Hi! Carrie Lezshaw here to tell you that lesbians have the best sex on the planet, but you didn’t need me to tell you that. You know! Lesbians can be quite snobbish about the fact that we have better sex than everyone else. And, yes, that is true most of the time. We have some pretty amazing sex.
If “Sex and The City” was lesbian, there basically wouldn’t be a show because they’d have nothing to complain to each other about. There wouldn’t be so many episodes focused on the elusive female orgasm. They would still get hurt by their partners, but not in the you-didn’t-buy-me-flowers sort of way, but more nuanced, complex ways of getting hurt (we’ll save this concept for another time).
With all the talk of the mind-blowing sex lesbians are having, I couldn’t help but wonder… What happens when two women have bad sex?
When my straight girlfriends would talk about bad sex, I used to sit there like…
Can’t relate.
Imagine having sex without an orgasm? What? Imagine that being the kind of sex you have more often than not? I know, girl, I know.
Imagine a woman not knowing where your clit is (impossible but just imagine!).
Before I continue this article lets just take a second to thank God (or your divine entity of choice—mine and Zara’s is Lana Del Rey) that we’re gay!
Now that we’ve had an appropriate amount of time for gloating, let’s get down to a real, uncomfortable truth: sometimes two women have bad sex.
The first time I slept with my last ex I was wasted AF and couldn’t cum for the life of me. I kept getting super in my head about it then forgetting I was even having sex and hadn’t made a noise in the past 3 minutes. I eventually faked it because I knew it was just the liquor. The next time we hooked up, I took it easy on the rosé, and voila! Multiple orgasms. Wow, I miss that sex. ANYWAY. Right after we broke up, I had sex with someone new that was just….Bad. Not because of heartbreak. Not cause of nerves or booze. Just. Bad. I spent the whole time thinking to myself, am I really having bad lesbian sex right now?
If you’re a “Sex and The City” aficionado like me, you’ll remember Carrie and Burger’s horrible, awkward sex. My experience wasn’t as boring, but it had me as shook as Carrie was because our chemistry in bars and restaurants was amazing! I thought the sex would be earth-shattering. But, ya’ll, we hadn’t even been kissing for 30 seconds and she whipped out a massive dildo and vibrator. I was like …
Look, I love sex toys. I never say no to a little strap-on action. But for all other toys, I’m more of a solo-chilling-in-bed-without-my-hair-extensions kind of gal. If you are not attaching that dildo to a harness, get that thing away from me and use your fingers. If you are whipping out a vibrator, I’m insulted. I want you to make me cum. Otherwise, I’d rather just stay in my room and masturbate without having to get all dolled up, practice conversation topics in the cab, and anxiously splash water on my armpits and vagina in the bathroom. OK? If I go through all of my pre-sex anxiety rituals and actually shave my legs, I expect you to have sex with me. I expect you to put in work, damn it.
I should’ve said that I wasn’t really into toys, but I said nothing. Mistake #1. Don’t make it awkward, you’ve been dying to hook up with this girl, I told myself.
I like it rough, honey, but this was just painful—I felt my cervix getting repeatedly bumped. I still didn’t say anything. Me, the girl that writes about getting her ass waxed on the internet. Me, the girl that never can hide her emotions. Me, the girl that will open up to a random stranger about her childhood traumas. That same girl was too anxious to tell my partner that it hurt. Please dear God (Lana), I will never take being gay for granted again, just get me through this, I prayed.
Are you there, Lana? It’s me, Carrie Lezshaw.
I’ll even start doing community service, I reasoned. Just please let me cum. I resorted to thinking about Shane f*cking Cherie Jaffe poolside. Still nothing.
At this point, I couldn’t tell if she was trying to f*ck me or impale me.
This was a moment I decided SHIT, I need to find out a way this never happens again! So after I faked an orgasm and got the F out of there, I searched myself and my friends for a future plan. Here is a trusty list that you can refer to if you ever find yourself having bad sex, dear lez.
1. COMMUNICATE!!!
This seems like common sense, but apparently, it’s not. I was totally guilty of this. Sometimes you get lucky and you’re so sexually compatible that no words are necessary. But life isn’t perfect—not every hook-up is on Carmen-giving-Shane-a-lap-dance level of perfection.
So you need to talk about what you like, preferably *before* you get into bed.
Examples of healthy ways to communicate what you like in bed, and how to ask your partner what they like:
“I really like getting fingered,”
“I don’t like anything in my ass,”
“What do you like?”
“What are you into?”
2. COMMUNICATE!!!
If you’re a little ~kinky~ like me, don’t assume the other person is. Ask.
“Are you into [insert kink here]?” will do just fine.
3. COMMUNICATE!!!
I get it, not seeming self-assured can be a turn-off. No one wants to f*ck someone that keeps saying “is this okay?” but an occasional check-in is always nice.
4. COMMUNICATE!!!
If you’re taking a while to cum, say so. “I know it’s taking me a while to cum, but you’re f*cking me so good and I will soon,” in your breathiest, sexiest voice is both honest and encouraging.
5. COMMUNICATE!!!
If you need to switch positions to cum, say so. Something might feel amazing, but you need to try something else to seal the deal, so to speak.
6. COMMUNICATE!!!
Know that sometimes sex takes work. “I can’t wait to f*ck you again, and get to know your body better.”
If it still isn’t working after open communication, listen to my girl Samantha:
Bad sex taught me to ask for what I want in the future. Equally as important, it reminded me to always ask my partner what they want. My death-by-dildo experience had me shook for a moment, hoping I’ve never had sex with anyone in a way they didn’t like. There might even be a lez on another corner of the internet writing about how I was bad in bed! But now I know the next time I have bad sex (because there probably will be, realistically) I can use this amazing tip called ~communication~ to get me through it. Either it gets better, or it ends.
Either way, the bright side is now I can finally contribute to the bad-sex conversation with my straight friends.
Dayna Troisi is proud to be a staff writer at GO Magazine. Her essays have been published in Buzzfeed, Vice, SELF, Racked among others. Dayna is passionate about writing essays that focus on lesbian dating, beauty + fashion and her badass bionic arm. Dayna has an MFA in poetry from Hofstra University, where she also taught Creative Writing. Dayna serves as GO’s nightlife editor and loves to turn up at queer NYC bars & clubs. She identifies as a dyke princess/Jenny Schecter fan-girl and lives on Long Island to be closer to her lash and spray tan technicians.
