The Unsexy Quirks of a Sex Blogger

We are real, raw, and often the opposite of sexy

Let me tell you a bit about my perfectly sexy morning routine. First, I slip out from underneath silky white sheets, completely naked, and go to my Zen room.

I practice ten minutes of naked yoga (my body is so bangin’ it’s a shame to do it any other way), and end with a challenging crane pose — wherein I squat on all fours, place my knees in my armpits, then carefully balance on only my hands while my bare ass points to the sky. There’s no wobbling. No jiggling cellulite. I’m steady and invigorated. I’m awake with the sun.

After yoga, I enjoy a carb-free breakfast of straight espresso, quickly shower, brush my teeth, and slip back into bed to wake my partner with a slow, enthusiastic blow job. As the head of his oversized cock meets the back of my throat, he opens his eyes, smiling, and grabs on to my hair while he thrusts into my mouth. I don’t gag at all.

The act of sucking a cock and playing with a man’s balls alone always makes me orgasm, but I have to have something to write about. So just before he comes, we try a challenging acrobatic sex position — maybe I’ll do a backbend over his body and we’ll reverse 69. Or I’ll stand against the wall and hold my ankle over my head in a verticle split while he jackhammers me. I typically come three times within a few minutes with little effort on either of our parts.

No foreplay necessary. It’s my favorite way to start the day.

The fantasy versus the reality

That’s all total fiction, of course.

I could NEVER have white sheets, for one. My nighttime sweating and drooling would quickly stain and discolor them, no matter how often I washed them.

Being a writer with a passion for sex blogging is strange. One minute you’re explicitly describing the technique your partner used when he gave you that leg-quivering, mind-altering, vagina-melting orgasm. The next minute, you’re packing a lunch for school and yelling at your son to turn off YouTube and get his shoes on. That’s my real morning routine.

There’s no naked yoga. Rarely any morning sex. If my partner tried morning sex, during the week…? Well, let’s just say he knows better.

My morning routine often consists of me getting up at the last possible second, wondering if it was necessary to drink an entire bottle of wine the night before, and trying to get ready for work while I simultaneously make sure my teenage son is ready for school. I’m usually out the door about a half-hour after I get up. Frantic, but ready to face another day at the office.

During my lunch break, I might enjoy a few creative moments writing about pursuing sexual pleasure.

Sex writers aren’t always sexy

Once I read an article that claimed those of us writing about sex are basically whoring ourselves out for money and attention. That was fun (insert sarcastic tone). Even more fun was that someone had snidely commented that those who write about sex are the ones not having any.

Well, let’s start with the fact that you can certainly write about sex whether you’re having any or not. But a lot of us who are writing about it are enjoying it quite frequently. It’s how we get our inspiration.

I only mention this to demonstrate the point that, as a female sex writer, I’m a fucking complex and multi-faceted creature. We all are.

We’re also real people. Unfiltered. Imperfect. We can rock it like a porn star in the bedroom, even if we don’t always look the part.

We’re too fat. We’re too skinny. We produce weird smells. We sweat. We have stretch marks, pimples, and freckles. We lose our cool. We’re parents. We’re child free. We make typos. We make mistakes. We love to suck cock. We don’t love to suck cock. We shave our cunts. We choose not to shave our cunts. We are the boss of our bodies. No one else.

There is a pointedly unsexy side to me. As an actual human woman, it just goes with the territory. Some of these are private — things I don’t even share with my partner. Some are apparent within our relationship, and he loves me along with my imperfections.

I thought, since I love to write about my sexuality and often show the internet the sexiest sides of me, then it would also be fair and fun to turn things around. Show the real me, minus the filter.

Removing the sexy filter

I have some truly heinous underwear. The oversized cotton kind that we like to say we keep around for when we’re on our period, but that we also wear throughout the month. It doesn’t match any of my bras, but it’s comfortable to work in so I can bring home the bacon and take care of my family.

The most important thing is managing to do laundry and having clean underwear available. Or else I’d have to go commando. Which my partner would love, but I would hate. It’s a warm, wet jungle down there. I need that shit contained.

I have anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Not the kind of OCD people name-drop because they like to organize or clean. I mean real OCD, where I sometimes have to repeat tasks or count things in order to quiet the intrusive negative thoughts in my head. It used to be a lot worse when I was a teenager, when my bedtime routine would sometimes take over an hour.

Nowadays, when I get in and out of bed to either adjust the fan so it sits at a 90-degree angle or check that I locked the front door a third time to ensure that aliens won’t take over the planet, I sometimes wake my already sleeping partner. It can be maddening.

I’m out of shape and overweight. Sitting at a cubicle all day writing copy and then feeding my passion for blogging on the side has its downside. I have a TON of stretchmarks and stretched belly skin. It’s a glorious testament to my strength as a mother, but I weigh more now than I did when I was nine months pregnant! I haven’t been running in four months.

My eating habits are shit. I need to kick my ass into gear and start actually taking care of myself and my physical health. Now that would be sexy.

I have to tweeze excess body hair. The eyebrows are a given. We all do that. But how many other women out there have to tweeze the single hairs that show up randomly around their nipples or the tops of their toes? Really, I’m asking — I’d like to know I’m not the only one.

It’s not something I’ve ever brought up to my partner. It’s hardly a sexy habit to discuss, but I think leaving the odd rogue nipple hair would be even less sexy. I can’t imagine there’s a fetish for that…

I squeeze my blackheads. My skin is actually terribly dry rather than oily, so I’m fortunate that I don’t get a ton. But I do get them once in a while. And when I do…oh, those suckers have to go.

I snore. I’ve never heard it, but both my partner and my son have assured me it’s a thing whenever I fall asleep on the couch during a movie night. I imagine I’m no Sleeping Beauty. Especially with the drooling.

I sometimes drink too much. My drunk personality is uninhibited, overly friendly, and happy. I love everyone even more. I’m an overly affectionate chatterbox. I want to have sex with a lot more people than what’s considered normal for me. I’m everybody’s friend.

Last night while drinking with friends, my incredible partner was the DD. I got loud, said embarrassing things, and knocked a table over at the bar. Then I tuckered myself out and fell asleep at home before any sex could commence. The things he puts up with.

My unsexy traits aren’t just limited to physical appearance. Oh no. Sometimes my personality is incredibly unattractive. I have a tendency to get really moody. I’m also known to nag my partner. If it’s a perfect storm, I’ll get really moody AND nag my partner.

About the messy house, our chaotic basement, all the things we need to save up to fix. I tend to hold things in and then randomly let them all out after they’ve been building up internally for months. It’s hardly sexy. Kind of the opposite of foreplay, actually.

Loving your whole self

This small list is just a snippet, mind you. A mere sampling. A snapshot of my realness. I could fill a novel with my unsexy traits and habits. We probably all could. But the point of pursuing our pleasure is to go all out — to be ourselves one hundred percent. To know which parts of ourselves we need to love and accept, even when they are less than desirable, and to know the things we need to work on in order to live healthier more sexually fulfilling lives.

Have fun, love yourself, and enjoy pursuing your passion.

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