On female pleasure

 Let me set the scene – the oppressive heat of the day was slowly waning. The windows to my studio apartment were wide open to balance out the stifling humidity inside. I was lying on my grey couch craving the slight draft of fresh air gliding over my barely clothed body. Someone else’s lips were kissing mine and his hand was slowly finding its way further down my body. He began touching me, but nothing was happening within me. Giving him a smile, I guided his hand to where I was enjoying it more: “You could touch me here,” I whispered, “I like that more”. But instead of continuing with what we were doing he stopped and looked at me confused: “I think I know more about what I’m doing than you do.” I choked on the misogyny dripping from his words. While I am aware that sexual stigma continues to persevere through insufficient sexual education and our societies awkwardness around the topic of female sexuality, that is no excuse to say stupid things confidently in 2024. 

So, let’s return to me lying in shock on the couch. There were a couple things that threw me off: the first one was his confusion about me expressing what I would enjoy more. In the past I had had many conversations with partners and friends, and everyone agreed that communication around your own and your partners likes and dislikes was not only important, but essential. Communication around our preferences is was what makes the experience ultimately more enjoyable on the giving and the receiving end. After all, who knows our own bodies better than we do? Especially with a new partner who doesn’t know what your personal preferences are, simply telling them is the easiest way to ensure that no one is miserable or in pain. 

Yet, somehow, this man was convinced that he knew my body better than I did. And he most definitely did not. What annoyed me most (aside from his completely misplaced cockiness) was that a couple years before he would not have been wrong. I did not always know what I liked and even worse, I did not know how to ask my partner to do something differently even if they were hurting me. Sexual education had failed me too. 

I felt embarrassed by the fact that I did not know a woman could have an orgasm until I was sixteen and that I only started masturbating at 18. But when I shared my insecurities with other women, I realized that I was not alone. I was not the odd one out. We were all in it together, and most of us had some hesitation about expressing and exploring our own sexuality. Especially on our own. 

The day I bought my first vibrator I was over the moon. And I am not exaggerating here. I was excited about getting to know my body on my own terms. In the past I had never felt completely safe in my body or sexuality and my experiences of sexual coercion and rape had made everything much worse. On that day, however, I was making the choice to say “fuck you” to the people that had hurt me. I was not going to let bad experiences stop me from having good ones in the future. The process wasn’t as easy as I am describing here. Realizing and coming to terms with the fact that I was traumatized and building up the courage to confront it took me years, panic attacks, crying and therapy included. The vibrator did not at once make me feel okay about being intimate with someone else either, but it was a start. It was my own little reclamation of strength in my femininity. 

So, when the guy on the couch said that he knew my body better than I did, it was a personal attack against the struggles I had overcome. Of course, I am aware that he did not have any idea of my previous experiences, but it fueled my anger against male overconfidence just the same. 

At this point we had completely stopped what we were doing, and I was putting my clothes back on. Neither of us seemed to be interested in hooking up anymore. I was still outraged, and he hurt in his ego. A couple years earlier I would not have spoken up. I would have sat there embarrassed and filled to the brim with insecurities. Most likely I also would have felt like I had done something wrong. But I wasn’t in the wrong and what I was communicating to him wasn’t a personal attack either. I told him that his perception was wrong and that I very much knew what I liked and what I didn’t. He seemed surprised at that statement and truthfully, a little intimidated. And don’t get me wrong, being told for the first time that the person you are being intimate with doesn’t enjoy what you are doing and prefers something else will make you feel quite self-conscious. But when we put our ego aside, having someone tell us exactly what they like (and we consent to doing it) is the best way to ensure that both people are having a good experience. And that is, after all, what being intimate with someone is all about. 

It should be a respectful, consensual experience that everyone participating enjoys. And that can only be achieved through communication. 

Especially as women it can take us time to embrace our own sexuality and feel comfortable in it. Female sexuality is still a topic that is not openly talked about and that continues to be shamed and banned into the “private” sphere. As Simone de Beauvoir wrote: “women’s entire history has been written by men (…) whether Earth, Mother or Goddess, she was never a peer for man; her power asserted itself beyond human rule: she was thus outside of this rule. Society has always been male”. Woman has been othered, shunned and controlled ever since civilization has taken on its form. It has been normalized to exclude women from essential parts of society. Her sexuality was threatening. After all it is she who has the power to give life, to create and this strength was watered down into something that made her appear weak to a male-run society. Female sexuality thus has always been tightly controlled. If she has never been touched, she is pure, but a prude. She is no equal for man. If she engages in sex freely, she is a slut, she is therefore, worthless and once again she is no equal for man. 

There are so many social conditions we have subconsciously accepted and made our own that we are often not even aware of the stigma we internalized. As I was growing up conversations about how sex worked were normalized in sexual education. We learned about our periods, how condoms worked, and what sexually transmitted infections and diseases were. But while the boys would joke around about watching porn and masturbating, us girls would sit in quiet embarrassment. No one made it normal for us to claim our bodies and to explore our sexuality. 

No matter what learning about your own body looks like, I firmly believe that exploring our own pleasure without another person is the most effective way of achieving that. Masturbating for the first time was a little scary for me. I felt awkward and truthfully, a little ashamed and I deeply hated that I felt like that. But once I overcame those initial feelings, I realized that I had discovered a completely new side to myself. Giving into female pleasure and celebrating it was the closest I have ever come to a truly spiritual experience. 

Before I explored my own sexuality, the situation on the couch would have felt as if my pleasure lay in his hands. I would have felt like I was asking for too much or like I was embarrassing him. Thankfully, in that moment I knew that I was the one in control of my sexuality. If I hadn’t claimed it before, I probably would not have spoken up or told him what I preferred. 

So, thank God I did, because as most of us will know - bad sex sucks. 

And now let me hear your thoughts! Do you feel confident setting boundaries in intimate relations as well as in exploring your own body? Maybe we can share what helped us being confident in our own skin :)