Preface: Fingerlakeswanderer wrote specifically to Mr. E asking about what sex is like for men, and he answered (with what could easily be my favorite post of the month!); consequently he volleyed the ball back to her court asking in turn what sex was like for women. Well, this is my “buttinski” moment, where I offer my best report on the subject.

What is sex like for a woman?

Major Disclaimer: While I’m sure many women have things in common, as everyone knows, each woman is very different from one another. I’m framing my commentary in the context of what I know and how I feel, and fully recognize that my opinions are entirely colored by subtle aspects of my own personality: my insecurities, my desires, my preferences, my culture, my beliefs, my body, my experiences. So, read with an open mind that what may hold true for me and women like me, will not hold true for all women everywhere. I also implore women who agree or disagree with the depictions presented here to chime in, as to offer a better idea of the closest we can come to a complete picture for those curious to know.

Like men, women also have sex for lots of different reasons: ranging from stress release to craving human contact, sometimes detached and feral, sometimes fully engrossed in a multi-sensory merger with a person as an expression of unbridled love, sometimes wanting to have a baby. But whatever the reason, I can safely say that the experience is at both eerily similar and wildly different than what goes on with you men (from what I’ve read.) And I know I’m not the first to say that women want it just as often as men.

First, without a doubt, I gotta say it’s plain flattering to have a man aroused in my presence. Even when I’m not particularly in the mood, a glimpse of a subtle nudge from inside his fly can take me to horny-town on the express train. It doesn’t even have to be something I did, said, or wore to work that day... I totally know that erections can come from out of practically nowhere, but, I’m just sayin’ that when one’s around... and the attraction is mutual, I want it. That’s one of the differences, perhaps advantages, to the way our plumbing is different. You can’t tell when I want to screw, but I can tell when you want it, and that’s fun.

Caveat: There was a time when I felt this was a curse, but I realized that was because I was surrounded by the wrong partners in the wrong situations. There are men who feel that an erection is an obligation, will say things like “look what you did, now take care of it,” and it can be really rude and icky. This falls into the same categories of “you’ve crossed the line into yucky-ville, bucko” as do the acts of pinching or biting my nipples really hard, pushing my head down to gag me during oral, the shocker, and lying there uninterested with a half-softie telling me to do what I need to do and leave you alone. These are NOT nice things, and they are not what I will focus the bulk of this post on. It isn’t sex at that point; it’s more like sexual assault.

I agree with MrE’s sentiment that committed-partner sex is a little watered-down at times, in that you don’t want them to flip out and leave from your freakiness, and you don’t want to hurt or insult them because you need to face them every day. How awkward is it at breakfast the next morning when you’re sore from whip-welts, putting the butt plugs in the dishwasher, or replaying the things you both said in the heat of the moment. “Pass the butter” is so ironic in the shadows of some of the things that get said in wild kinky moments. For me, though, because I have a healthy (read: twisted) sense of humor, I think that would be a little funny, and would totally do it.

I try to provide as much variety as possible in bed, because, frankly... it makes you feel different inside me, and I like that. The variety I can get from one man is remarkable. You do feel new almost every time, and I don’t know if you can tell, but when you surprise me, and I’m not quite as relaxed and wet as usual; or when you start off kind of medium-hard, and as we go on or I start to say things, you get urgently harder; or when I’ve been thinking of you all day and can’t wait to have you, and my vagina swallows you with not only ease, but with vigorous hunger; or when you’re coming at me standing, sitting, kneeling, me on top, you on top, from behind... they all feel different. At the same time, advantageously same-enough that I know where I need to lean to get you to hit the right spot every time, without any awkward repositioning and tugging that comes with first-times.

I also strongly feel that any kind of clawing, gripping, squeezing, biting, pulling, and verbal pleading also help to reinforce desire, and can be done in the comfy complete relationship as well as a carnally-focused not-relationship relationship. It helps the comfies know that they have this extra layer to their love, this secret, this thirst for one another... and it helps the carnal ones unleash as much as possible and go wild.

I’m going out on a limb and saying what a woman mostly wants in bed, is 2 things: (1) to feel like the best thing that could happen to you, and (2) to experience surprising, intense, unladylike ecstasy during the session. (Not necessarily in that order).

I would say the first is more specifically to feel so uncontrollably needed, like being with her is the best feeling on Earth at that moment, and you’re the luckiest bastard there ever was. She needs to be told that, whether she is whipping you to pink welts or licking you gently to goosebumps, she is making you feel intensely good things and that you’re grateful. This is where the comfies kind of have an advantage, too, because we’re more likely to believe someone we’re committed to and love when you say things like that, and I feel that believability is key to taking this need to the proper level. I can say that hearing that I feel incredible on him is just as hot when it’s one of those super-comfy slow lovemaking sessions as it is during a sheets-tangling sizzlefest.

The second thing, which can sometimes be our first priority, is the fucking itself. We want to get that indescribable symphony of sensation – combination of full, tight, slippery, rubbing, heat, banging, (with optional but suggested gripping and grabbing) until our body starts tingling, like our very essence is being sucked out of our extremities and all our energy is collecting in our crotch, focusing more intensely on the action like a flashlight-turned-laserbeam, intensifying and making us forget the whole world because all that matters is that cock in me, and oh my God, just... keep... it... going... until the laser focuses so intensely, burns so bright, it explodes back out, and rushes into the drained corners of our bodies, sometimes rebounding like the waves lapping up and out of a pool when someone does a real good cannonball. Again and again, and sometimes again after you’re not even in there anymore.

And the second-and-a-half thing is that we want you to climax, too. It might be just me, but hearing how much guys love sex and how horny they are all the time, it’s weird when you don’t finish. Too weird.

Unlike the men, I don’t think that sex is all that much better with a casual partner. I think that for women, sex is better with someone who’s earned our trust, passed our tests, proven himself worthy – and while that might not be a committed exclusive relationship partner, it’s really not the one-night-stand guy. There’s so much anxiety during and after a one-night-stand: is he going to let me go home? Is he going to hurt me? Is he going to rob me? Is he going to ruin my sheets? Will he turn into a stalker? Is this going to be on the Internet? Etc... that it really doesn’t play out like it does in movies. It’s really very difficult to find a sexy stranger, do it in an alley, and consider it one of the best adventures of your life... I mean, I totally fantasize about that, but I don’t think I could ever pull the trigger on it. REAL people (as opposed to fantasy people) are just too unpredictable, and it would be too hard to stop thinking and get my cannonball on.

I do understand men’s desire for variety; I think that way about cocks when I see them in porn or in the shadows of strangers’ trousers, but it must be something fundamentally different in our genetic code that makes us not as hypnotically compelled to test them out. I wonder if it harkens back to mating instinct. A female would be more likely to go back to the same male that passed all her quality tests once before than take a gamble on someone new (especially choosy girls.) Whereas, males seek to plant the seed in as many furrows as possible. It’s one theory. I think it seems sound. I think it explains a lot why trust is more of a factor that intensifies sexual satisfaction for us than it is for you.

I also have another theory, one that presents a continuum of our willingness to let you sow your polyamorous oats. On one end, there’s the feeling that what you want is absolutely out of the question, sick, twisted, revolting. Then, getting that you want to do it. Then, getting why you want to do it. Then, being open to letting you do it (the sex holiday). Then, being open to letting you tell us about what you did. Then, watching. Then, picking out girls for you. Then, picking out girls for us. Then, opening our home and relationship to those girls for a long time. Then the continuum juts off on a tangential line about where we’d consider letting you get those girls pregnant.

I’m probably going to fall somewhere between “letting you tell me about it” and “watching.” Maybe “picking out girls for you.” But that would be my outer limit. And as far as getting other women pregnant, I’m going to fall way back toward “getting that you want to.” But, that’s just me.

And also, finally, I don’t necessarily 100% dislike being thought of as a sexual object. I have been involved in ‘friends with benefits’ and ‘booty call’ relationships before, and I don’t regret them. I do prefer when a relationship has definition, though, and if I’m going to be your sex toy, don’t tell me about your day. Muddling it all up by cuddling or inviting me to spend the night is just confusing. If that’s all it is, let it be. I would rather not live under the delusion that you actually care about me if you can’t stand me except for the way I feel on your cock. I can’t stand trying to force a relationship to work just because the sex is too good to quit. I wouldn’t want to only be thought of as that by everyone, I’d hope that at least one person could see more, and he would become my mate, but... if I love myself enough not to feel like my identity is defined by the man I’m with, go on, think I’m sexy. I can handle it.

Pop culture has done a lot for opening women up to talking about sexual desires and being more honest and reflective about what they want, and that’s an overall good thing. I fear, though, that it might ruin some of the illusions you boys had about us, haha, and without our mysterious feminine wiles, we just have laserbeams and cannonballs. I had fun doing this, I hope that someone has fun reading it... I would really like to know if anyone agrees or disagrees with anything I’ve put out there.

Oh, and, sorry for the buttinski.