By Lana Louise

Sometimes, people, you’ve got to objectify your partner just a little bit. Allow me to explain.

I’ve always thought of sex as a type of conversation– between bodies instead of voices. This beautiful, hilarious, sweaty, physical exchange of ideas and sensations where hands and mouths take the place of words for a few delicious hours. I was pretty lucky early on with partners, for the most part [coughs loudly, motions head towards that one guy who tried to play me a Jack Johnson song on my guitar after a mediocre one night stand—he was politely asked to leave]. A lot of my first experiences were with guys I really trusted and cared about. Sex can be a really cool shared experience that is less about body parts and orgasms and more about exploration and unexpected giggles. This type of connection is awesome, of course, and should be taken full advantage of, midterms be damned, when it occasionally manages to wriggle itself into your life. But the last couple years I’ve realized some bits and pieces… some surprisingly helpful lessons from bad sex and break ups that I think I never could have stumbled upon if I hadn’t found myself in bed with someone that I no longer really cared about or respected. It’s not a pretty way to learn, so I’ll attempt to share a couple things, maybe spare y’all the trouble.

Disclaimer: this particular ramble is going to be mostly about hetero sex. Apologies and promises to write about the homo stuff soon (Let the record state that I’m a huge fan of both). Now then, here we go. Let’s say you’re one of the two thirds of women who can’t get off from penetration alone (TWO THIRDS!!! NEVER FORGET THAT NUMBER, LADIES!). In the midst of that loving, affectionate sex, the kind I mentioned earlier, it can feel a bit weird to make demands sometimes. Because you’re doing this thing together, you know? But you overcome that, you have the conversation, you both work together to get each other off. It’s a bit difficult to come sometimes because you’re thinking about it too much and you’re both in this moment working together and you want it to happen, and you don’t always get there, but in general things are hearts and flowers and la di da.

Now perhaps your average thoughtful, politically correct, sex positive writer is going through a very nasty year long break up. Details spared (you’re welcome). Lets further hypothesize that during aforementioned shitty year-long separation she madly attempts to hump anything and everything besides the ex, and while succeeding occasionally in getting laid, in terms of actual good hard sweaty satisfaction there is Nothing. Even. Close.

So [cue scary “Nooooooooo, don’t go in there!!” horror movie music]… well… she humps the ex. Boy, does she ever. But I was so pissed and disconnected that somehow this guy that I was sharing this experience with suddenly became this body—this arrangement of muscles and sweat and tan skin and body parts which existed for my physical satisfaction. Screw your meaningful connection, asshole, I’m trying to get off! And I found myself able to take charge in this whole new way. I’ve always been sort of switchy in bed (kinkspeak for sometimes toppish, sometimes bottomish—but you knew that); no trouble taking charge of what was going on. But even as I threw a guy around on some level it had always been in an effort to create a mood for both of us. Since all the guys I’ve been with loved it when I orgasmed, it had always been this shared experience that we both found hot. I didn’t realize until that evil, emotionally fucked up sex with he-who-shall-not-be-named that I’d never really just used a guy before. He was like this life-sized, moving, breathing device. Best dildo ever! And then the craziest thing happened. I started having more orgasms than I’d ever had in my life. The universe has a fucked up sense of humor sometimes, and who knew that all along knowing in the back of my head that the guy wanted me to get off was making me think about it too much, putting this pressure on that actually made it harder for me (ha.). I stopped giving a shit about his ego boost and just took care of my damn self with this man-sized doll underneath me and I did whatever it took. Masturbate all over him (and not the fake kind where you’re trying to make it look hot and let it feel good kind of at the same time—I mean good, old fashioned, epileptic-puppy-humping-a-couch getting OFF), flip him over, shove his face between your legs, whatever. I’d had sex that looked like that before, but there was always a part of my head thinking ooh, I bet it will look hot if I do this next. Now I was just doing it because I fucking wanted to. And I’m telling you, it was awesome.

So lets step back for a second. Lots of orgasms: good. Break-up induced, emotionally disconnected hate sex: not so good. How to extract the gasps and sighs from the… um, from the gasps and sighs (you know what I mean). The answer is—well, I’m working on it. I’ve dated a few guys since then and it’s better and better. I’m sleeping with someone right now, and I’m gaining respect for him as an increasingly interesting human being, but I haven’t forgotten how to put that aside from time to time when we’re in bed. One thing I’ve realized: guys do this shit all the time. They have this heroin-crack of hormones, testosterone, slamming up against their brain screaming “Boobs! Hump!! Must get off!! Put dick in girl and get offff!!!” They actually have to override that urge in order to be good in bed.

So lets take a little bit of column A and a little bit of column B… Like I said, objectify him a little bit. I think as women—even independent, powerful, modern women– we’re sometimes so eager to create these egalitarian connections with our partners that we lose sight of that fuck-it-I’m-getting-mine, one night stand type mindset. Lets bring that shit back. Run your hands along his shoulders not because it feels good or because you’re supposed to, but because they are large and bulging and look like they could lift heavy things.

When you’re riding bikes and talking about music, he’s a good companion. When you’re driving up the coast splitting a joint, he’s a friend. Maybe when you’re kissing on a rooftop, he’s a lover that you’re growing feelings for. Care about this new guy, get him off, communicate… But sometimes? When you’re all naked and sweaty and the sheets are on the floor… sometimes he’s just a gigantic, delicious, boy-flavored sex toy. Fuck your conversation—I’m trying to get me some!