Recently – while dissecting a morning fuck over breakfast crêpes – I thanked my fuck buddy for the glorious head he’d given me. His response surprised me. He told me that he thought that I needed oral sex that morning, that I needed to lie back (or sit on his face) and let him pleasure me. He was right, it was exactly what I needed – but I’m not good at lying back and ‘accepting’ oral.
Content warning: discussion of mental illness and body dissociation.
In January, I noticed I’d stopped taking my knickers off during sex. And it wasn’t – or not solely – because my arse looks fantastic in pretty lace. It’s because I was scared of touching my cunt, scared of my partners touching my cunt. The thin cotton gave me a layer of protection from not only direct contact, but also expectations. The expectation that I would get wet, the expectation that I wanted my cunt to be touched, the expectation that any touch would be pleasurable.
Keeping my knickers on during sex meant that I could pretend that my cunt didn’t exist. Increasingly, I’ve been disconnected from my own body, seeing my own cunt as almost alien. It stemmed from my vaginismus I think – becoming more aware of what’s “wrong” with my body* while not actually having any professional support essentially led me to vagina-vulva dissociation. And thus I didn’t want to touch my cunt, or even acknowledge it.
*It’s important to note that there is nothing wrong with my body – or yours, if you have vaginismus. I simply have a ridiculously strong pelvic floor that makes vaginal penetration impossible for the moment. However, I’m using this terminology to show how I’ve been thinking about my body until this point.
It’s not that my partners have ever pushed me or made me feel uncomfortable – about the fact that I can’t have PIV (penis-in-vagina) sex or that I didn’t want to take my knickers off. They’ve accepted my boundaries and we worked around them and fucked with enthusiasm. My mental illness has left me struggling with all fucking recently, but it wasn’t until I realised that I’d only take my knickers off for an especially hard caning that I realised that something might be up.
Even during my own masturbation I stopped taking my knickers off – but it took me a while to realise that this was also due to a level of discomfort with my own cunt. I love coming: I am greedy for orgasms, but the easiest way for me to come is for me to lie on my front with my Doxy jammed against my clit. The Doxy is so powerful that it’s normal for me to ‘dull’ the vibrations a little by pressing the wand against my clit through my knickers, so it wasn’t until I was assigned masturbation homework that I realised that my orgasms had become almost clinical.
I wasn’t enjoying jerking off for fun anymore – I was touching myself with the aim of coaxing my body towards a climax, but while the orgasm itself felt good I’d stopped touching my cunt or teasing my ass or pinching my nipples while I squirmed on top of the vibrator. And my wanking has always been fun – an exploration of pleasure and my own body, and delight I take in it – until it wasn’t. When did it stop being that?
So if I stop ignoring the fact that I’ve become deeply uncomfortable with my own cunt, it’s easy to explain why I haven’t been up for oral recently. Pleasure is far more than just orgasms, and the sex I’ve been having (even with my knickers on) has been full of pleasure and laughter. Fucking has still been fun – life is too short for bad sex, and the sex I have is fucking brilliant. But it has been, in recent months, more focussed on my partner’s genitals than usual.
There’s nothing un-feminist about sucking your partners dick. There’s nothing wrong with loving getting your face fucked. A lot of oral and hand sex featuring in my sex with folks with penises, while I don’t want them to touch my cunt, doesn’t make me a “bad queer”. But it’s been harder to be vulnerable. To let them give me pleasure. To switch off and submit to the sensations.
Since I started vagina therapy, things have got a bit better. I can now let partners touch my cunt without twitching in anticipation of pain, though I do have to force myself to relax. In some ways that might be harder – ordering myself to relax while wondering if my body has always reacted like this. Is this a new thing? Is it normal to be worrying about how long your partner will want to eat your cunt instead of finding it pleasurable?
So yes, I’ve been avoiding direct, all-focus-on-me pleasure sex – but my fuck buddy knew that I needed oral sex and gave me exactly what I needed.
“I didn’t think that telling you would help.” he continued, as I stared at him, a forkful of Nutella-slathered crêpe half-way to my mouth. “I was pretty sure that’s what you needed, but if I’d asked you then you’d have said no.”
He was right: I would have. So while he asked if I would sit on his face, he didn’t tell me what he was thinking. I moaned and shifted position, and tried to focus on the fact that it should feel good… until it actually started to feel good. Yes, I was already planning what we’d do next, and how long we had to fuck before my body would start demanding food and medication, but he tongued my cunt with a delicious eagerness.
When I told him that I was getting cramp in my legs from kneeling over his face – thinking we could switch positions and I could go back to teasing his cock – he just flipped us over and kept eating me out. He gave me head that I couldn’t help but giving over to, and surrendering to just feeling the wonderful things he did to me with his mouth.
Sex with my fuck-buddy always leaves me happy, but this time was different. This time he’d given me exactly what I needed: specifically oral sex and then breakfast crêpes. Sitting next to him in the cool early morning, I felt more at ease with my own body than I had for a long time. And it wasn’t until I felt that tension lift – leaving my body as his tongue flicked against my clit – that I realised how good it felt to let that tension go.
It’s wonderful to have someone who knows you and your body almost better than you do.
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Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.