Amidst our sexual romp, B has to receive a call from his friend. He informs me that he needs to receive this call and I suggest he goes ahead. As B speaks intently on his cellphone, I playfully nibble the insides of his thighs, inching closer to his ball sac. He is relaxed and absorbs the sensations. My index finger pokes into his aperture, as he grimaces and scowls. Though he’s perturbed, his body is open to the newness of this experience. B’s adorable and sexy eyes lock into mine.

Moments into our sexual exploration of each other, B said, “You’re a good person. I’m lucky I met you.” “Why would anybody not be good?” I asked. “Many guys on these apps are not,” he replied. I was not sure what he meant, and that grew into an itch I wanted to decipher. I realised that my privilege of class, ability, language, visual body type and exercise of good judgment inoculate me from certain people and situations. This article is an attempt to unpack what a “good’’ or “not-so-good” person might be when we encounter them in the context of a sexual relationship.

adrienne maree brown in Pleasure Activism: The Politics of Feeling Good (2019) writes that the first time we have sex with another person is not the defining dynamic of our sexual connection. It’s an introduction (p. 405). The moments of intimacy that we share with different bodies is how we practice our loverships, fuckships or friendships, even in the most ephemeral transactions. As a queer man, who sexually encounters different people, I often ask myself how a partner would remember this moment, days or months from now. Passionate? Wild? Blah? How am I bringing myself into the erotic moment I am sharing with a lover? 

In my own experience, I have encountered myriad moments of fear (my body screaming for safety), powerlessness (being handcuffed and fearing that I might be killed), disrespect (the other typing away into their phone with their potential next date while having sex with me), violence (a flatmate forcing himself on me and my realising that he knows my deepest secret when I was closeted about my sexuality) and pleasure (wild, liberating and ecstatic). 

In transient sexual encounters, the level of labour may be different as compared to longer-term relationships. There may be less emotional labour of dealing with the emotional fallout after sex, perhaps because we might not continue communicating with the person after the erotic moment. Yet, the way we bring ourselves into the moment we share might be worth pondering on. Some partners give and receive pleasure reciprocally, while some only expect to receive pleasure. Some do not feel the need to put in any physical labour, leaving it entirely upon the other person. Some want to maximise their own pleasure, while some want to maximise the pleasure they give. Some want to be in control, while others do not. Some want to be treated respectfully, while some might want to submit and be treated as an inanimate object. Yet, even for the one who desires to submit, there is a level of care involved.

Negotiating these different expectations of our selves and our lovers can be some ways to have deeply satisfying sexual moments, leading to unabashed wholesome friendships.

Communicate expectations/fantasies/desires. Communicating about our positions, desire, and what excites or ticks us off can allow for a deeper connection. It allows for knowing how our and others’ bodies respond, our limits and what is open for exploration. For example, sharing that good hygiene is essential makes it clear in how they are to show up when they are with you.

Read the cues during a conversation. Much before meeting the other, begins the playful game of flirting by evoking and enhancing desire. All game is not created equal (brown, 203). Some are extremely fixed on having things their way (dick pics, dick size, height and weight, yada yada). Some might be curious about experiencing the other afresh. Being honest and vulnerable can be self-affirming. Stating what we are not comfortable with might put an end to some conversations, and that might eventually help us make better choices.

Understand the labour involved in showing up. Some folk have to invest more time, money and effort in getting to a place. Offering a ride, a drink, a meal or a place for a while, may make a person feel appreciated. These are the material ways through we which we demonstrate care. 

Connect with the person. Being ourselves in our own skin and enjoying the presence of the other in the present moment is what makes a universe of a difference in sex that makes us feel good or not. Looking at the dilating eyes of a lover, and hearing them moan, or feeling their toes curl as they rub against your calves or just scrunching their ear lobes can be ways in which we are more present in the moment.

Take risks. As we explore newer encounters, we might open ourselves to new ways of pleasing and being pleased by different bodies, minds and imaginations. Our curiosity to openness can be scary and unsettling, and yet, it also allows us to tread our limits and edges us into newer states. 

While B and I ravenously explore each other, he doesn’t allow me to caress his right nipple. He covers one side of his chest with his palm. As I gaze into his eyes, I ask him the obvious, “Is your nipple sensitive?” He says, “I don’t allow anyone to touch me here (pointing to his right pectoral muscle). I have Poland syndrome. I don’t have any muscle on this side.” I am astonished, as I hadn’t noticed it earlier. I gaze at his chest anew. 

“You are a very beautiful man, B. This is so beautiful,” I exclaim. And then he grabs my head, and lets me voraciously lick his right nipple. At that moment, I feel something cave inside me. I realise that this man has given me access to something sacred, and feel teary-eyed at this naked visceral honest exchange.

Reference:

brown, adrienne maree. (2019). Pleasure activism: The Politics of Feeling Good, Chico, CA: AK Press.

Cover image by Taylor Smith on Unsplash