You’re good at sex, aren’t you, Dear Reader? You have heard, first hand, the phrase fuck, yeah, fuck, oh god yeah, fuck, yeaaaaah, no, fuck no, no, n-n-n-no, fuck, fuck, no, stop, sto-sto-stop, no don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop, fuck, yes, yes, no, yes, yesyesyesyesssssss, nooooo, oooooh eowwwww, urgh! or at least something that aproximates to it. And that phrase has told you you are good at sex.
There’s reasonably good chance that on more than one occasion, as you eased your hand between someone’s thighs, they begged you to Do XXX to me! or something like that. Why would they say that if you weren’t, at the very least, a proficient practicioner of XXX? Yes, you are good at sex.
(Just on the off chance you’ve never hear either of these phrases, you should probably know you’re not necussarily crqp at sex. It could be that your partner is sexually repressed … like my Wife has proved herself to be for most of our marriage … and are just silent whilst you bounce mindlessly up and down on them. Of course, even my Wife has had some orgasms loud and profane enough to drive the woman next door to contemplate buying a Lelo, and has, albeit rarely, begged “Fuck me hard and deep!” … and then attempted to depress the neighbors with Her volume when I did. So maybe you are just bad at sex. Get some practice. Read a book. Hire an escort to teach you. Ask your mum what constitutes a really good fuck. Anything. Just get better. For your own sake.) Anyway, I digress.
So what makes you good at sex?
I read a book recently [by a male author], where a [female] character says “People who like sex are usually pretty good at it” [Ed: Are the respective genders significant? I’m not sure? Possibly.] And I think there is probably some truth in that.
You know where the buttons are, and you know both when and how to press them. You’re able to read the flashing legends above the buttons that indicate when to press them harder or faster. As for twisting knobs, well, you can come up with a smutty euphemism for that, Dear Smut Goblin. 😉
Even when your thighs are as limp as they are soaked with your own orgasmic discharge, and your brain is as flooded with endorphins as your partners crotch is with the aforementioned discharge, even then, Dear Accomplished Fucker, you have the presence of mind not to give any credence to the phrase I’m fine. You know, no matter how benevolent your fuckee, that what I’m fine really means is ok, you’ve got yours, I can tell that because I can feel your discharge is cooling as it trickles down my arse crack, and that really is absolutely FINE, but I should’t need to prompt you to get your head down there to lick me clean and get YOUR face covered in MY orgasmic discharge. [Ed: We’ve all been there. On both sides of the fence!] You know that when your partner utters those 2 self destructive words, that you need to do a little extra work. And because you understand that, 5 or 10 minutes later you’re wiping your partners orgasmic discharge from your grinning face.
There will be times when you’re tired, and just need to get some rest. But you’re good, so when you feel you partners fingers worming their unwelcome way into your underwear, you know to put out, even if you’re not in the mood. For the sake of your partner, fake it, be enthusiastic, sacrifice. When you’re knelt between your partners thighs, your mouth filled with their bits, your jaw aching and your tongue screaming with cramp, you know to look up into their eyes and smile like you mean it.
You get off on them getting off. Your mouth may be stuffed so full with their genitals you wonder whether a health-and-safety assessment form could be justified by the choking hazard, or you know the impending trip to hospital with a badly sprained wrist will inevitably involve a wry look from the nurse because she can smell the sex on you. But the pleasure you had as your partners orgasmic profanities tore you ear drums apart was unquestionably greater than theirs, and well worth the fact that you’ll only know this now if they write it down for you.
Maybe you don’t particularly like getting fucked up the arse. Maybe you are one of those poor soles for whom buggery is genuinely uncomfortable. But you’ll happily bury your face in the pillow and squeal like a delighted pig because you know your partner is in their element.
Or maybe it’s just the little things that say you’re good. The way they snuggle into your neck as your minds and sweat simultaneously chill. Or the way they rest a hand on your arse for no good reason when your prudish sister-in-law might just catch a glimpse. Or how you never need to restock the bedside drawer with condoms, because they take care of that. All these things tell you that they want to fuck you. For you to fuck them. And for them to want that, there is one inalienable truth – you are good at sex.