Enough.

My entire life, I feel like I have lived with different levels of sexual dysfunction. And while research has assured me that my level of dysfunction isn’t exactly abnormal, the entertainment industry has led me to believe that it is, in fact, not normal. And in my 27 years of being sexually active, my situation hasn’t actually gotten any better.

In fact... it's only gotten worse.

The Past

Having the inability to climax through penetration alone, is something that men eventually learn is a “thing”. Maybe they are blessed with a woman who can orgasm from only penetration, or they are blessed with a woman who is willing to fake it for them. But for the most part, I think men understand that 60+ percent of women can’t and that the universal solution is to put in more work on the front end, or the back end, in order to get her across that line. 

But my reality is that sometimes I just can’t, no matter what effort is put into it.

Orgasming for me, has always required a little extra work. And through the years, I started noticing that it eventually started needing A LOT of extra work. 

You know that earth shattering, knees-weak-arms-are-heavy high, that people describe after mind-blowing orgasms? I’ve never had that. Ever. Don't get me wrong, I’ve orgasmed… but never anything I needed to write home to mom about, ya know? When comparing my orgasms to electricity (as people so often do), there isn’t an electricity surge that knocks out all of the electronics in the building. Instead, it’s more like a small shock you get from pulling static-y towels out of the dryer. 

I identified the downhill trend my orgasms were seemingly on years ago and decided I needed to know why. So I gave it a lot of thought and did a little research. One question played through my mind… “If my orgasms aren’t as strong as everyone describes them to be, and if it takes a lot of extra work for me to even get there, why would I want to chase them?” 

And that question eventually led to this, which turned out to be the only question that really mattered… “If orgasm isn’t the 'goal'… then why even have sex at all?” 

Ugh... that's preposterous right? Humans LIKE sex. And as immature as this sounds, I instinctually knew the answer… I wanted to feel wanted. 

The reality is, I have lived my entire life deeply believing that I am not enough. 

I am not pretty enough.

I am not small enough.

I am not nice enough.

I am not adventurous enough. 

…I am not enough. 

But... when I've found myself being pursued for sex, I realized this person has to see something that is "enough"… right? Or else why would they be there? 

And THAT is what I realized I craved. I craved that hunger… that thirst… that passion… that moment when they rip off your clothes because they can’t wait to be inside you. Why? Because “out of everyone they considered… they picked ME!” 

... enter southern accent...

“Oh lucky me! A real man wants me!” "I am the luckiest girl in the whole wide world!""I can die now, because I have achieved my life goal of being wanted, by a MAN! Oh boy!"

🙄

But now, at 42, I have to face an uncomfortable truth. And it’s very hard to put to words and admit out loud… but here it is. That “Oh, lucky me!” mentality has resulted in a lifetime of making sexual decisions based solely on the impossibility of being “chosen” … and has had very little to do with me, choosing them, in return. 

And because being “chosen” was the deciding factor on the gameshow "Should I, or Shouldn't I?"...  the need to chase that mind-blowing orgasm, got smaller and smaller. To the point where now, I’m not even sure it exists. 

Side Note: I want to admit that "being chosen" may not have been the only thing I ever wanted. I think there’s a very real possibility that it’s simply what I settled for, in the absence of knowing any other option.

So, I’ve never chased orgasms. Instead, I chased what I knew was possible. And for the last 27 years, that has been good enough. Every time I have sex, I achieve my goal and I couldn’t care less if I actually climaxed. That’s not what I was in it for, after all.

This practice eventually resulted in me telling my husband that I didn’t really need it every time. I told him I would let him know if I wanted to, but until then rest assured that I’m getting exactly what I want. And his reaction? Well, after asking me a dozen times if I was “sure” (to which I emphatically said I was), he accepted it and stopped just short of rejoicing that all he had to worry about was his pleasure moving forward. And on the rare occasions that I do want a little help, he dutifully lies on his side, one elbow on the bed, his head resting in his hand, while his other hand awaits direction. There’s no kiss. Not a single lick. No savoring the site of me. No other effort is given beyond staring out the window and doing the same thing he does every other time I've asked for help.... to get me there as quickly as humanly possible.

Do you know what doesn’t help? It doesn’t help believing that your husband is doing it out of obligation instead of for the love of watching you fall apart at his touch, or because he lives to make you happy, or because he will do anything to give pleasure to the woman he loves. But, out of obligation. And once you believe that obligation is his driving factor? Well, it all seems just a little impossible after that.

And I repeat... it doesn’t matter how nice of a guy he is. If you set an expectation with a man, that you don’t need that…. they rejoice. Maybe not externally, but for sure internally. Because sex has now become a pleasure center for him and him alone. 

I mean… who wouldn’t want that?

Now

… a woman. That’s who.

And this is the realization I have come to after just a few weeks with her. She doesn’t want that. I can literally feel her sadness in my chest, when she tries only to realize that it’s not going to happen right now. When she sees the fear in my eyes and she instinctually understands the very thing that every man has missed throughout my life.

I am in panic mode.

The panic is palpable. I can feel my heart start to race, my breathing getting deeper, and my legs clinching together involuntarily. (And not in the way one would typically experience these emotions, given the situation.)

I am frightened. I am worried. I am scared to death that I am about to let down the most incredible human I have ever known, and that she will leave me because I’m complicated.

I have spent my life training my body not to want this. I have trained my mind to desire my partner’s need and nothing more. But is that truly all that I desire? Or is it just a coping mechanism? And if it’s a coping mechanism, what is it I am trying to cope with? 

I don’t know. But as I write this I have to wonder… has my subconscious been trying to cope with my belief that all I need in this world is to be chosen by a man… when truly all I have ever needed… was her? 

Again… I don’t know. But what I do know is that now, I have her and I want to give her every single piece of me. But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to get where she wants to take me. I don’t know how to quiet the storm in my mind. And the fear that she will feel stuck with what’s left of me after all this time, is overwhelming. And the thought that she would consider leaving me because of it? It breaks me. 

For whatever reason, years of sexual dysfunction has resulted in some very fucked up hardwiring in my brain. And despite my STRONG desire to give this insanely beautiful woman everything she has ever wanted… I believe, on a cellular level, the only thing that matters right now, is this.

I am not enough. 

And I’m going to lose her, because of it.