I like to talk about sex, can’t you tell? Not the polite kind. Not the religious kind. Not the to-do list kind. I like to talk about the messy, loud, laugh-out-loud, unexpected, body-shaking, funny noises, silly faced, soul-opening kind. The kind that makes you laugh, smile and feel alive.
So many women don’t have that kind of sex. So many of us end up in marriages where sex feels like a chore, an obligation, or worse, a performance review. Why we keep our vibrators hidden and our fantasies quiet, even from ourselves.
And let’s get painfully honest: for a lot of women (myself once included), the reason is perfectionism rooted in religious or conservative households where sex was either sacred or sinful, but never playful. Sex was hidden behind closed doors, parents never flirted openly, they never made sex lighthearted and exciting.
The Myth of Perfect Sex
If you grew up with the idea that sex is sacred or only for marriage, you probably internalized something sneaky and dangerous: sex has to be meaningful to be valid. It has to mean something. That pressure shows up later as a need for sex to be “perfect.” The candles. The clean sheets. The clean conscience. You overthink it all. You make sure you look good from every angle. You’re so focused on the performance that you forget to enjoy the actual play. And honey, sex that has to be perfect isn’t playful. It’s work.
Playfulness—the silly side, the messy side, the “oops, did that just happen?” side—is essential for great sex. But perfectionism kills it. You’re so afraid of looking awkward or unsexy that you never get around to letting go. An ill timed fart during sex should make you giggle together not kill the mood. This is about bodies smooshing up against each other and a weird flap of skin getting hard and then shoving itself into a pocket of skin that somehow gets wet when touched right. Then we kiss the places we pee from and sometimes even the places we poo from. This isn’t finely manicured, this is just being playful and present with each other.
Sex Is How Adults Play
This is something I’ve had to learn, and re-learn, over the years—especially as I stepped into my role as a confident woman in a loving FLR dynamic. We laugh during sex. We trip over our pants. Sometimes Kev brings me the lube like a sweet little helper and we both chuckle because we’re such a team. Sometimes Erik makes a dumb joke mid-thrust and I swear I almost pee from laughing. But it’s beautiful, because we’re playing. We’re free. We’re real.
Sex is not just intimacy. It’s not just sacred bonding. It’s not a status symbol of a happy marriage or a reward for good behavior. It’s adult play.
And you can’t play when you’re stuck in your head.
You can’t play when you’re weighed down by shame.
You can’t play when your sex life is still being policed by a version of yourself who learned that good girls don’t touch themselves or that being sexual makes you dirty.
Repressed Upbringing Makes For Bad Sex
If your faith gives you comfort, I support that. But if your religious upbringing told you that your sexual desires were sinful, selfish, or only for the benefit of your husband, that needs to be untangled.
A lot of women walk into marriage carrying a belief that sex is either their duty or their dirty secret. Then they wonder why they feel numb during sex, why they can’t orgasm without guilt, or why they freeze up when they try to explore kink or openness or power dynamics.
When you’ve been raised to think that sex must be pure, or only for procreation, or only between a man and his wife under specific conditions—it’s no wonder playfulness gets shoved in the closet next to your neglected lingerie and unopened fantasies.
Sex, for these women, becomes a task. It becomes weighty. It becomes mundane. It becomes repetitive. It becomes emotionally exhausting. It becomes a role you play, instead of a space where you get to express your whole self.
Reclaim Your Sexual Power
I’m going to tell you something that might sound scandalous if you still have one foot in that old perfectionist-sex world: being able to love my husband and have a boyfriend has given me sexual freedom I never thought I’d feel.
Why?
Because I get to express different parts of myself with each partner. Kev sees my emotional dominance and my soft affection. He worships me. Erik sees my hunger and my animal side. He matches my fire. Together, they both allow me to be fully myself without performance.
There’s no need to be perfect. There’s only play. Passion. Exploration.
And guess what? My marriage is stronger because of it. Kev feels closer to me. We laugh more. We cry together sometimes after I come back from a night with Erik and we share what it brought up for both of us. That kind of intimacy? You can’t fake it.
The Big Lie: “I Just Don’t Want That”
This one might sting a little. You know that voice that says, “I just don’t want sex that often,” or “I’m not like other women—I’m more intellectual than sexual,” or “I’m just not into exploring like that”? That voice might not be you. That voice might be the version of you who learned to suppress pleasure before you even understood it.
A lot of women I talk to have desires locked deep inside them—and they’re terrified of unlocking them. Not because they’re scared of being hurt, but because they’re scared of what it means to want.
To crave. To hunger. To be wild.
The desire is there. But they’ve trained themselves to be incapable. They’ve talked themselves out of their own sexual identities for so long, they’ve lost the ability to hear their own turn-ons.
Sexual bargaining is another thing I see all the time, especially in long-term marriages where desire has cooled and resentment simmers under the surface. It sounds like this: “If my husband had just helped more around the house… if he had been more confident… if he hadn’t said that thing at dinner… then maybe I’d want him.” But here’s the catch—it’s not really about those specific things.
It’s about creating unattainable conditions so you can justify not wanting to be intimate. It becomes a subconscious strategy: set the bar just out of reach, so you never have to be vulnerable or messy or open. So sex stays off the table, you don’t have to feel vulnerable. Because it’s easier to feel in control than to feel exposed. And when sex becomes a conditional transaction instead of playful connection, everyone loses and resentment attacks from yet another angle. You are resentful of him for not being perfect and he is resentful of you for the lack of intimacy.
Here’s the Advice I Wish I Had Sooner:
1. Question Everything You Were Taught About Sex
Literally. Sit down and write a list. What did your church, your parents, your culture teach you about sex? About female pleasure? About masturbation? About kink?
Now ask yourself: Do I still believe these things? Or do I just feel like I should?
If it’s the second one, it’s time to let those beliefs go. They’re not yours anymore. You’re a grown-ass woman and you get to make your own sexual rules.
2. Create a “Pleasure Journal”
This is my little secret weapon. Each night before bed, write down one thing you liked that day that turned you on—even if it was just a scene in a show, a thought you had, or a song that stirred something. You’re learning your erotic language, and journaling helps you start speaking it again.
3. Talk To Your Partner(s) With Curiosity, Not Pressure
It’s not about walking in and saying, “We need to have more sex.” It’s about saying, “I want to play again. I want to feel turned on by life. I want us to explore.”
And if you’re lucky enough to have a loving partner like Kev—and even a second one like Erik, create safe spaces to talk about what excites you without judgment or expectation. Just playful curiosity.
4. Read Books That Remind You You’re Not Alone
There are books out there written just for you because sexual trauma is a common thing for women because our society does dumb things to repress our sexuality. Here are a few I recommend to any woman who wants to liberate herself sexually:
- “Come As You Are” – a science-based, warm, funny breakdown of why women’s sexuality is so different from men’s, and how to own yours.
- “Untrue” – if you think women are naturally less sexual than men, this will shake your world (in the best way).
- “Sex for One” – a pleasure activist classic, especially powerful if you were taught that masturbation was shameful.
- “The Ethical Slut” – not just for open relationships, but for opening your mind about what’s possible when sex is playful, consensual, and shame-free.
- “Pleasure Activism” – it’s deep, powerful, juicy, and beautiful. Read it slowly. It’s soul food.
5. Don’t Aim For Orgasm. Aim For Expression.
Here’s a weird truth: the more you pressure yourself to have an orgasm, the harder it becomes. But if you give yourself permission to just express—to feel what you feel, to moan, to move, to dance, you’ll find that pleasure sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
So put on music. Wear something that makes you feel delicious. And just move. No agenda. Just play. Or add some kink to your bedroom. Kink isn’t about being hardcore or turning sex into some Fifty Shades drama—it’s about bringing playfulness back into your intimacy. Kink is permission to make things fun again. Whether it’s male chastity, pegging, roleplay, dress-up, or spanking, it’s all about creating excitement and new layers of connection. Kink gives sex texture, surprise, and a sense of adventure. You don’t have to be perfect, you just have to be willing to look a little silly and enjoy the ride. Do it, laugh about it, mess it up, do it again. Because the real kink? Is freedom. Freedom from taking your shit too serious.
Sex Doesn’t Need to be Perfect
That’s the secret, darling. Not candles or toys or the best blowjob techniques (though those help). It’s presence. It’s being in your body. It’s giggling when your thigh gets a cramp mid-thrust or asking your lover to spank you just because it feels good.
Opening myself to multiple committed partners—loving my husband and sharing my bed with my boyfriend—completely rewired how I see sex. What once felt like a sacred ritual I had to “get right” every time now feels like a delicious, fluid, human way to bond, laugh, connect, and be fully seen. When sex is only sacred, it becomes fragile. You start to believe it has to be clean and candlelit, prayed over and perfectly executed. But when you experience sex through the lens of real, intimate, messy love—multiple kinds of love—it becomes playful. It becomes bonding. It becomes a way to say “I see you, I want you, I’m here,” without needing it to mean everything or go perfectly.
Now, Kev sometimes watches while Erik and I are wrapped around each other, and rather than feeling wrong, it feels beautiful. Honest. Freeing. Kev and I cuddle afterward, sometimes all three of us tangled in sheets and smiles. I feel closer to my husband now than I ever did when I thought sex had to be monogamous and picture-perfect to count. If Mrs. Tierson—my childhood Bible study teacher with her cross necklace and disapproving eyes knew what goes on in my bedroom, she’d be rolling over in her grave so fast she’d throw out a hip. But I’ve never felt more connected to myself and the people I love. Turns out, connection can live in laughter, in orgasms, in group cuddles and in letting go of every rule that ever told you who you’re allowed to be.
Do you ever feel a slight tinge of jealousy reading this blog. How is Emma able to have a husband and a boyfriend? How does she do it? Maybe you’ve even whispered to yourself, I could never… Or maybe, if you’re being really honest with yourself, you’ve felt that slight, secret twinge—I wish I could do that. And you know what? You could. It could be you.
This kind of freedom, this kind of joy, this kind of playful, soul-deep connection—it’s not reserved for the bold or the lucky. I’m no different than you. A healthy, exciting, adventurous, amazing sex life starts with a decision. A choice to step back and say, “Sex should be fun again.” That’s it. Fun. Not perfect. Not sacred. Not heavy with expectations. Just fun. And once you give yourself that permission? Stand back because the doors open wider than you ever imagined.
Sex isn’t something you give your partner. It’s something you experience together.
Let it be messy. Let it be imperfect. Let it be uniquely and wonderfully yours.
Evolving the Conversation
- What messages did you receive about sex growing up, and which ones still affect your intimacy today?
- Have you ever caught yourself performing in bed instead of playing—what triggered that shift?
- What does sexual play look like to you? Is it laughter? Spontaneity? Trying new things?
- Which part of your sexuality feels the most suppressed—and what’s one small step to reclaim it?
- If you could design a “perfectly playful” night of intimacy, what would it include (or exclude)?
