2. Don’t devote too much time to sex: all lovers come and go. Women pride themselves on ‘making things work,’ but sometimes relationships should be allowed to die.
3. Sex just gets better—and better and better. If you’re already having a blast in the bedroom, then yee-hah! If things are a tad more ‘meh,’ have patience, my friend. Legions of women take a while to get into their sexual stride—but once they do, there’s no stopping them …
4. Beware of oxytocin, the post-coital bonding hormone. Great sex and great love are different things.
5. These days there’s a good deal of performance pressure arising from the ubiquity of porn. This may be up your street or it may not. Consult Makelovenotporn.com for some food for thought.
6. Regarding penises: enormous ones may require sturdier condoms, advanced pelvic-floor skills and telling him to calm the f**k down (not that chaps tend to mind a woman gasping, ‘It’s just SO HUGE.’)
7. Cystitis is the bane of many a twenty-something existence. Try not to be too drunk and dehydrated when you do it. If that’s too tricky, take super-high-dose cranberry pills before, after, next morning and next day. Wash after sex and insist he is hygienic. Persuade your GP that you can be trusted with your own stock of antibiotics.
8. Most importantly, ENJOY.
‘I wish … I’d accepted my imperfections,’ says Alissa Nutting, author of controversial new novel Tampa
I used to believe that every detail of my body needed to be perfect if I was going to hook up with someone. I thought my legs and underarms had to be freshly shaved, my skin devoid of spots, my body in the greatest physical shape of my life. Never did I ask myself if I had the same high standards for my potential partner, although I most certainly didn’t.
Eventually I came to see the ridiculousness of this. Imagine getting the keys to a Ferrari, but refusing to drive it because there’s a bit of dirt on the bumper. Or worse, driving the Ferrari and failing to enjoy it because you’re so worried about imperfections that have nothing at all to do with the ride. Sex is about pleasure, not about scrutinising flaws.
Any mental energy you spend on being self-conscious is brainpower that could be going towards building up to an amazing orgasm. It actually wasn’t until I specifically told myself that the goal of sex was reaching bliss that I realised something scary: my previous goal—the goal that had me checking myself repeatedly in the mirror and putting clothes back on the moment we were done—wasn’t about having fun. It was about seeking acceptance through the physical approval of another person.
Acknowledging my own worth and beauty instead of relying on others to make me feel attractive finally freed me up in the bedroom. Suddenly, I wasn’t waiting for my partners to inspect my body, or worrying what the results would be if they did—I’d already passed my own inspection with flying colours.
Tampa tells the story of a teacher seducing a schoolboy.
‘I wish … I’d known sex is a lifelong learning curve,’ says Cosmo writer Rosie Mullender
Since my first kiss at the ripe old age of eighteen, I’ve learnt a lot. After my first boyfriend pursued my virginity, then refused to bunk off work to bask in the afterglow, I realised that sex doesn’t always have the same emotional impact on men that it does on women.
My second boyfriend only wanted sex once a month. Three years on, I realised that, no matter how much you love him, without a satisfying sex life you’re basically just good friends. To convince myself I was still desirable, I tried a few flings and learnt they’re not for everybody, and that a man wanting to sleep with you and feeling wanted are very different things. And that arriving home on Christmas morning wearing a bedraggled Sexy Mrs Claus outfit will get you in big trouble with your mum.
There followed eight blissful years with a man who showed me that even if boxes on your ‘tall, dark and handsome’ wishlist go unticked, being laughed into bed is the most fun ever. That was swiftly followed by a relationship that was the exact opposite, proving even the most passionate sex means nothing if a man can’t make you laugh.
With seventeen years’ sexual experience and six working for Cosmo, you’d think I’d know it all. But I’m still learning (most recent lesson: mainlining cheese is a great distraction during a year-long sex drought).
So what I wish I’d always known is this: no matter how much you think you know about sex, there’s always plenty more to discover.
‘I wish … I’d known how to ask for what I want in bed,’ says TV presenter Cherry Healey
Firstly, I wish I’d known sex wouldn’t be like it’s depicted in Dirty Dancing. The real thing involves more bodily fluid and laughing than in movies. I also wish I hadn’t been in such a rush to pop my Cherry (sorry, couldn’t resist …).
I had a very near miss with a boy under a boat when I was fifteen, after too much Malibu, then a more favourable experience with a long-term (ie, more than a week) boyfriend at sixteen. He was lovely and it was very sweet—but still painful and definitely not ‘sexy.’
No matter how many saucy books, magazines or videos you steal from your elder brother, there’s no fast track to earth-shattering sexytime. Like anything, it’s a skill that needs both practice and a willingness to learn.
I do wish I’d asked myself, ‘What do I like?’ a little more, rather than thinking, ‘I hope he liked that …’
It took a long time (about ten years!) to work up the courage to suggest stuff in the bedroom. What I now know is that when you’re assertive, everyone wins.
And while the fantasy of bonking Patrick Swayze in a sweaty hut is great, real sex often requires tissues and a sense of humour, neither of which often features in film and TV simulations.
I’d tell my fifteen-year-old self to lay off the Malibu, expect to learn the moves gradually, and embrace the real version of sex—not waste time wondering if I was a bit rubbish.
What do you wish you’d always known about sex?