Will We Never Have the Best Sex of Our Lives?

And are we to blame?


I featured this clip in my last post about Jezebel but I wanted to bring it back because a very powerful discussion occurs during the interview, one that is hardly discussed in all of the magazines, Oprah, women friendly websites, and all of the other junk we consume on a pretty daily basis:

Lizz Winstead, thank you for addressing it. As she points out, the general feeling is that it’s not always safe to have a 100% totally free sexual life because we’re living in fear. And when asked what “we” are supposed to be afraid of, she immediately points to rape, then death.

There is no way we could deny the ultimate fate of any woman in a moment of attack. News reports and statistics always drive us to contemplate the ultimate violation, one that could take place at any time. Sure, we may think this is unlike the War on Terror (or, accurately, the War on Drugs), as both are far more driven on us believing there is something wrong versus the action taken to prevent such wrongdoing from occurring… at all.

If Winstead’s words are a reflection of the current state of women’s sex lives, then have we stifled our own sexual spirit in the process? And, if so, what have we compromised?

Quite frankly, I hadn’t started my real sexual adventure until I was a sex worker. When I was getting paid for it, somehow I believed that I had less to lose now than I had more to gain – not only will I get a nice wad of cash but I will experience a new sexual encounter. Whether it’s paid or not, a sexual encounter is a sexual encounter. It’s no different than a lover you pick up at a bar. So, for me, each new experience developed my sexuality in some shape or form, even if I didn’t necessarily choose* my partner.

But, what’s the difference between Christina the person and Christina the “sex worker”? Only difference is the money, but it heavily legitimizes my threesome with two other men, or traveling to Long Island to play dress-up with a transvestite. If I weren’t getting paid, would I have even taken the offer?

Or more importantly, would I have wanted to? If I had read a book about a young woman who spends her day in bed with two other men or entertaining a lonely crossdresser in the Hamptons, then secretly I would have wished to live her life. I would have given a toe or pinky finger to have such adventures. Consider The Story of O or Tipping the Velvet. These are the sort of sexual adventures women aspire to embark on.

I know I get into the hazy issue of romanticizing encounters that could have very well been dangerous or high-risk, including my own little adventures. But, why is my romanticism as bad as the horror story that Winstead envisions? Aren’t both scenarios just extreme compared to the vulnerability and playfulness sexual encounters can bring out of people? This is an option. And, sure, it seems ideal. But, the worst-case scenario presented to us requires just as much speculation. However, we are choosing to believe in the fear-driven story than one driven by lust.

Sometimes sexual development occurs when we step out of the confines of our comfort and explore. Winstead makes a point that some of us can’t “live through it”, but this couldn’t be an excuse. Sexual liberation and freedom does not stop just within our distance. It extends way beyond what we’re familiar with. It has to, or else it will never be relevant or valued in the eyes of future generations. Some of what we’ll experience will be amazing. Other moments will make us feel broken or afraid. Other moments will leave us fulfilled in ways that will shift the way we feel about each others’ bodies and emotions. But we can live through it.

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