Howl

Overcoming Shame Around Penetration and Thrusting

I’ve experienced a lot of shame in the bedroom, but none so pervasive as this…

Though I can remember having an insatiable curiosity about sex as a child, I grew up believing that there was something inherently shameful about it. It was everywhere (I grew in Los Angeles in the 80’s — everything was about sex), yet none of the adults in my life talked about it, except to clinically explain the birds and the bees to me when I was 11.

It was obvious to me that sex was about pleasure, but the way my parents, the babysitter, or other older people quickly changed the channel when a sexually-charged scene came on TV, or hid away my dad’s or uncle’s Playboy magazines when I came into the room, I also got the impression that that kind of pleasure was indecent and shameful.

Having sex for the first time was absolutely terrifying for me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow immoral or at least inappropriate for me to experience sexual pleasure in front of another person.

The thought mortified me, even more so when I realized that the expectation was to end the experience with both of us having an orgasm. I could not imagine doing that in front of my boyfriend. It seemed so wrong.

I tried to sneak around my shame and inhibitions by being really quiet and still. In all the time my first boyfriend and I were together, I don’t think we ever did anything but missionary. I wouldn’t have even considered being on top — dear god, the thought was scandalous.

I could not imagine doing that in front of my boyfriend. It seemed so wrong.

And there, in missionary, once he was inside me, I would just lie there, quietly, making micro-adjustments to my hips so my clit could get some pressure or stimulation as he moved, which would eventually get me to a barely audible orgasm.

I don’t know what made my inhibitions start to fall away over time. Age? Experience? Wisdom? Desperate curiosity?

Whatever it was, by my mid-twenties, I was much, much more open to expressing my pleasure in the bedroom. But there were still some things that I just could not do.

I still couldn’t blatantly tell a man what I wanted him to do. I can remember my first night with a new lover, leaning shyly over him after he took off my shirt and bra, basically edging my breast toward his face. I was still carrying that shame about sexual pleasure. I couldn’t say, “Hey, would you suck on my nipple, please?” It just seemed too vulgar.

And I still had a hard time being on top. If we were just making out and both of us still had our pants on, I could happily perch above him. But during sex…I just wasn’t there yet.

Finally, in my thirties, I reached a new level of comfort in the bedroom, though I still was far from shame-free (and I wonder if I ever will be). I loved being on top of my partner. I think he particularly loved it, too, since it gave him a great view, access to just about everything, and made it easy for him to play with my breasts, which he knew I loved.

But I found it so hard to actually move once I was up there. I was paralyzed with shame.

What I wanted was to move up and down, forward and back, and whatever else came to mind. One of my favorite things about sex is the feeling of penetration. There is that band of tight muscles at the base of the vagina that gives me such an exquisite sensation when a penis slides past it. And deeper in, there are areas of intense sensitivity that I like to explore in my own way, at my own pace.

But I found it so hard to actually move once I was up there. I was paralyzed with shame.

Going straight up and down — especially slowly — gives me that tugging sensation inside that I love so much, and the pull of gravity makes my internal muscles involuntarily contract around my partner’s penis, which gives me so much more stimulation.

Moving forward and back doesn’t have the same clutch or tug to it, but the angle of my body, leaning forward, causes his penis to hit strongly against the wall of my vagina, which is also quite pleasurable, especially when I keep adjusting my hips, to move the sensations around.

I like it really slow, so I can feel every centimeter of him moving into and out of me. I like moderately fast long sweeps that feel like an ocean swell is entering and then leaving my body in a rolling tide. And — in small doses — I like a fast, hard thrusting that almost feels like I’m going to explode inside from the obliterating pressure.

But all of that felt so obscene to me. Even writing it made me blush. It’s one thing to say — as a lover or a writer — that I like sex and I want sex. But it’s another to show a lover or put into words how much you like it, and how you want it, and why you like it that way.

To be frank, even in my thirties, the idea of bobbing up and down on my partner’s penis made me feel indecent. To me, that was even worse than saying, “Please suck my nipples” (which took me ten years to work up the confidence to say to a partner).

The few times that I had the courage to even try a vague up and down motion, my partner stopped me. He was so turned on by the slow drag in and out of me that he said he wouldn’t have lasted more than a few strokes.

So between my overwhelming shame and his abundant arousal, I ended up just swaying back and forth when I was on top of him, like someone riding a rocking horse. I moved in a way that kept him firmly in place inside me, while my rocking motion allowed me to press my clit against his pubic bone, which would eventually get me to orgasm.

But you know what? It was kinda dull. I remember sitting there, wanting so badly to rise up on my knees and let him slide out of me a little ways, then lower myself so he’d press back in…and so on. But I was so terrified of showing him that kind of desire that was within me.

Somehow, it was less scandalous to openly enjoy his lips at my nipple, or his hands kneading my ass. But my body’s absolutely wanton desire for his penis inside me, moving in ways that I orchestrated, was just too much for my deeply ingrained shame to overcome.

It makes me angry to think of this. My past partners never grappled with shame around this. In fact, I can categorically state that my ex’s favorite part about sex was thrusting. He would move me into so many different positions and when I asked him once what he was “looking” for, why this endless journey across a million different ways for our bodies to join with an almost clinical curiosity, he said simply that he loved feeling all the different ways my body clutched at his penis, and how our different angles made for radically different sensations and levels of pressure.

…my body’s absolutely wanton desire for his penis inside me, moving in ways that I orchestrated, was just too much for my deeply ingrained shame to overcome.

In other words, he spent our sexual encounters doing what I was too ashamed to do — ruthlessly exploring the various angles, depths, and speeds of penetration.

I wish that I had been braver — more able to shake off this suffocating cloak of shame. There’s so much pleasure I missed out on because it’s been so hard for me to let go of these notions that a “good girl” doesn’t enjoy sex, that a “proper lady” doesn’t grind on her partner’s penis.

I still have the shame — I can feel it, even as I write this. But I’m pushing myself out of my comfort zone for the good of all women. Men have long enjoyed the luxury of being able to express how much they enjoy being inside a lover. (I can’t even count how many times I’ve heard a guy brag about being “balls deep in so-and-so’s pussy” or to describe how amazing it feels to be “clutched in a wet snatch.”) And I’ve yet to meet one who is shy about expressing curiosity or pleasure around the actual act of penetration and thrusting.

Goddammit, I am determined that women should have the same luxury. I want to be able to say how much I love it, too. And the next time I’m on top of a man, dear God in heaven, give me the courage to ride the shit out of him.

Because there shouldn’t be any shame in that.

© Yael Wolfe 2019