Sexual Intelligence

McCoy and Crystal were a nice couple in their mid-thirties. A bit more traditional than many of my patients, they were Russian Orthodox, each with family in the area. They had a child and really wanted another—but before they conceived again, they agreed, they had to work out their “intimate life.” They wanted sex that had more “energy” and “closeness,” with less “stress” and less arguing.

They were not just inhibited, they were constricted. They thought they knew what sex was supposed to be like, and since they more or less agreed on how that looked, they didn’t question their vision. That job fell to me.

We talked about their relationship, which was fairly traditional: he was the main breadwinner, while she was a part-time nurse who raised their child and took care of their home. We discussed issues like power, autonomy, and disagreements. And we discussed their image of their church. McCoy wasn’t that engaged in it; Crystal went to church most weeks, although she said that things like birth control and sex were “personal” issues they decided for themselves. I noted this sense of independence, assuming it would come in handy later.

It was interesting discussing sex with them. As we talked about various practicalities, they took turns not wanting to change. McCoy, for example, hated using a lubricant during sex—he felt they shouldn’t “have to,” that it meant there was something wrong with Crystal’s arousal. She felt that sex had to include intercourse—that “men really need it.”

He didn’t like the idea of oral sex—he said that it was what prostitutes did for men, and that a “real man” wouldn’t go down on a woman. She didn’t want to make dates for sex, because she felt they should come together “spontaneously,” or else it was “too mechanical, not romantic.” And she only wanted to use the so-called missionary position for intercourse, because some others “weren’t ladylike,” while still others “put too much attention on my backside or breasts, which aren’t exactly perfect.”

Unintentionally, they were skillfully cooperating to stay stuck. Their ideas about sex undermined the possibility of sexual intimacy. Working so hard to do sex right and make it successful, they couldn’t just relax and enjoy each other in bed.

“Well, there’s good news,” I said cheerily. “You have plenty of reasons that sex isn’t the way you want it. There are plenty of things here to change.”

I explained how these judgments, interpretations, labels, and so on got in the way of intimacy, which was what they said they wanted. “Putting two naked bodies together for sex, that isn’t hard,” I said. “Putting them together when you’re in a playful mood, or getting in a playful mood when you’ve put the nude bodies together, that’s a little harder.

“You’ve asked for sex to be more intimate, which is great,” I said. “But how exactly do you intend to create that? It isn’t a matter of special positions or toys or tricks. It’s a matter of getting and staying connected intimately while you happen to be having sex.”

I helped them see that each was avoiding the other during sex, didn’t really trust they’d be accepted by the other, and wanted an intimate experience without acting in an intimate way. They didn’t want to admit that, fearing it meant they didn’t love each other; I assured them that wasn’t what it “meant.”

Sex isn’t “intimate” just because it’s sex; you have to do stuff to make it intimate. Sometimes people don’t realize they have to; sometimes people don’t realize they aren’t. Sometimes people think it’s their partner’s responsibility, either because of gender or more experience or tradition or shame.

This couple thought they were doing something wrong because the sex didn’t feel “intimate.” “Of course it doesn’t,” I smiled. “You’re not relaxing and shaping the sex the way, say, you shape a picnic with your kid. Why aren’t you tense then?”

“Because we know what to do,” McCoy said.

“I think you do, but I don’t think that’s why you’re relaxed about it. I think it’s because you don’t worry about doing it right, you’re not trying to follow a script, and you don’t worry that if things go awry it will be a terrible mess.” They nodded thoughtfully. “Now take that same mind-set into sex, and I believe you’ll be able to relax and make it intimate.”

In just five sessions, that’s what happened. McCoy and Crystal started seeing what they were doing, started doing it less, and started talking about how they were perpetuating their own problems. I suggested a few things and encouraged them to leave therapy with me (even though I enjoyed working with them). They added some things to their sexual routine: more kissing, more oral sex, two new positions. They still resisted what they felt was my “attack on intercourse,” and McCoy was still tense about Crystal climaxing so much more easily with a vibrator than with him.

But in the end, we demystified sex. It became more real to them—something they needed to shape and manage, not just wait around for, hoping it would be intimate, while passively accepting whatever they got.

The Sexual Intelligence model we’ve been exploring together is a concept of sex that makes it impossible for you to “fail” because you’re not aiming for “success.” Without measuring yourself against some standard of “normal,” you have only two standards left: “How do I like it?” and “Does my partner enjoy this with me?” Since there’s nothing to succeed at, you don’t have to wait until the sex is over to decide how it was. Instead, you can enjoy virtually every moment along the way, since you already know how the sex ends—it ends with everything being fine. Not perfect perhaps, but fine.

In this vision of sex, nothing can go wrong because there is no “wrong” and no “right.” Lost erections, quick climaxes, dry vaginas—they’re all just features of sex, not an interruption or a failure. In this erotic world, there’s no cultural hierarchy stating that certain kinds of sex are better than others; thus, whatever (consensual) activities people do are fine. Those old hierarchies (intercourse is better than oral sex, oral sex is better than a hand job, toes are inherently not sexy, and so on) are for accountants, not lovers. Unless you want to conceive, they’re completely arbitrary, and best ignored.

Ultimately, the Sexual Intelligence approach results in you owning sex, rather than serving it; you end up being free to create (and enjoy) sex, rather than being enslaved by the need to fulfill a cultural model of sexual adequacy. And that’s better than any orgasm could possibly be.

In Chapter 1, I promised we would envision and create sex as a place where mistakes are simply not possible, and virtually nothing can go wrong.

I hope you’ve done that along with me, as we’ve discussed practical ideas and strategies including:

• Pursuing what you say you want from sex;

• Eliminating your performance orientation, making sex a place to relax instead of a place to succeed (or fail);

• Abandoning the question of whether you or your partner are sexually normal;

• The importance of communicating about sex—and how to do it effectively;

• Realistic sexual physiology: accepting that arousal can fluctuate, sexual response often changes with age, and emotions affect the way your body responds before and during sex;

• The importance of bodily attunement before and during sex, and the value of slowing down to help facilitate it;

• The mistake of identifying certain body parts as “erogenous zones”;

• The importance of preparing for and coming to terms with the fact that sex may be different as you move forward in life, so you can enjoy it;

• The importance of focusing on sexual enjoyment rather than sexual function.

Indeed, recall that in all of our discussions, sexual “function”—erection, lubrication, orgasm—is seen as a means to create experiences you desire, rather than an end in itself.

You’ll recall that I started this book by asking what people want from sex. Most adults—including, presumably, you—emphasize some kind of closeness or intimacy. So here are some questions I ask patients to help them think about this issue:

• If intimacy is such a big part of sex, why not discuss sex with your mate? Or why tolerate your mate’s silence about it?

• If sex is at least partly about intimacy, and you can’t or won’t communicate, how do you expect to build the intimacy that nourishes enjoyable sex?

• How do you expect to talk about sex if you don’t have the words you need?

• How do you expect to make sex intimate or close if you emotionally hide during it?

Although I do it as gently as I can, my patients squirm when I ask questions like these, and if you’re squirming a bit now too, I’m very sympathetic. Still, if closeness and intimacy are important parts of sex for you, you need to behave in ways that lead to closeness and intimacy. I’ve been talking about practical ways to do this throughout the book; below are some additional ideas for creating closeness during sex by making sex a place in which you can’t fail. That’s the ultimate in Sexual Intelligence.

Don’t start sex before you feel close—or ready.

While you don’t need to feel tremendously loving to begin sex, it isn’t smart to start sex when you feel disconnected or cranky toward your partner—no matter how horny you are. In such a situation, two people must do something to bridge the gap between feeling separated and feeling connected. If they don’t, the sex will at best feel disconnected. At worst, the bodies won’t cooperate and the whole thing will just feel creepy.

But even under warm and loving circumstances, people need to make the transition from not-sex to sex. Some couples have rituals, like bathing together or nibbling their favorite treats. Other couples sit together a bit and calm themselves down from the day’s running around. This transition is certainly no waste of time; for many people, it’s the best predictor of whether or not they will enjoy the sex that follows.

“Foreplay” is what many people call the stuff they do to make the transition from not-sex to sex (whether the sex involves intercourse or not). It may involve kissing, fondling, maybe genital play. If you don’t want to do those erotic things on a given occasion, consider two more options: either do other sensual stuff that appeals to you (such as washing his hair, or licking her toes) or maybe don’t have sex right now.

For many people, the longer it’s been since they’ve had sex, the more awkward they feel when they start. That makes the transition—words, gestures, touch—even more important.

Clean up the initiation process.

In the early months of many sexual relationships, no one “initiates” sex—it “just happens” as couples make love whenever circumstances allow. After a few years that gradually stops; then someone actually has to begin the little dance each time that will culminate in either

(a) two people having sex or (b) one declining the invitation.

Many people complicate this process by assigning way too much meaning to the ballet. Some people react to an invitation by thinking, “You don’t realize how hard I work and how tired I get.” Others believe that if a partner doesn’t initiate at times when they could, it means their partner is feeling “I don’t love you” or “I don’t find you attractive.” Some people feel they can’t just say no, so they respond to an invitation with an excuse. And some people use their partner’s invitation to rekindle an unfinished quarrel: “After what you said yesterday to my mother, you expect me to have sex now? Forget it.”

My patients have interesting ideas about initiating sex:

• “I never initiate. When I want him to initiate, I just put on my special nightgown, and he knows tonight I’ll say yes. So he initiates 100 percent of the time.”

• “I know he feels pressured when I suggest sex, so I usually don’t. But when we go to bed, if he lets me spoon him and doesn’t move away, I figure there’s a chance he might say yes.”

• “I hate it when he says, ‘How about tonight?’ The way to let me know you’re interested in sex is to shower and shave before you come to bed.”

• “I’m afraid to kiss her good-night, because she’ll think I’m suggesting sex. Then she complains that I never kiss her.”

The rockiest part for some couples is when one partner suggests sex and the other wants to decline. Every couple has to have a way for one of them to say “no thank you” without the other having bad feelings beyond mild disappointment. For too many couples “no” is usually followed by either an argument or one or more cold shoulders.

So what do you do after he or she says no to sex?

I tell some patients that the sequence of events they take for granted amazes me: “Let me get this straight. You wanted to make love with him. You wanted to create closeness and pleasure for both of you. You wanted twenty minutes that would feel special. And when he said ‘no thank you,’ you turned away and refused to hug, talk, or even look at him.”

“That’s just natural,” I often hear. No, it is not. It’s a decision that you make. A decision that does not enhance your relationship or your chances of creating enjoyable sex next time. And it certainly doesn’t make you feel good.

Many patients struggle with what they perceive as rejection. “How would you like to be rejected? Nobody does,” they wail.

“She’s not rejecting you, she’s rejecting sex with you,” I’ve told many, many patients. When pressed, I say, “She didn’t tell you to go away, didn’t say you were disgusting, didn’t say she’ll never want sex with you. She just said no to sex with you in a particular moment.” Of course, I encourage people who say “no thank you” to reach out and hug or touch their partner—as I remind the eager partner that this is not an invitation to sex.

Just as the question “do you want to go out tonight?” has many answers besides “yes” and “no” (“Yes if we can be home early,” “No if you want to drink,” “Only if I get a nap this afternoon,” “Please ask me again after I come home from the gym”), the question “Would you like to have sex?” has many answers besides “yes” and “no.” For example:

• “I’m a little tired, so I’m up for sex if you’ll do most of the work.”

• “Sure, if you don’t mind me not climaxing.”

• “Y’know, if we wait till tomorrow, I’ll have a lot more energy.”

• “I still have that sore on my lip, so if you can enjoy sex without kissing, okay.”

• “It’s already late, so could we just do a quickie?”

• “I could, but that work deadline is so much on my mind I wouldn’t be there 100 percent. Do you still want to?”

Finally, making sex dates is mandatory if you have kids or other adults living in your house. Making such a date doesn’t commit you to sex—after all, when the time comes you might have a headache or be cranky from taking care of a sick dog all day. Instead, you make a date to be available for sex. You both agree to clear your calendars for a particular time; then, if you’re both in the mood, you can have sex. This avoids the complaint I hear so often, “Don’t blame our lack of sex on me—I was ready last Tuesday, but you were doing email all night.”

And yes, some people find the idea of planning sex so repulsive that they’d rather not have sex—and then complain about it.

Predictably, some people apparently think there’s only one right way to initiate, and a partner who doesn’t use it is either being disrespectful or was raised by wolves.

“Initiating” simply starts the machinery that makes the transition between sex and not-sex. Couples need to settle what that’s going to look like so that they’re not still arguing year after year about who should do it, or what’s unromantic, or when’s the best time to ask—instead of actually having sex. In fact, when couples can’t work this out over time, I assume there are other unspoken things going on. I’ve never heard of a couple who can’t eventually agree on how to discuss where to go for dinner, have you?

Take time, make time.

When you calculate the time it takes to fly across the country to visit your Aunt Minnie in her mansion (or at Graceland, in prison, at the trailer park, the Daytona Speedway—I don’t know her latest gig), you know you have to include getting to the airport, hanging around after being strip-searched, and getting from the airport to your actual destination.

Similarly, the time required for sex includes time to clear your mind (of both real-world clutter and relationship clutter) and prepare your body (going to the bathroom, brushing your teeth, taking out your contact lenses). You know how it feels to be late going to the airport. Don’t drag those awful emotions into your sexual experience.

Don’t shortchange sex—take the time that’s necessary to do it right. If you want sex but you don’t have the time, enjoy a minute of kissing or fondling. Have sex later, tomorrow, or who knows when.

Focus your focus.

It’s hard to not focus on something: Don’t think of a carrot. Don’t think of a carrot. Don’t think of a carrot.

It’s much easier to focus on something: think of an eggplant, all purple and shiny, with the curved stem at the top that has those grooves, and the bottom has that flattened-out leaf the same color as the stem, and if you slice it open it’s not exactly white, it’s more like beige, and you can see those tiny little brownish seeds.

Don’t not think of a carrot, think of an eggplant.

When it comes to sex, don’t tell yourself, “Don’t feel nervous,” or, “Don’t think about success (or failure),” or, “Don’t think of porn actresses.” Choose your focus: your partner’s body or face or skin; how you feel about him or her; how your partner’s hand, mouth, hair, breasts, or weight feels on you.

Similarly, you can focus on your big belly, or on your clitoris. You can focus on your belief that your penis is too small, or you can kiss your partner and stroke her hair. You can think about the last time you had sex and felt disappointed, or you can look at your partner and say, “I’m glad we’re doing this.” You can—and should—focus on whatever you want during sex. Unless you’re dealing with the insistent, intrusive thoughts that result from trauma, you can focus on whatever gives you enjoyment during sex.

A lot of people don’t. Instead, they focus on things they find unpleasant—like self-criticism of their bodies—and then find it hard to relax during sex. That’s like thinking about all the awful things they put in hot dogs while eating a hot dog, finding it hard to enjoy eating the hot dog, and then being surprised—or blaming the hot dog.

We can spoil any experience, whether hiking, eating, watching a movie, or playing with our kids. If you often feel, “How can I enjoy sex when I know that I’m overweight? (or wrinkled, or whatever),” you need to use some Sexual Intelligence. We don’t enjoy sex because we’re perfect (or because the moment is perfect or our partner is perfect), but rather despite the many imperfections built into every single sexual situation. Sexual enjoyment is not for the perfect—it’s for everyone.

Don’t think of a carrot, and don’t not think of a carrot. Think of an eggplant. Or a tomato. Or any other kind of sexual experience you want to have.

Express train or local train?

Sex isn’t an express train—you don’t get on and then have to go to the end without stopping. That would make anyone think twice before getting (it) on.

No, sex is a local. You start, and you see how you feel. If you like it, you continue; if you don’t, you change it or you stop. You get tired, you rest (you tell your partner, of course). You need to go to the bathroom, you go (you definitely tell your partner). You get a cramp, or your wrist hurts, or your jaw starts to ache, you change what you’re doing. Things dry out, you get more lube or a drink of water (depending on which end is drying out).

Beginning a sexual encounter isn’t a commitment to continue or “finish” it. It’s a commitment to be friendly, to be open to what happens, and to communicate. This perspective may help you begin sex more frequently. Of course, it also requires that you and your partner be able to talk to each other about your experience in the moment.

Talk during sex.

Keep each other abreast of your experiences. If you’re unsure where your partner is emotionally at any given time, ask. How? “Honey (huff, puff), how ya doin’?” And remember, eye contact is the ultimate “talking” during sex.

If you and your partner have talked about sex during the previous week or two, you’ll have something to discuss during sex. For example, if you mentioned you were interested in the Pirate Game, or that you didn’t want to try a blindfold again, you could reference that during (or after) sex.

As we discussed in Chapter 8, remember to talk about sex outside of bed, too.

Surprise does not equal disappointment. Disappointment does not equal failure.

On the one hand, it’s fun to plan the sexual adventure you’re about to have: how you’re going to touch your partner, how you want to be kissed, how enthusiastic your partner will be, what a huge orgasm you’re going to have, and so on. It’s even more fun to talk about it with your partner ahead of time (“Tonight I’m going to caress you soooooo slowly…,” “On Saturday I’m going to lick you until you come big-time…”).

That said, it’s important that we not get too attached to a specific version of sex on a particular occasion, because it might not happen exactly that way.

As an analogy, imagine you’re really in the mood for kung pao chicken. You say, “Let’s go out for Chinese tonight; in fact, let’s drive a little farther than usual and go to that place with the fabulous kung pao chicken.” Your partner agrees. You drive out past the trailer park, the sagebrush, and the Liberace museum, and you arrive at Luigi’s Chinese Restaurant.

You sit down, your mouth all ready for kung pao chicken, and what does the waitress with the slightly stained apron say? “By the way, no kung pao tonight. Chilis all gone.” You’re disappointed, of course. Your mouth was totally set for kung pao chicken. Now you have to make a decision—to enjoy the evening, ruin the evening, or go for something in between.

Notice that it’s your decision, not the restaurant’s.

You can leave, sulk, and go home. You can go somewhere else, but it’s already getting late and the closest place is a half-hour away—besides, nobody does kung pao like Luigi. So you can stay and order any old non–kung pao thing, pick at it, and be resentful.

Or you can have a great meal. Was it the spicy heat you were looking for? You can order something with black pepper. Was it the chicken you wanted? There are lots of chicken dishes on the menu. Was it the peanuts? Get whatever you want, and ask them to add peanuts (note: not recommended in wonton soup). If you like, look at your partner and ask for a moment of sympathy over your long-lost kung pao fantasy. Then eat up, before it gets cold.

Think of sex like that—you can go in with preferences, but you must be flexible because you can’t know exactly how an event is going to unfold. One of you will or won’t get an erection; one of you will or won’t be in the mood to play the Star Trek game; one of you will or won’t want to spend as much time or energy on sex as the other; one of you will or won’t get a cramp in the foot; and your partner will or won’t bite you exactly where, when, and how much you want.

Fortunately, there are more ways to enjoy sex than the exact one you fantasized about. And fortunately, there’s also next time.

Put orgasm in its place.

Perhaps you’ve noticed that I’ve said almost nothing about orgasm. That’s because when sex is satisfying and uncomplicated, orgasm is just a small part of it. It’s only when orgasm is problematic—you can’t have one, or it hurts when you do, or you feel self-conscious or guilty about yours—that orgasm becomes a big part of sex.

Sex offers us a lot, including the chance to be close to someone; to give him or her gifts; to feel graceful, desired, and attractive; to discover and express ourselves; to feel special and known; to enjoy our bodies; to play games with power; and to violate taboos without penalty.

Thinking of that potential lineup puts orgasm in perspective—it’s simply a bonus, and quite a brief one at that.

And although orgasm can be a wonderful, liberating moment of melting into the sun, moon, and stars (or Narnia, Hogwarts, and Middle Earth, if you prefer), it can also be bittersweet. Many people have orgasms but hardly feel them, because they’re so concerned about other things, such as how long it took. For others, an orgasm is a symbol of adequacy (their own, their partner’s, or both), so orgasm is something they have, not something they feel. And when sex doesn’t involve much emotional connection, orgasm can be a lonely experience.

If you think orgasm is the best part of sex, you’re missing a lot. And if orgasm is the only part of sex you enjoy, I imagine the rest of sex must be pretty disappointing.

So how can we make it impossible to fail at sex? By making sex more adultlike: Be sober, create a better environment, make sure you get your basic conditions met, accept yourself so your self-esteem isn’t on the line, and enjoy what you get. Be disappointed—and only disappointed—when appropriate.

Or as Ashleigh Brilliant says:

“To be sure of hitting the target, shoot first, and then call whatever you hit the target.”