Howl

Are Our Beds a Reflection of Our Sex Lives?

And if so, is it the reflection we want?

Have you ever wondered if there’s a relationship between your bed and your sex life? Doesn’t it seem like there might be some correlation there?

It makes me think of the scene in Sex and the City when Miranda tries to improve her love life by getting new sheets. “If my bed is a place I want to be, maybe others will feel the same way,” she says, while sliding her pillows into the damn ugliest salmon-colored pillowcases I’ve ever seen. (And without washing them, first! The horror! I can only imagine that awful, plastic-y, stale smell they must have emitted when she pressed her face into them that night. I’d think that would send a potential lover running in the opposite direction.)

“If you build it, he will come,” Carrie affirms, with her trademark bratty smirk.

I love to be in my bed, but honestly, only because it’s comfortable. Ugly as hell, just like Miranda’s new sheets, but comfortable. I feel the same fondness for my sofa, which I actually think is also beautiful. And really, give me a large pillow and my yoga mat, and I’ll love that, too. I’m a simple woman who just needs a little coziness and warmth.

It makes me think of the scene in Sex and the City when Miranda tries to improve her love life by getting new sheets. “If my bed is a place I want to be, maybe others will feel the same way…”

So yes, technically, I love being in my bed… But I also kinda hate it.

It’s old. I’d rather not say how old, lest you think I was raised in a barn. But in my defense, my bed was in storage for years during my last relationship, and when I pulled it out again, I knew I wanted to pause before buying a new one because I was very aware that in this current housing market, I’d be moving a lot until I found a permanent home — and I’d rather tote around my battered, old full mattress than a brand-spanking new king.

I did not, however, anticipate moving into a 600 sq. ft. house. My bedroom is just about 10 feet by 10 feet. I cannot even begin to describe how grateful I am that I was able to buy this little cottage on my nonprofit salary, but I can’t deny that I was a little heartbroken that I wouldn’t be able to realize my grandiose dreams for a giant new bed.

Yes, I wanted a king. Maybe even a California king. Why not aim for the moon?

Did I want this giant mattress for all the orgies I planned to have or to make sure there was plenty of room for my polyamorous partners every Friday night?

No. Honestly, I just wanted to treat myself to something special. I wanted a cozy bed that I could sleep on, spread eagle, if I wanted. And if I happened to find a really tall lover who loved to sprawl out as much as my ex did, I wanted to be completely prepared.

But here I am, three years after buying this house, sitting on my old full mattress, as I write this. Things did not go according to my plan.

Does our bed matter when it comes to sex, sexual expression, sexual fulfillment?

Yes. I actually think it does. I think Miranda was onto something with those hideous sheets. She did end up with the best partner, after all.

But what can I realistically do here? Mattresses cost a bloody fortune. And I’m sorry to sound like one of those annoying people with their green smoothies, but honestly, if I’m gonna invest in a mattress, it’s gonna be a good one — one without all the chemical flame-retardants and gross toxins that I don’t want to be breathing in all night. Yeah, I want a fancy, jacked-up, organic mattress, that would put a serious dent in my current liquid savings.

Should I live the life I have now and stick with a full mattress, hoping that my future lovers won’t need a lot of space?

But what if I unexpectedly move next year into a bigger house? Then I’ll be stuck with my little full, instead of the king I wanted (because there’s no way I can buy two mattresses in as many years).

But what if I end up staying in this house for five more years? Do I really want to go that long without replacing this janky old thing? I mean, one way or another: Mama needs a new mattress.

There are small things I can do in the short term. This bed is just plain ugly and that can be fixed easily.

I have beautiful cotton sheets, but I almost never use them except in the summer because I get so cold at night. I typically use my flannel sheets, which I confess, are purple polka dots, or decorated with embroidered reindeer. (Why do flannel sheets have to be so damn kitchy?)

My bed skirt ripped years ago, so now the ugly boxspring is always visible. I bought the throw pillows ten years ago and they have since ripped beyond repair. And I don’t have a headboard — just the mattress and boxspring sitting on the metal frame.

Damn. As I sit here writing this, I’m getting the whole “If you build it, he will come” thing. Who’s gonna want to “come” in here on my reindeer flannel sheets with my ripped throw pillows?

…one way or another: Mama needs a new mattress.

But again, I find myself pausing. Bed linens aren’t cheap, either — not the good ones. If I can’t figure out what size mattress I want in the near future, then why should I spend money on new linens that might end up not being the right size when I finally do get that new mattress?

Of course, Miranda would just buy the mattress of her dreams and squish it into her 10x10 bedroom because she was smart and didn’t spend her adult life in low-paying, but soulful jobs. No, she went out and made herself some good money, so A) she can afford the biggest, best mattress she wants, B) she can afford to buy a new home that’s big enough for her bad-ass mattress, and C) she can afford to pay movers to take care of the whole thing for her.

So should I just pretend to be Miranda? Go for the giant mattress and turn my bedroom into one giant bed, knowing that one day, I will move into a bigger place? (Maybe?)

Or should I stick with my pragmatic tendencies and buy a full? And why does that feel a little bit like defeat?

What’s my fantasy bed? Oh, thank you for asking.

I don’t actually need a California king — that’s really just an old remnant of an idea from my last relationship. My ex was extremely tall and dreamed of us getting a California king so his feet wouldn’t hang off the end of the mattress anymore.

Maybe I don’t even need a regular king. It just always seemed like such a nice size for two people, assuming I’d end up needing space for a second person.

Maybe a queen would do nicely…?

In any case…it’s bigger than a full. Yes, my dream bed is big enough for a lover (even if he or she is really tall and burly) and big enough for a tray of pancakes.

It’s bright. I want it to have light-colored sheets, like dove gray or off-white. I already have a lovely white and gray quilt on it that I like. And it needs to have lots of cushy, squishy, warm blankets on it — blankets that make you feel like you’re bundled up with a bunch of furry, warm wolves next to a crackling campfire fire. (Why wolves would be sleeping next to a campfire is irrelevant here. Just let me have my illogical fantasy, okay?)

Yes, my dream bed is big enough for a lover (even if he or she is really tall and burly) and big enough for the tray of pancakes.

I want it to have a frame or skirt or something that will hide the ugly boxspring. And yes, I want a headboard, but something simple and old-fashioned — maybe white shiplap or one of those iron bedframes that make me think of turn-of-the-century farmhouses.

And I’d like a few throw pillows in simple fabrics and textures. I don’t want ten million annoying pillows that I have to toss on the floor every night — just a couple that maybe even double as my actual pillows.

I want luxury in space, but simplicity in design. I want it to be welcoming (to me and…you know…anyone else I might want to invite) and cozy. And I want it to be as blank a canvas as possible, because I want the most interesting thing about my bed to be me and what I do in it.

As I dream more on this fantasy bed, I realize more and more how much it is woven together with my…let’s say “sexual aspirations.”

Yes. I want bigger. I want more.

I most definitely want old energy out (a few past lovers have joined me on this bed) and to start with a clean slate.

And most of all, I want to show myself that I deserve this. I deserve the bed of my dreams (or something close to it). And I deserve to have a lover who doesn’t come to my bed only for sex, who brings me that tray of pancakes, who doesn’t count my orgasms to make sure I don’t get “ahead” of him, who makes a safe space for me in this sometimes cold and indifferent world.

That’s why buying a full mattress feels like a defeat. I don’t want more of the same. I want more of MORE.

Although, to be clear, I’m not building it so s/he will come. I’m building it for me. To take care of myself. To love and satisfy myself.

And if I find someone to invite in, someone who loves to be in my bed as much as I do… Well, that will be the cherry on top of my…pancakes.

© Yael Wolfe 2020

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