Why all women should speak up during sex
A few nights ago, I was lying naked on a bed with a man's tongue on my left nipple, his left hand on my other nipple and his right hand pulling my favourite knickers down my legs.
As he threw my pants on the floor, his head slowly moved its way down my body, lips brushing past the surface of my stomach on their way to my fired up vagina.
My breath grew deeper as his lips teased my clitoris and his fingers touched the corners of my vagina. Blood shot around my body in electrifying bursts as the tip of his tongue touches the tip of my prepuce.
I closed my eyes to enjoy that first rush of oral sex.
"Yes. Yes. Yes. Lower, deeper, lower, deeper, too high, lower, deeper - woah, ok way too much tongue," I thought to myself.
He began to shake his head vivaciously, up and down, side to side, tongue thickened, licking, blowing and sucking the lips of my pussy - all at once and a little out of rhythm.
"Is he diving down there?" I thought, laughing a little at the image of him wearing a snorkels as he gave me a blow job - and getting, well, a little turned off.
"Shit. Quick, quick, think of something that always gets you fired up."
I won't tell you what that was, but it worked.
Let me give you some background, before you all assume I'm sharing some kind of comedy porno.
The diver and I met online. He was hot, smart and made me laugh - everything that my vagina and I look for in a playmate.
Our oral sex escalated to actual sex and he lost the nickname "Diver" as quickly as he gained it.
My playmate, as he deservedly should be called, knew how to work a woman's body. But this isn't a secret sex review, nor is this a piece about him.
As our intimacy increased, my mind kept suggesting things he could do to give me even more of a lift. Whilst it does take two to tango, there are some things that can only be done by another person - or a specific object.
Just as I was getting close for the first time, my mind was screaming "don't stop, don't stop", but before I could internally shout the phrase for the third time, he stopped.
I realised, halfway through our date, that I'd been making a rookie error. I'd been giving all the tips to myself, but I hadn't been giving any to him.
I've grown up around the stereotype that men are more experienced at sex than women.
Men are promiscuous creatures who think with their dicks, women are delicate little flowers who barely know what a dick looks like. Unless they're a total slut - in which case, shame on them, they know nothing.
Well, I call bullshit.
No-one knows my body better than I do.
And I don't know anyone else's body better than they do.
How would he know that moving his dick a little more to the left and fucking me a little harder would hit the spot if I don't tell him?
As I've been soaring through my twenties, my assumption that my playmates know what they're doing better than I do has gotten stronger, and I've become less vocal - well, instructive.
I know I'm not the only woman who feels like that.
There are so many fears and insecurities that get attached to sex. Will they still like you after they cum in you? Will they still call you after you cowgirl them? Will they think less of you if you do tell them want you want?
If the answers to the first two questions are 'no' and the answer to the final answer is 'yes' then your playmate is not your soul mate. But remember that whilst those insecurities and fears are completely understandable, they're out of your control.
The only thing that is in your control is your body's right to an orgasm.
And, let's face it, the final goal of sex is the orgasm. The love and happily-ever-after part happens when you are fully clothed.
In the end, I spoke up to my playmate, and with the power of just a few directions, he found his way - twice.
This writer's identity is being kept anonymous to protect the identity of her playmate and to make sure her mother doesn't find out she's been having sex with strangers she met on the internet.