Malcom Gladwell of Tipping Point and Outliers fame, asserts that to attain expertise in any area, one needs 10,000 hours of practice. Well, by that measurement, I should be the worst lay in Manhattan. Yet, I have been told, more than once, that I can throw it down (I was shocked too!).
Given my obvious lack of practice, I used to feel incredibly insecure about my sexual prowess. I’d usually allay any trepidation by downing extra dirty Grey Goose martinis pre-act. But let’s be real—blackout sex is bad sex. In fact, one winter night after four said martinis at Hakassan, I tried to be bold and really sass it up whilst on top. The only thing that got banged that evening was my head against the bedroom wall, mid thrust. Note to self: concussed sex is also bad sex.
Initially, I thought that the men who complimented my boudoir abilities, were just sweet talkers. But upon closer examination, maybe, just maybe, they were on to something. So what helped my bedroom transformation? First, I love what I do (the who I do seems to be less important). Just like a fat kid loves cake, I LOVE boys. I always want to get down. Now, I give into those desires with more frequency. Clearly not every time is a home run, but I adore it nonetheless! Plus, I believe in positive reinforcement. I will tell the lucky lad I am with, exactly what I enjoy about his penis. I never lie (though sometimes I embellish via moan-volume), but he will know if he is succeeding in the sack. And he will be rewarded. Besides, what fellow doesn’t take pleasure in a compliment to his manhood?!
Second, I’m confident. And I faked it until I made it. I’m no Melissa McCarthy, but I consume cheeseburgers and fries on the regs. (I’m not going to lie, I had Haagen-Dazs for breakfast.) We all have body issues, but boys aren’t thinking about my cellulite when inside me. So why should I? Go ahead– keep the lights on. And after, pass the pizza!
Third, I’m open-minded. This took work, but I’m a quick study (thanks MIT). Simple acts used to repulse me, and I have literally smacked away body parts if they approached the no-fly zone circa two inches from my mouth. But I have since learned to lower my gag reflex, and more generally my inhibitions.
Lastly, it doesn’t hurt that I have a deep-seated desire to please men (thanks, daddy issues) and that I’m quite bendy (thanks, yoga). Of course, not everyone will find my techniques tantalizing, but that’s perfectly acceptable. I still face hookup-anxiety today, but I believe in my own craft now. And that will make for better sex for both my partner du jour and for me!
- The 10.000 hours rule and why it’s not only about practice (marinazet.wordpress.com)