Sex is better than any drug

I am great in bed.

When most people classify themselves as good in bed, they usually mean to intimate they are skilled at pleasuring their partner. That somehow, if you were in a bizarre situation where you must chose a sexual partner from a line up, they should rank higher than the next dude because of experience. I think it's supposed to be a turn on, since it's unlikely to be a fact based on unbiased scientific observation.

This is not at all what I mean.

I am great in bed. Namely, because I am completely and utterly myself. Having sex is like the absolute pinnacle of life somehow (and not in the middle school film strip way teachers mean, though it can be that too I guess. Me, I use condoms.). I am wholly connected to my body, this moment, this planet. I am nothing but the experience. I am euphoric. I am the best version of me there is.

Having an orgasm is the only instance where nothing else exists. No worries, no thoughts, not even a body to be self conscious about. Suddenly it's everything and nothing. Huge and unspeakable. Awe inspiring and mind blowing. Limitless and clear. Like drowning, but more fleeting.

I hope this is what being in space feels like. In my image laden mind, it is what I wish being in a star trek transporter beam is like - everywhere and nowhere, with lots of sparkly tingly world-swallowing calm.

But, this all encompassing intimate release comes with some draw backs (for other people).

It means I can be selfish in bed sometimes. 8 years of doing it on my own before I cracked the seal means I know what I am doing and can be slightly, ahem, direct.

It is insanely addictive and can become a hobby more than an occasional pleasantry.

It also means every neighbour I have ever had hates my guts.

Absolute release and perfect zen freedom, does not come with a mute button.

And it is fucking loud sometimes. Like screaming. You should try it sometime, it's the most amazing feeling.

(as a side note, I am incredibly self conscious when visiting friends and relatives. If I have ever had sex while you are within half a mile, I am bound to behave by a combination of religious shame and emotional guilt (and the grossness). Don't be afraid. But do note, this is also why I am always crabby and intolerant at social gatherings of longer than 3 days. I'm in withdrawl.)

Anyway, my point was, this full body-less experience that I think is what the milky way would feel if it had feelings (and vocal chords), is just sort of part of the deal.

I'm not giving up my 30 second interludes of pure bliss - I have to deal with the rest of the world as soon as I come to. Not for crabby old ladies or your stupid dog. Leave me the fuck alone and buy ear plugs. I'll just pretend it never happened anyway.


But i am not so cold hearted as all that. I do feel bad about it. I do consciously take notice when the neighbours are out, and always go to bed early if I need attention. I am careful.

Which brings us to last night.

We'd had a fight. We made up. In the wee hours of the morning, it turns into make up sex all fumbling in the dark. And just as I was full throttle and seeing stars (for the first time in A WEEK mind you), I started roaring like a banshee. Not on purpose, but then, not entirely un-on-purpose as releasing inhibitions includes any regard for other human life.

Looking back on it, I'm pretty sure he leaned in closer in a conspiratorial whisper, thinking we'd both giggle and snuggle all connected in this accidental faux pas.

But the second the "shhhh" shattered my beautifully unconscious mind I was many things, but not assuaged and and certainly no longer sexy. Mostly angry, hurt, horrified, ashamed, guilty, dirty and betrayed (I've had all day to think about it).

I instantly shoved him away and started sobbing. I have never felt so disgusting.

I have also never realised quite how big a deal it is for me. To be me. To be accepted. To be allowed to let go and yet feel so connected. To have someone love me just as I am (embarrassing as that can be) and then to feel like it was ripped away from me.


It was a complete misunderstanding, and we're fine now. But part of me is still shocked at how raw I was. I guess being that open, intense sorrow is as intoxicating as intense pleasure.

But it was fucking weird. And from now on, I am keeping sex like that for before midnight when it can bother nobody (much) and I can scream til the cows come home, just the way we both like it.