I wanted to be the best lover in the world

"Omigod! What was that noise you were making? You sounded like a cat being strangled. What were you guys actually doing in there?” I tried to look sheepish, but it was impossible ‘cos I felt like the cat that’d got the cream. I’d just had the best sexual experience of my life.
It was the summer of 1995. I was sharing a house with a bunch of fellow students – and a bed with my first proper boyfriend, Chris. Back in those days, students didn’t expect their accommodations to come with an en-suite and broadband access, and I was happy enough to have a decent room in a house near campus.
However, landlords, being landlords, always have one eye on the bottom line. Mine was no different and he had subdivided one large room into two. This would have been fine, but the wall that had been constructed between them was a ramshackle job and certainly not soundproof. I occupied one side and Toni, a reborn Christian and who had pledged chastity until marriage, had the other.
Toni didn’t approve of sex or music of a non-gospel variety. As might be expected, our relations became strained quickly. Initially, she objected to my fondness for Jane’s Addiction and Nine Inch Nails. After I met Chris, however, she had something even noisier to put up with. Aurally assaulted on a regular basis by the sounds of our noisy lovemaking, her Christian sensitivities were offended. I had discovered my ability to orgasm, and the results were, well, explosive. Toni moved out after three weeks. We carried on making even more noise!
This is my embarrassing sexual secret. When I come, I make noise, a lot of it. Depending on the circumstances, I squeal, scream, grunt and groan. Sometimes all four. At once. On occasion I even laugh, which has gotten me some strange looks from time to time. Well, imagine how you would feel if you were giving someone oral sex and they burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. I can’t help it or rather I probably could – but only at the price of my orgasm.
It was a bit of shock to realise this about myself. Despite having had a number of lovers before Chris, none of them had gotten quite such a vocal reaction from me. Not that I blame them of course. The problem had been all my own.
My mother always said that if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well. Perhaps I took this dictum too seriously but I certainly applied it in a way she hadn’t intended. When I was younger I was a devotee of magazine articles on sex tips. If I had put as much effort into my university courses, I would have achieved world domination years ago, so perhaps it was all for the best.
I blame it on my competitive nature. I was not satisfied with the idea of being a good lover; I wanted to be the best. In some ways this paid off because in pursuit of this goal, I was willing to try just about anything at least once. But it had its negative side. I was so wrapped up in the idea that I wanted to give as much pleasure as humanly – or perhaps that should be womanly – possible, that my own orgasm was of secondary consideration.
Like a deranged contestant on SEX-Factor, I wanted to know what the judges thought. If I could have asked for marks out of ten after I’d fucked or pleasured someone, I would have, but even I realised that this was a step too far. Instead I desperately studied my lovers’ reactions for feedback on my sexual performance. In many ways, I was observing my sex life, not living it.
Many of us, and this includes both men and women, spend far too much time focussed on our sexual performance – and not enough on our enjoyment. There is nothing wrong with wanting to improve your sexual skills or with making sure that your lover has a good time, but your own satisfaction is equally important. In my experience, the best lovers are the ones who are enthusiastic and enjoy sex, not necessarily the ones who can do ten different tricks with their tongues. Not that that doesn’t help, mind you!
Chris taught me that, to enjoy myself, I needed to stop worrying. For the first time in my life I was relaxed enough with someone to let myself go sexually, which meant that he was the first person, other than myself, who was able to give me a really good orgasm. For better or worse, those orgasms come with a soundtrack that is more Kate Bush than Norah Jones. Girls Aloud indeed. For a small woman, I have a powerful set of lungs.
After I broke up with Chris, I was worried how my next lover would react to my operatics. Unless you’ve had the privilege of having sex with me, you’ve no idea how extreme it can get. But then I realised something. Any serious boyfriends would have to accept me, flawed as I am. As for more casual encounters, I decided I didn’t mind providing the lucky buggers with an amusing anecdote. After all, I am not the only person who does strange things upon orgasm – far from it!
Some people scream or swear. They may lose control of their legs, or their ability to speak. Others may end not with a bang, but with a whimper – and finish with merely a satisfied sigh (and a small grin). But you know what? It doesn’t matter. It takes all sorts. The sheer variety of people’s reactions adds to the fun. The important thing is that you feel relaxed enough to enjoy your own orgasm, in whatever way it comes.
At this time of the (new) year, many of us turn into control-freaks. We decide to control our diet, our fitness levels, our alcohol intake, our smoking habit or whatever else we might think be in need of finer tuning, in order to help us to manage our lives. These are all good intentions, and if you succeed in every respect, you’re a better person than I am. But if you want to make a resolution that will really make a difference to your sex life, it’s this – let yourself go. Like me, you may end up screaming like a banshee and providing the neighbours with something to chortle over – but hell, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
And the pay off, I can assure you, is well worth it.