Jess Beaulieu, Author at Love TV

Missionary Sex: Why It’s the Unsung Hero of Lovemaking

March 27, 2015January 22, 2024 by Jess Beaulieuin Sex

The Missionary Position has gotten a bad rep among the human race and I can’t determine why exactly. Could it be the confusing religious connotations of the name and the god-fearing history behind it? Could it be simply personal preference? Could it be that it reminds us of juvenile, inexperienced, naive love? When we couldn’t locate the clitoris if our lives depended on it and we had to keep our moaning to a whisper because our parents were sleeping down the hall. When our orgasms were ultra mysterious, in the sense that we had no idea what triggered them or how to hit that invisible button.

Whatever the reason, it is a common held belief that missionary is rather uninventive. Unoriginal. Uninspired. Unappealing. Unsexy. Unfun. Some think it’s the dullest way for two individuals to climax into ecstasy together. In my early romps of youth, I was told by many a compadre to “spice things up” in the boudoir. “You can’t just keep doing missionary forever. There are so many BETTER positions out there”, they would proclaim loudly with large, erotic gestures. I was intrigued by these “better positions” they spoke of and hoped the new, glamorous internet would lead me to dangerous, mind-blowing, Cruel Intentions level intercourse.

I turned on my desktop and discovered a smorgasbord of positions that looked highly titillating and highly awkward. I wrote them on a notepad and began to check them off one by one as I experimented with sexual partner(s). But to my dismay none of ‘em did the trick for me. Sure, a few were enjoyable enough. Even pleasurable and I could definitely partake in them for a period of ten minutes straight without discomfort. But I couldn’t find a replacement favourite. No matter how hard I tried I kept coming back to old, reliable horizontal body on top of horizontal body. That was six years ago and it continues to be my position of choice today. I will defend that style of quote unquote, uninventive, unoriginal, uninspired, unappealing, unsexy, unfun lovemaking until the minute that I die. I think missionary is the bees knees and there is nothing wrong with that.

But even though I’m confident in my opinions, I often get asked “WHY?” by friends when I reveal this information about myself. It perplexes certain folks, so, I’d like to state, for the record, WHY indeed missionary is my beloved number one.

The Eye Contact

I found in my experimentation days of yonder that the majority of naughty, wild, contortionist movements lacked face to face action. There was a good deal of back to chest action. Butt to crotch action. Head to foot action. But our eyelashes were rarely having a party. And that was unfortunate ‘cause I prefer to be able to look deep into the pupils of my lovah always and forever. Eyes are hot, baby. What can I say?

The Body Contact

Another feature of the “popular with high school students” position is that the bulk of your skins are rubbing up against each other a whole heck of a lot. Doggy style is a remotely okay time but I feel super distant from the person thrusting and holding my hips from behind. I’m more present and I find that my partner is more present because I’m more present when our whole bods are in mega close proximity to each other and our gross sweat blends into one stinky puddle.

The Clit Contact

I have read that there are superior places to put your pieces for clitoris stimulation but me lying flat on my back with my legs wrapped around the gentleman I am coitusing gets my clit buzzing like nothing else (other than cunnilingus of course – technically my favourite position is a man’s face in my vulva). I don’t orgasm via penetration but the moments I have gotten the closest have consistently been due to the “work of the lord” aka MISSIONARY, HELLO.

The Emotional Contact

And with eyes and bodices and clits comes the overflow of brain feels and oxytocin bonding between my head and the individual on top of me’s head. Intercourse is an intimate experience for moi, as it is for a hefty portion of the population, and when affection levels are tall my hormonal bliss levels are equally as tall. I’m not saying non-missionary-fornifcation can’t be emotional, but for me, my heart beats stronger and louder when I’m doing it like I’m sun tanning on a beach and the beach is my bed and the sun is a penis.

The Hugging Contact

I adore the sensation of orgasming and making others orgasm. When that occurs in missionary I can proceed to canoodle, embrace, and lock post-sex arms (more noodle like than regular arms). This can be achieved with some adjusting in other positions but it will take a minute or two to arrive at your destination. I prefer immediacy with my exhausted, extremely content, grateful after-copulation cuddling. That’s kinda the best part in my opinion so let’s get to it already.

Flow Contact

Ballet classes gave me trouble as a tween and my rhythm continues to be off today. When my muscles are doing junk that they were not designed to do my whole body goes into shock. You might be capable of putting this there and sticking that here and I honestly applaud you. I am impressed because that is not a possibility in my realm. I am comfortable in missionary and with comfortability comes excellent flow. And with excellent flow comes me being in rhythmic sync with the sentient creature inside me.

Experimentation Contact

I know. I have denounced experimentation this entire time BUT I am truly not against it in the least. Thing is, you can do research and development WITHIN mish (abbreviation for the non-with-it peeps). Your legs can go up, your arms can go back, and your butt can levitate off the duvet. Just because it seems plain Jane, doesn’t mean Jane can’t let loose on the weekends or the weekdays or holidays or days that only exist in leap years. Jane can toss her leg behind her head like she’s a professional gymnist or somethin’ whenever she wants.

I rest my case. Missionary FTW, y’all.

I Want to Masturbate in a Circle of Women

May 24, 2015January 22, 2024 by Jess Beaulieuin LOVE1 Comment

I adore the ritual of masturbating. I live for every single sultry part of it. I get ecstatic when I feel the first tingle of arousal in my underpants, which typically appears while I’m watching a smooching scene in a movie and/or thinking about a man I’m crushing on hard and/or literally out of nowhere for no reason while I am at work in the middle of an important meeting. Do conversations about fiscal periods turn me on? Only my libido knows.

One of my most beloved thoughts to get lost in is the thought of beautiful vibrators, and in particular my beautiful vibrators. Yes, I have plural and I am proud of it. I love stimulants that aid my hormones in achieving their goal. I revel in finding sexy videos on the internet that excites my clit without offending my brain (trickier than it sounds) and/or digging deep in my imagination for the face/sweat/penis/butt/knees/hip bones of a dude I’m into and/or staring into a mirror and satisfying my hot self to my hot self.

And then of course I am a fan of the actual act. Searching for the right buttons. Figuring out what I want that day, that hour, that minute. Building the orgasm within me. Climaxing and feeling my whole body uncontrollably contract and twitch and release. It’s a transcendent experience that I attempt to repeat as often as I can, specifically in the mornings, and in the afternoons, and in the evenings… okay, I do it a lot and have since I was 13-years-old.

Something I haven’t ever done in the masturbation department though is get my own bod off while surrounded by important ladies doing the same to their bods. I hear dudes talking about circle jerks constantly but it’s rare for women to share tales of collective genital bliss. And why is that, I ask you? I mean, females often gather in groups to chat about life and drink wine and make plans to dominate the world. I wonder then how my ladies nights have never morphed into an epic, gorgeous, highly empowering jilling off session. Is there something I’m doing wrong? Do I need to provide MORE chips and dip? Is chocolate the answer? Should I start offering oysters and dildos with dinner? What is the SOLUTION TO THIS PROBLEM?

I suppose it’s not really a problem but I honestly believe that if a group of ten women, all orgasmic simultaneously in a circle as if we were a coven of pleasure seekers it could better society. We could eliminate the wage gap with one unified moan. Our voices would ripple through the globe like a tidal wave of squirting. The 4th wave of feminism would rise and if it’s that time of the month the wave would be crimson! The energy we would release would be magnetic and contagious and legislation changing. Abortion access would suddenly exist for all! Maternity leave wouldn’t affect career growth! Slut shaming would be a thing of the past! Hillary Clinton would instantly be elected president and all men would make her a sandwich!

…. okay, I might be exaggerating a tad bit here. But, you cannot deny that the image of a dozen vibrators doing god’s (Gloria Steinem’s) work is rather powerful and hella inspiring and majorly instagram-worthy. I have become much more sex positive over the last two years and with that has come a growth in confidence, a decrease in body shame, and an understanding of how to expertly “walk my poodle” (yes, I refer to my vagina as my poodle). So why not take this sex positive attitude a step further? I say, let’s get real positive and bask in the glow that is women’s recently orgasmic faces. I’m interested in experimentation and my favorite hobby is being in and/or around crowds of labia lips. So why not combine the two?!

Plus, it would be so relaxing and non-threatening and FUN! We could do yoga afterwards and get brunch and check out a dog park. I would have to 100% make a day of it. if I’m going to gather my best friends together so we can all masturbate as a unit you better believe we’re going vintage shopping post-climax and eating gelato. We’ll be in top notch moods and totally at ease and ready to get real about our emotions in regards to women being censored on Facebook (which is one of my number one topics to get real about).

Also, we can give each other tips! If a lady is having a hard time locating that spot, another lady can saunter over and give her a helping finger. This could dip into a mutual masturbation zone and if it did I would be beyond thrilled. It’s killing two birds with one ejaculation! Or if one woman’s vibrator isn’t doing the trick, she could switch with another woman who wants to try something new. Like a game of musical chairs! And you know how sometimes it’s difficult to see what’s going on down there? When you’re attempting to pleasure yourself and it begins to feel like parallel parking? Sometimes you just need someone to say “an inch to the right, one centimeter up, and turn it at a 180 degree angle” in order to pinpoint that clit and that’s OKAY!

And another thing, I went to a nudist retreat once and what I loved most about it was seeing how unique each woman’s body is, specifically their crotch areas! It was a breathtaking sight that I would definitely like to repeat. Although I am straight, I have an obsession with the female anatomy and, like the process of masturbation every single part of it fascinates me, especially the sexy parts. If I could orgasm while several other vulvas are in my periphery, I could die happy. I want nothing more than to be satisfied as I hear other women being satisfied, metaphorically and non-metaphorically. That would be my ultimate wet dream.

When Casual Sex Becomes Less… Casual

June 10, 2015January 22, 2024 by Jess Beaulieuin LOVE

Sex is emotional. It’s an emotional activity that us humans enjoy participating in and for me it’s hella emotional. I personally wish occasionally that I could turn off my emotion faucet. It would save me a lot of trouble and a lot of regret filled text messages and a lot of crying in the bathroom at work situations. It seems that without me even trying, I often, with the help of oxytocin, hormones, and having apes as my ancestors, become attached to the naked person beside me, and that is never not complicated. Attachment and complication are basically synonyms.

See, we’re animals and being an animal includes sometimes not choosing who our heart wants to hook up with for a long while and that sucks. It sucks the big one, and not in a good way. ‘Cause not choosing who we want to hook up with for a long while can result in feelings being hurt/torn apart/shattered into a million pieces that cannot be put back together even if you block everyone on instagram. You sleep with another person in hopes that the previous person will be lobotomized but your stupid, idiot brain won’t delete the memories of them. In fact, your brain keeps rerunning those blissful moments like they’re a goddamn episode of Seinfeld.

And you’re like “Hey, brain, can you find something else to focus your energy on for a bit?” and your brain is like “Sure! How about I focus it on your taxes and remember that time he told you that your skin was soft? Let’s think about that for three hours”. This attachment is only made more complicated when you have agreed with the naked person that there would not be any form of attachment. That your hooking up would remain at a hooking up level and Christmases would not be spent at each other’s houses ever. Yet, regardless of that iron clad agreement, your stupid, idiot brain is all “Check out this image of you rubbing his head in your bed on your birthday! WASN’T THAT FUN/ ISN’T THIS CRUEL?”

And you can always sense this unwanted attachments arrival. Suddenly, you’re waiting for them to text you every single day. Suddenly, you’re willing to lose a ton of sleep just to have a conversation with them about dinosaurs. Suddenly, you get upset thinking about how holding their hand in public will continue to be an unfulfilled desire. Suddenly, when they mention seeing other naked people, it stings. It didn’t for two months, but now, you can’t bear hearing about it. You’re attached and you don’t want to be, but there is no going back at this point. You’ve shared too many childhood experiences. You’ve romantically spooned for too many hours. You’ve gotten late morning cheap brunch together too many times.

I didn’t comprehend this idea of unwanted attachment until recently when I began doing the casual thing for the first time. Before two years ago, I didn’t know what “casual” was or why it existed or how it smelled. I was in three long-term relationships back to back and even if I thought my first intercoursing with each boyfriend could possibly only be one night of awkward passion, the oral sex always seemed to lead to them meeting my mother a few weeks later. My process of coitus was: ask out a man/be asked out, go on said date with man who asked/was asked, fornicate with above mentioned man, and repeat for two years straight.

This resulted in me only having three copulation partners at 26-years-old, thus I was curious. I was curious about boinking random strangers I met at dive bars and/or friends of mine who I had a consistent flirt-on with and/or anyone on my “crushing hard on these peens” list. I was curious about fearing that I was impregnated by a generic dude named Mike who I couldn’t communicate with because he only checked Facebook once a year. I was curious about getting tested at the doctor and wondering “BUT WHAT IF??!?!” I was curious about the stand of the one night.

It all sounded daring and delicious and dangerous. So, after my last BF and I decided to call it mutual quits, I promised myself to remain single for at least 6 months, which turned into 12 months which turned into 24 months. And while I was pursuing singledom, I wanted to make sure I banged as many butts as I could and boy did I ever! I banged them butts like banging butts was going out of style and the world was about to end by butt explosion and my butt banging coupons were going to expire any day now.

There have been fun times. There have been not-fun times. There have been fun then not-fun then fun again then definitely not-fun at all times. I am happy that I did it and proud of myself that I delved into the scary world of non-committed horizontal tangoing. But, it has come with its problems, the major one being unwanted attachment. My attached to naked persons was guaranteed wanted before two years ago. I didn’t worry about saying “I like you” or having a texting limit or PDAs. I mean, the oral sex led to them meeting my mother every single time.

But, suddenly, I was late for work ‘cause I was up until 4 am conversing about dinosaurs with a body that was not my boyfriend’s. They weren’t necessarily my friend but they weren’t more than my friend either. They were just… a guy I slept with regularly. I haven’t wanted “more” with a bunch of guys I have slept with. In fact, I’ve wanted less. I’ve wanted the sleeping with them to not exist in history. But, then, with others, I’ve desired for them to hold my hand. I’ve hoped that they weren’t seeing other naked people, or at the very least, they didn’t enjoy seeing them naked as much as they enjoyed seeing me naked. I’ve hoped that I could eat turkey with their family at Christmas.

I’ve often wondered, “What does one do in such a situation? Do they end it? Do they continue on and pretend as if they’re totally cool with it? Do they ask for something deeper?” And I still don’t have an answer. Two years later. It seems that timing is a big factor in the “more” decision. Two people can both be attached but those attachments are unwanted due to circumstances out of their control. Or the circumstances are in their control but they, like me 24 months ago, made a promise to themselves and they want to keep it. Or their attachment to another naked person is greater than their attachment to you.

Whatever the reason, it stings. It never doesn’t sting and the stinging does not go, disappear quickly or easily.

What I have learned is that sex is hella emotional and I can’t change that. I can’t turn off my emotion faucet. If I hook up with someone and my heart chooses them, so be it. If I want them to hold my hand or text me dinosaur images in the middle of the night or meet my mom that’s okay. I don’t have to pretend that I’m totally cool with it being casual. I’m not ashamed of becoming attached. I’m actually starting to wish it happened more often. ‘Cause I’m realizing how special that attachment is, especially when it’s wanted by everyone.