The Unbearable Pressure to Penetrate

I have always deemed myself to be pretty good with taking criticism or rejection in bed.

But when a date’s getting really hot and heavy and a new partner moves my hand away from the zip of their jeans, it can be hard not to take it personally.

Did I move too soon?

Did I misread how hot things had begun to feel?

Or maybe something about me just doesn’t have them in the mood for s-x yet.

 

A younger me, with far less access to s-x-neutral content, would have probably given up and let the spark die down at that very second. “He clearly doesn’t want me,” I’d tell myself, “and I should just pause this before I humiliate myself any more.”

 

Maybe the night would then end there. Or maybe I’d try again, receive a rejection of my wandering hand one more time, and pull back from the discomfort of having made my desires known twice. Maybe I’d shyly claim I wasn’t feeling too well, and we’d cuddle and fall asleep or jump straight to booking myself a cab home.

All of these are things I have done before. In panic, in complete embarrassment, and sometimes even with a touch of self-hate.

“What were you thinking?”
“Can’t believe you thought a hot make out meant s-x”

It took me at least 3-4 encounters with moments like these before I finally stopped to think, “what if these men were trying to share something with me, and I closed the door on that and made it all about myself instead?”

When I did finally muster the courage to ask (admittedly only after we both had a few beers in us and all eye contact had been severely compromised), the men in my life gave me answers that were nowhere close to where I thought they would go.

One told me he enjoyed oral play far more than any penetrative acts, and that he was worried I’d be disappointed if he didn’t immediately get up to grab a condom.

One told me he wasn’t too happy with how long he lasted in bed, and was hoping to spoil me first so I wouldn’t feel dissatisfied later.

Another told me penetration was painful for him, and that he was trying to assess how I would react if he simply used his hands instead.

And another simply said, "It's just so difficult for me to have sex at night! I feel tired and groggy and I don’t really want to stress about getting it up and staying hard at that hour. But if you had stayed for breakfast, I was hoping to pamper you then.”

Different men, different ages and identities, different libidos and desires.

And yet I was only half right when I assumed that my being the only common factor meant that I was the problem.

I mean, I was. But the issue was not about my looks or my moves, but had instead been my limited curiosity and my fixed expectations for sexual intimacy. Had I been open enough to see how they expressed their attractions in their own unique ways, we might have seen each other with so  much more clarity during our time together.

And yet, this default state of progression from making out to penetrative play with oral as a quick ‘detour’ or pitstop, is incredibly common. I have heard women complain about their one night stand’s d-ck sizes, gay men around me have criticised their dates or abandoned their dating app matches simply because ‘two bottoms can’t be together’, and far too many stories exist of us all mixing alcohol with date nights only to then act surprised when that alcohol causes interruptions or changes to the ways in which we wanted sex.

But would intimacy be as disappointing or confusing if we did not make penetrative play the central act?

What value would we assign to a handsy evening of half-naked cuddles or to men who may not want to take their pants off but were absolute wizards with their fingers?

Between occasional dryness, mood changes, positional preferences and gym injuries, I have plenty of moments where I desire sexual intimacy without it necessarily implying penetration. Shouldn’t more people have the space to identify that desire and name it as it is, besides people with vulv-s or people who are labelled as ‘receivers’ in bed?

What do we stand to gain in relationships and s-x when we take a moment to see each other for our actual desires instead of subjecting each other and ourselves to scripts that only lead to tension, guilt and disappointment?

When it comes to taking rejection with grace in the bedroom, I know now that it’s not just about staying present or warm even when someone says no to me.

It’s also about staying open to the endless possibilities of what my partners may be in the mood for, or may not desire in that moment.

It’s about keeping s-x playful and flexible enough so my partners can simply redirect my touch or gently change our pace without feeling the discomfort of having to harshly say no to me. 

We all know how hard it is to hear the word No in the bedroom. Maybe it’s time we learn to respect that having to hear yourself say it is pretty hard too. Maybe what we really owe each other is not just the opportunity for enthusiastic Yes’s, but one where soft No’s can be shared without inviting guilt, shame and performance anxieties into our beds.