by Jen Sincero
Sex is something that drives us, empowers us, and gets us into really stupid situations with people we have no business seeing naked. Be you the studliest of studs or the coyest of virgins, there are always questions, and there’s always room for growth. Jen Sincero is the bestselling author, sexpert and motivational cattle prodder with the carnal knowledge you need. Ask her all the questions your filthy little mind is having trouble answering on its own: advice@jensincero.com. And sign up for her weekly newsletter at www.jensincero.com. Cuz there’s no such thing as being too good in bed.
Dear Jen,
I have so many intimacy issues it’s embarrassing. I used to use alcohol to loosen up, but don’t anymore, so my little sex kitten-like self is very repressed these days. I’ve started taking a pole dancing class, which I love. The point of it is to get in touch with your female, sensual self, but a part of me is worried that if I do my dance in front of my main squeeze, I’ll be acting. I want to come on to him and have it be fun and sexy, yet I think that at my core I’m just really shy, embarrassed and scared that I will look like a phony.
How do I come on to him without feeling like a fake or relying on vino to be less inhibited?
- Wussy Pussy
Dear Wussy,
First of all, taking a pole dancing class is, as you said, much more about building self-confidence than twirling around your boyfriend’s face in a pair of clear-heeled stilettos and nipple tassels. That’s a tall order for anyone to pull off without feeling a tad self-conscious. Or without wine.
One time, back in the day of answering machines, I fell off my bed, hit the “memo†button with my toe and recorded myself going at it. The next day at work I called in to get my messages and got an earful of me moaning and saying all sorts of filthy things. Did I want to die? You bet. Did I leave work immediately to destroy that tape in case someone, somehow, should hear it? Hell yes.
We all have varying degrees of self-consciousness surrounding our sexuality, just as we’re all performing to some extent. You need to stop scrutinizing yourself and just do what feels good. You also need to remember that although you may act confident around your friends, bitchy around your mother, impatient around your drug dealer—it’s all still you, you’re not being phony. You’re just more comfy with some roles than others.
I recommend you keep taking your classes, focus on your fabulousness and trust that your main squeeze wouldn’t be with you unless he wanted to throw it in you, regardless of how adept you are at sliding around on a pole.
Dear Jen,
I know I’m probably not the first one to complain about this, but my girlfriend wants to talk about our relationship way more than I do. We are both women, and I know women are famous for this, but I feel like I somehow escaped the stereotype while she got enough of the gabs for both of us. I really love her, and feel communication is vital, but do we have to talk about it all the time, everyday? Is there anything I can do?
- Talked Out
Dear Talked,
I’m so glad you wrote in because this is a topic that’s made me want to bang my head against the wall in silent desperation on many occasions. What is it with emotional windbags? Do they get a nickel and a cookie every time they talk about their feelings? Don’t they realize that you have to have experiences first in order to have something to talk about later? And why are they always so good in bed?
You are correct, women are famous for it, and believe me, they’ve earned their reputation, but as someone’s who’s dated several guys who could make the processiest of processors look like the tongueless wonder, I must report that the gab gene goes both ways. I had one boyfriend who was so out of control that I had to demand we only talk about our relationship on Fridays. All other times, any mention of the words “us,†“feel,†or “needs†was met with a finger in the face and a sharp “up!†But from midnight on Thursday to midnight on Friday, one could find me yellow and deflated, clinging to sides of buildings with exhaustion. He eventually took up flower arranging and sneaking around in my clothes, which leads me to believe that, as we’ve suspected all along, it’s all estrogen’s fault. Just as my deep hatred of musical theater could be blamed on testosterone, we all have varying levels of boy juice and girl juice in us, but I’d take a guy who skips on twinkle-toes over some dude you need an ice pick and a hammer to get a decent conversation out of any day.
But what can we do to get some sleep around here? Have her get some therapy so she has someone else to spew to. Suggest she keep a journal. Tell her about Feelings Fridays. Make sure she’s taking her meds. Dump her for someone who isn’t so needy. That’s all I can think of. Oh, and make sure you aren’t being a closed-off lughead—we choose everyone for a reason, and maybe you need to open up more than you think.