It was only my second time with Paul* when he asked me what I wanted him to do to me in bed. Immediately, I froze. Paul knew that I wanted to explore my submissive side, the one that I had imagined was there but had yet to discover, so he had my utmost trust and my consent. I just had no idea playing into his dominance would involve a crash course in dirty talk too.
“I want you inside me,” I said sheepishly.
“Do you?” he asked. “How bad do you want me inside you? Tell me.”
“Really bad,” I responded.
“I want details,” he said. “Tell me how to touch your pussy.”
“Like, how you want to,” I whispered, following up with, “Could you not say that word, please?”
“Which word? Pussy?” he asked.
“Yes, that one,” I said.
For as long as I could remember, “pussy” was among a handful of words to which I had an aversion. It was something about the “ussy” sound which also made hearing “wussy” and “hussy” nearly unbearable. It had nothing to do with the body part and everything to do with the way the “S” slid off my tongue. It was right up there with “moist” and “panties” or, even worse, “moist panties.” I simply couldn’t bring myself to hear it, let alone say it.
“You have a pussy,” he said as he slipped his fingers inside me. “Now tell me how to touch it.”
None of the guys I had been with before Paul had ever communicated with me like this. I felt vulnerable, and also like I had no idea where to start.
“I like where your fingers are, but maybe a little deeper,” I said.
“Where are my fingers?” he responded. “You can say this, just yell it out for fun!”
I paused. I reminded myself it was just a word. “Pussy,” I said quietly. “I want to feel your fingers in me and then your mouth on my pussy.” And though it wasn’t exactly a breakthrough moment, it was certainly a step toward feeling more comfortable talking dirty to a partner. (It also came with some epic sex afterward, too.)
In the months I dated Paul, he pulled from me bits and pieces and implanted thoughts that had never crossed my mind. For him, whose second language was English, it was fun to play with the dirty words of my first language, words that I struggled to say because of my own issues and peculiar sensitivities to specific sounds. It was definitely a process with many baby steps, but I went from being able to say words like “pussy” and “cock” on their own to using them in complete sentence. This ability made me feel more confident in the bedroom.
Eventually, talking dirty became less and less awkward, and it started to become something I truly enjoyed.
In the safe space that Paul provided, one that was free of judgment and shame, talking dirty became less and less awkward, and it started to become something I truly enjoyed. Paul helped me to not only talk dirty, but to tap into my desires, embrace them, and then be fully open about them no matter how vulnerable it made me feel in the moment. Looking back, it seems as if he knew my ability to talk dirty was always there, but it just needed some major unearthing to release it. And let’s just say he was more than willing to help me find my words.
Long after my relationship with Paul dissolved, I continued to practice what he taught me with other men. I was unapologetically candid with my words during sex, and in most cases, the men I found myself with were just as vocal as I was. Once I was able to harness my ability to talk dirty in bed, I never looked back.
Now, dirty talk is as an integral part of my sex life, and it’s almost become a type of kink or fetish I need to orgasm. Not only have I included it during foreplay and by sexting a partner some pretty graphic sexual scenarios before seeing them, but I also find myself talking dirty when I’m masturbating.
As important the touching and physical sensations are for my sex life, dirty talk has made my orgasms feel more complete. And now, I’m a better lover because I know how to communicate exactly what I want.
*Names have been changed
Amanda Chatel is a PS contributor with a sexual health, mental health, and wellness focus.
