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True Story: I’m Never Having Penis-In-Vagina Sex Again

True Story: I’m Never Having Penis-In-Vagina Sex Again

I am done with penis.

I knew I was finished with it years ago, but, stupidly, I kept holding out as if I just hadn’t found The One True Penis — say, one that glittered or was bent upwards at the perfect angle. But penis-in-vagina was such a simple go-to when I wanted to have sex! Sometimes, I would pull him into bed with me so fast that even I thought I wanted him inside me. But then, no matter how eager and considerate the lover or great the dick, my arousal would sputter a few minutes after he was in. It was like dumping ice cubes on my vagina.

Thats why I’m swearing off cock–or more particularly, penile penetration. I’ve tried all kinds of things to get penis-in-vagina sex to work for me: large cocks and small cocks, silicone and flesh, bent at different angles and attached to all genders of bodies. I’ve put on blindfolds in order to narrow my sensation to just to what was between my legs and had some of the most talented people I could find manipulate my g-spot. All to no avail.

I’m done feeling broken. Never again will I have a penis inside me. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up penis.

Conventional wisdom says that, if you’re straight (or mostly straight) and don’t want your partner’s genitals inside you, you’re either dreaming of a hyper-sterilized sex act that denies the reality of bodily fluids, or in really deep in denial about your latent homosexuality. But conventional wisdom just stops at straight and gay, and doesn’t take into account my actual desires. I get the most turned on when I think about men’s nipples and pecs, asses, bellies and penises — just not when they’re in my vagina. I love the feel of a penis in my mouth or in my hands. It’s just when the same penis is in my vagina, nothing happens.

Unfortunately, its this kind of thing that can be stunningly hard to articulate to a partner because the very concept of “sex” being more than penis-in-vagina is hard for most people to grasp.

Once, in college, I told the fat guy that I was sleeping with that I loved having sex with him and he gave me a shocked look. Later, he explained that it wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed the night before, but that in his opinion, going down on me wasn’t “sex.” Amused, I told him I got laid, but he didn’t. Later still, when I began to meet people who made it their mission in life to help others realize their most outlandish sexual fantasies, I found that sticking something “in there” was still considered the coup de grâce. What happened to the sex positive idea that there was more than one way to get laid?

So, what sex-without-penetration could look like? Often, BDSM events abide by the “no sex” rule. I’ve heard that the rule is in place so that whoever runs the space can’t be charged with keeping a brothel (the vice squad will theoretically not bother to work out whether you paid the party fee for the dungeon furniture or the person you’re fucking on said furniture). But other times, it seems to be based on the assumption that the usual in-and-out is merely a distraction from the purity of Dom and Sub, floggers and clothespins. And, of course, there are rare fetishes that redefine the main event in sex to be anything from slipping on a latex onesie to getting scaroused at the thought of a balloon popping.

But none of these examples make me feel brave. Some of it is just plain old fear of rejection. After all, how many people can there really be out there who will feel sexually satisfied without the tried and true intimacy of being inside someone? I’m fighting an uphill battle against the idea that things like spooning and humping can’t be mind-blowing because they aren’t “real sex.”

Attempting to re-define sex opens up Pandora’s box of how certain acts define what’s important in a relationship. What happens when the magic intimacy act isn’t a partner putting something inside you, but stripping naked and listening to them drink water? Walking by thirsty marathon runners would suddenly become hazardous. What about if it turns one person on, but not the other? Then you have a consent violation on your hands.

This kind of thinking shows exactly how foolish it is to define sex by a single act, rather than by how it makes you and your partner feel. And this is why I’m committed to boycotting cock. I must dig in and fight against the creeping thoughts that say I should just lay back and do what’s easy, because I already know that it only results in the same dull frustration of my vagina. Instead, I need to listen to my body, selfish bitch that she can be, because life is too short to cheat myself of real orgasms…even if it takes a whole package of Oreos to get there.

[Photo from Shutterstock]

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