Exploring Our Sexual Vocabulary

What words and phrases do you use to express your sexuality?

As a writer, I’m fascinated by people’s word choice in any given situation. I’m especially intrigued about this when it comes to sex. I always take internal notes when someone makes a passing sexual reference — did they say cock, penis, or dick? What do my friends call their lady parts? How do people refer to the sex act?

I’ve noticed people here even take note of that. One reader left a comment expressing curiosity about why I choose to use the word penis so much. “Why not cock or member or…?” he asked. Penis seemed so clinical to him.

As you can imagine, the words I choose are extremely calculated. I’m a little obsessive about my writing. Sure, sometimes words just go spinning and I lose control here or there, but in general, I can say that every single word you read of my work was chosen with the kind of deliberation one might reserve for a decision like what kind of new car to purchase or where to send Junior to preschool.

I use penis because, clinical or not, I like the word. It’s not the prettiest word in the world, but I like the sound of soft consonants and the soothing sssss at the end. It’s far more appealing to me than the hard consonants of cock.

Dick is great, too — a perfect blend of soft and hard consonants — but it’s a much stronger word to me than penis. So if I use dick instead of penis, it’s a deliberate choice helping me illustrate a strong point. For instance, when I mentioned how hard it can be for a woman to let go in 69, I chose to say “when you have a dick in your mouth,” rather than “when you have a penis in your mouth,” because it’s one syllable that ends with a hard consonant and it gave my point a nice pop, rather than the lazier, slower double-syllabled soft consonants of penis.

Also, as a writer, I am very aware that every word has a connotation (associative meaning) as well as a denotation (literal meaning). Many people do, in fact, find the connotative meaning of penis to be clinical, as my reader mentioned. Buttoned up, even. Boring. Repressed. Text book-y.

Obviously, I don’t feel this way or I wouldn’t use it. In fact, I am not crazy about the word cock partly because I associate it with sexual domination. I don’t think it sounds pretty, sure, but really, it makes me feel submissive when I use it and I hate that.

Balls versus testicles? What’s your vote? I’m good on both — balls is a fun, energetic word, sometimes capable of coming off as sexy. Testicles, while clinical, can be sexy, too — at least in my opinion. You just have to know when it makes more sense to weave in three syllables with a beautiful, diverse range of vowels and hard and soft consonants.

The lady parts are much more difficult for me. To be honest, I’m really not crazy about vagina and vulva. I can make those words sharp or funny, but I find it hard to make them sexy. Pussy? Not really my cup of tea. I don’t object to it — it just doesn’t feel natural for me to say. Hoo-ha? Absolutely not, outside the context of a joke. Cooch or coochie? Va-jay-jay? Again, not outside of a humorous statement. And that leaves me with…?

This is why I stick with clinical names sometimes. I often find them to be the lesser of other evils.

Here’s my favorite: What do we call the act of sex? I absolutely love to hear what word or phrase people choose to use when talking about sex. Making love? Sex? Intercourse? Fucking?

I grew up hearing people use the phrase “make love.” Something about it felt so heavy and serious. To this day, you won’t find me using it much. It seems so formal to me and overly romantic in a way that feels stifling.

When I was in my twenties, I started reading Toni Morrison’s work voraciously and it was a revelation to hear a woman use the word “fucking” to describe intercourse. Sometimes she used that word to invoke its most base meaning, but she also used it in a non-pejorative manner. It was the first time I had seen anyone do that — and a woman, at that.

I felt so empowered by her usage of that term especially when so many people in my life had called it out as a shameful moniker for a beautiful, deep, spiritual act. It was crass, it was vulgar, it was disrespectful to women, they said.

But after encountering Morrison’s usage of that word, I embraced it. I felt empowered to use that word. “I want you to fuck me,” no longer felt like a profane request by someone who didn’t respect herself. I did respect myself and it felt good to shed the prissiness a woman is supposed to feel around sex and the language of sexuality.

I didn’t want to tip my head to one side, turn my hip out, twirl a strand of hair around my fingers and say, “Let’s make love.” Fuck that.

It surprises me that I still hear women complain about the word fuck, as if it devalues us or the act of sex. Yes, sex is sacred. But it’s also profane. Yes, it is a beautiful act of connection. But it’s also a mindless drive toward pleasure that doesn’t have to involve romantic love or monogamy.

If you’ve always been taught that using the word fuck is unladylike, inappropriate, and totally disgusting, I urge you to try it. Uttered (or screamed) at just the right moment, it can topple you into orgasm.

Trust me. Fuck is a fabulous word.

It’s true that words matter — a good writer would never deny that. But our personal preferences and cultural conditioning play a huge part in the words we choose.

As lovers, I think it’s important to find a common language, or at least to accept our partner’s language as much as possible. If they use words that we find humorous during sex (I’d laugh out loud during a moment of passion if a partner called my vagina a va-jay-jay), maybe it’s worth a discussion. No one wants to inspire laughter when the goal was to inflame passion.

But otherwise, I think it’s important to be flexible with one another’s language. If your partner loves the word cock and you don’t, let him go for it. See if you warm up to it. You don’t have to use it yourself, if that’s not comfortable, but open up your mind.

If a writer uses the word penis, don’t complain that she’s being too clinical. (Yeah, that one is selfishly in my own defense!) She chose that word very deliberately and if you don’t like it, just mentally replace it with the noun of your choice.

Your language preferences will change over time along with your experience. Who knows…maybe one day, you’ll hear me say “cock” a lot more often than I do now.

In the meantime, I’ll continue exploring the language around sexuality, observing how others verbally express their sexuality, and experimenting with my own vocabulary.

© Yael Wolfe 2019