This blog doesn’t use my name. I don’t mention my posts on my Facebook. I refer to my husband by a nondescript letter, much like in a Victor Hugo book. I find this awkward and an odd way to relate these issues to the cyber world.
For one thing, I’m completely comfortable talking about sex. It has never bothered me. Even in our most conservative circles of friends, I am at ease sharing stories or giggling about moments shared. The issue, at least so far, has never been about a fear of me talking about sex.
A worry about the other individual’s comfort with sex shuts me up. And makes me scared to share about this blog to people I know in real life. It is impossible to predict how people will respond to stories and reflections on sex. Some of the most liberal people I know assume a posture of absolute horror at the mere mention of a sex toy. They bristle at the thought of someone else’s happy orgasms.
Why is that? After all, we are all having sex! Even those who postpone intercourse are sexual creatures and know what it is like to want sex, imagine sex, self-sex, and probably porn it up.
I’ve heard this isn’t so in other cultures. When I lived in a fairly conservative middle eastern country for a few months, I found the appearance of modesty to be in vivid contrast to the discussion of the women I knew. Under their hijab, they were sexual tigers. We put all our secrets out on the table, laughed and joked about experience, etc.
So I don’t believe americans who claim that our puritanical background has something to do with our discomfort. What could it be that makes us so scared to admit we are animals? What could it be that makes us nervous to be ourselves?
We may never know. But I do know it’s not helpful. Pretending my husband and I never touch only contributes to a society that cannot embrace healthy touch. Never discussing sex leads to a society that both idealizes and fears sex. To know anything at all about it, one needs to explore and since poor resources exist experimentation is the logical next step. Any sex had following is bound to disappoint in a world of porn, romantic comedies, and odd blog entries like this one.
I’ll say it first, if it makes you more comfortable. I have sex. A lot. Like five to ten times a week. Not always on my bed. Not always in my house. Usually with my husband.
I masterbate. Every day usually. With a sex toy. Sometimes watching porn. Sometimes I chat on a phone sex line if I’m feeling lonely.
We are human. We have sex.
So speak up about it.