogamous. Straight or queer. Trans or cis. Everyone’s life experience is unique to them. There’s nothing wrong with sexual differences in a relationship. Unfortunately, between secular and religious cultural belief systems, most of us are carrying around some sexual baggage.
When I was a wee Stagg, no one talked about the different things that impact sex drive or differing sexual expressions. In the 1980s, the extent of the sex education I received was pitiful. I learned masturbation was okay as long as you did it alone, on your back, and with your eyes closed.
No one told me vaginas got wet when aroused. That was a hell of a surprise. The basics I learned were that boys liked to fuck, and so did girls, but they had to pretend they didn’t unless they wanted a bad reputation. If you were queer, you were on your own to figure out the mechanics. Kink was something you read about in books or saw in movies like 9 1/2 weeks.
One of the biggest lessons drilled into me from every cultural corner was that sex was the foundation of a romantic relationship, and when the sex died, so did the partnership.
On top of these less-than-stellar lessons in sexual fluency, I experienced a high degree of sexual violence growing up. It resulted in a tangle of misinformation about sex. We’re talking knots of Gordian-level proportions.
It took years to sort myself out. The process lasted well into my current relationship with my honey, Mr. Crispy. We’re monogamous (because that’s what works for us). I’m queer (pansexual). Gender doesn’t figure into the way I experience attraction. Mr. Crispy is a cis-man. But I fell in love with him because he made me laugh. His cock wasn’t a factor in why I said yes to a date with him (although his cock is pretty nifty).
I love sex. Orgasms are my go-to for everything from sexual release to insomnia. Going down on someone turns me on almost as much as someone eating me out. Spankings make me dizzy with want, and rope bondage gets me giddy. And my daddy kink is deep enough to drown the whole world. I’m a switch, which means I’m bratty submissive, power bottom, and a nurturing, loving Domme.
What about Mr. Crispy, you ask? Well, he is about the most vanilla fella you could meet. His tastes are simple. His sex drive isn’t as high as mine, but he loves our sexual relationship. Sexual intimacy (touching, kissing, holding) is as essential to him as penis-in-vagina sex. Our sex drives are as different as are our sexual expressions and we are both satisfied with our sexual relationship.
I’m not going to lie, it was a struggle at first. I had a hard time not seeing our differences as problems. We’d been married about four years when it became an issue, and I was an asshole about it. Yes, your sweet, loving Anne was a Twat-waffle McJerkyson about our sexual differences. When he expressed how hurt he was, it gutted me (as well it should have).
So, how do we find satisfaction with our sexual differences?
The old scripts running around my head were creating a lot of distortion. In turn, it created a stumbling block in our relationship. Luckily, Mr. Crispy is a fucking gem and, once I pulled my head out of my ass, so am I.
First, we agree on the basics.
As we learned about each other we made sure to talk about our foundations. We both see sex as natural and healthy. Keeping sex safe, sane, and consensual is necessary for every encounter, vanilla or kink. And laughter makes everything easier.
Second, we don’t look at our sexual differences as negative.
There are a lot of differences between us. He hates avocados and tomatoes, and I love them both. I could get cold in the middle of an August heatwave, and he likes to have the ceiling fan on well into December. He likes vanilla sex and I’m a kinkster. I have a high sex drive, him not so much.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that sexual differences are insignificant. But we accept that we’re two different people. Assigning judgment or value to what makes us different isn’t necessary.
Third, we discuss everything.
We talk before sex, during sex, and after sex. “So how’s this marriage thing working out for you?” is a regular refrain in our house. You get the idea. The cool thing about regular communication is that when you practice it regularly, even the hard talks get easier.
Fourth, we’re creative.
We find ways to ensure that we’re both getting what we need. Clear, consistent communication is critical. We’ve each found ways to express our needs together and in solo sex/masturbation.
For example, Mr. Crispy is four-square opposed to impact play. Spankings are out. We tried it once, and he was miserable. But, he bites as a tease, and it’s delightful. I love giving blow jobs to completion, and he doesn’t like coming in someone’s mouth. So we use condoms because then I get the thrill of feeling him so turned on he loses it, and he doesn’t feel the squick.
It’s not always easy.
Being in a relationship requires energy and care. However, that relationship looks, whether it’s vanilla through-and-through, a 24/7 power exchange, or somewhere in the middle. No matter how many people are involved. I’m not saying what works for us makes sense for everyone. There are times when relationships don’t work. As much as that hurts, it’s essential to recognize, for your own fulfillment.
You and your partner (or partners) deserve happiness.
Be well, be wonderful, and above all, be you.