Things You Should NEVER EVER Say During Sex

It’s Friday. The office is empty. I’ve had my coffee. We’re doing this.

So there I am, fresh from the gym, sitting in a basically deserted office, my oat latte in hand, the silence only broken by the hum of the air conditioning and one (1) lonely colleague eating breakfast.

One meeting. ONE. Which means I have approximately six hours to contribute meaningfully to society.

So naturally, I texted the girls.

“Worst thing anyone has ever said to you during sex. GO.”

My phone exploded.

The One That Started It All Allow me to present the entry that made my entire body recoil so hard I nearly spilled my coffee:

“Do you normally sweat this much?”

I’ll give you a moment. YOU DO NOT. You absolutely DO NOT look at another human being, who is in the middle of being physically active, intimate, and presumably enjoying themselves, and ask them to provide a moisture report.

First of all, YES. Yes he does. Because he’s a PERSON. With a BODY. That THERMOREGULATES.

Second of all, I have just come from the GYM this morning and I was absolutely saturated and nobody asked me to justify it. The treadmill didn’t look at me with concern. My water bottle didn’t raise an eyebrow. But somehow in the bedroom, breaking a sweat becomes a character flaw worthy of investigation?

Absolutely not. Next.

The Full Horror Collection

Because one wasn’t enough, the girls delivered magnificently. Presented here with the editorial commentary they deserve.

“Are you done yet?”

This is something you say to a microwave. You say this to a child who is taking too long to tie their shoes. You do not say this to a partner who is, again, just trying to have a nice time.

The correct answer when you want things to wrap up is literally anything else. Redirect. Suggest a position change. For God sake fake a cramp, if you have to.

“My ex used to do this thing…”

OK so. Much to my absolute shame. I have said this. I know. I KNOW. Take a moment. I’ll wait. In my defence I was younger, I was nervous, and my brain apparently decided that the best way to fill a silence was to open a door that should remain not just closed but bricked up, plastered over, and never spoken of again.

Oh cool! Great! Would you like her number? Should I leave so you two can catch up? The audacity. The absolute unhinged audacity of invoking an ex mid-scene like you’re adding a footnote to an essay. Nobody asked for citations. This is not a comparative analysis. There is no peer review process. PUT THE EX AWAY. I have since grown as a person (Ok I have grown a little) I would like that noted for the record.

“Are those real?”

We are BUSY. This is not the time for a fact-finding mission. Whatever the answer is, it is not relevant to what is currently happening and frankly whatever they are, they’re RIGHT THERE and you’re pausing to run a quality check? Incredible.

“Can you grab my phone real quick?”

Your phone. Your PHONE. Unless that phone contains information that will prevent a natural disaster, it can wait. It has waited this long. It will survive.

“What time is it?”

And here we are. The second confession of this post. As you can see from the specificity of my response, this one actually happened to me. Yes.

Someone asked me what time it was. MID. SCENE. Let me be clear his penis was inside me. OK.

I want you to really sit with that for a second. Really let it land. There was a whole situation happening. A situation that I had, might I add, made an effort for. There was definitely a scented candle somewhere in the vicinity doing its little job. And this man looked at me and decided that his most pressing need mid thrust, in that moment was to establish a timeline.

A TIMELINE. Was he catching a flight? Did he have a roast in the oven? Was there a critically important television programme starting at 9? I will never know. I was too busy feeling like a dental hygienist appointment that was running slightly over schedule.

Oh I don’t know, let me just put everything on hold, extract your penis from my vagina, have a little rummage around for my phone which is definitely under the pillow or possibly on the floor or maybe in my handbag which is in the hallway, locate the time, report back, and THEN we can discuss whether your schedule is being adequately respected.

OR.

OR.

You could just not ask. Because it is CURRENTLY the time where you have made a woman feel like a line item in your Google Calendar. It is CURRENTLY five past get out. It is CURRENTLY quarter to you’re sleeping on the sofa. It is CURRENTLY the hour where the scented candle on the nightstand is flickering in secondhand embarrassment on my behalf.

There is no good answer to this question. If it’s early, what does that mean? If it’s late, so what? Time is a construct and you have just made it everyone’s problem.

Buy a watch. Put it on the nightstand. Look at it before. Look at it after. Do not, under any circumstances, make it a group activity. I have healed. Mostly. I still think about it when I look at clocks.

“I love you” (first time, mid-scene, completely out of nowhere)

Now listen. Love is beautiful. Love is wonderful. Love, however, when deployed as a surprise air strike during intimacy, is genuinely one of the most chaotic things a human can do to another human.

One of the girls described it as “emotional ambush” and honestly, I think that’s going in the dictionary.

“Are you in yet?”

I need to preface this one with some important context because without it this just seems cruel.

She KNEW. She absolutely, one hundred percent, without any shadow of a doubt, knew.

This was not a genuine enquiry. This was not a navigation question. This was a precision guided missile launched from a place of pure, cold, calculated savagery. A woman who had simply decided that this particular arrangement was no longer working for her and chose to communicate that feedback in the most devastating way legally possible.

They broke up shortly after. I mean. Yes. Obviously they did.

I’m not saying it was the right thing to do. I’m not saying it was the KIND thing to do. But somewhere, in a flat in this city, a woman said those four words, watched the ceiling fan go round, and felt absolutely nothing. We do not condone it. We do respect the precision.

“You look just like your mum when you do that face.”

I’m sorry. WHAT. We need to talk about the complete and total psychological destruction contained in that one sentence. The audacity. The chaos. The sheer unhinged energy required to look at another human being in their most vulnerable moment and think yes, THIS is the time for that observation. There is no coming back from this. You cannot unhear it. That information now lives in your brain rent free for the rest of your natural life. Therapy cannot reach it. It has burrowed too deep.

Whoever said this I have questions. Many questions. Starting with, are you okay? And ending with, have you considered a career in psychological warfare?

“Should we talk about what we are after this?”

Ah yes. The relationship status ambush. Deployed mid-intimacy like a grenade rolled gently across the bedroom floor.

There you are. Present. In the moment. Perhaps finally relaxed for the first time all week. And then out of absolutely nowhere, existential admin arrives uninvited and sits down right in the middle of everything like it owns the place.

This question has ended more evenings than a 6am alarm. It carries within it the energy of a full HR meeting. Suddenly you are not two people enjoying each other’s company, you are in a performance review with nowhere to hide and no trousers on.

The answer, whatever it is, deserves a conversation. A real one. With clothes on. And possibly snacks. And definitely not right now. Right now is not the time for bureaucracy. Right now is the time for literally anything else.

“WTF Wrong fucking hole!”

I read this WhatsApp and actually laughed out loud in my empty office so hard that my one remaining colleague looked up from his desk breakfast with genuine concern for my wellbeing.

Now. Every single woman reading this knows EXACTLY what is happening here. You felt it. You winced. You may have crossed your legs involuntarily. We are all united in this moment of shared understanding. And every guy reading this is sniggering.

Because they know. They absolutely know.

Guys. Listen to me very carefully. Are you listening? Good. JUST ASK BEFORE YOU POKE.

That’s it. That’s the whole lesson. It’s free. It takes approximately three seconds. It requires no special equipment or training. Just a simple, casual, low stakes question BEFORE you go on an unsanctioned expedition into uncharted territory like some kind of deeply misguided Christopher Columbus.

In Defence of the Sweaters

I want to return briefly to our opening act because I cannot stop thinking about it. Sweating during sex is not a bug. It is a feature. It means things are going well! It means effort is being applied! The alternative is everyone lying very still and not enjoying themselves at all, which seems considerably worse!

I came out of a spin class this morning looking like I’d been retrieved from a lake and my instructor said “great work today!” You know what she did NOT say? “Do you normally sweat this much?”

Because she is a professional. And a hero.

What To Say Instead (A Very Short List)

Since we’ve established what not to do, here’s a brief guide to words that will not end your relationship

“That feels incredible” timeless, effective, zero notes

“Tell me what you want” sexy AND collaborative, you’re basically a CEO now

“I love how you feel” lovely, warm, nobody is crying

“Don’t stop” extremely clear communication, two words, very efficient

That’s genuinely all you need. You don’t need a script. You don’t need training. You just need to not conduct a moisture audit or bring up your ex. The bar is on the floor. Step over it.

Final Thoughts From A Friday Morning

It is 9:30am. I have been to the gym. I have my coffee. I have one meeting at 2pm about something I will have forgotten by the time the meeting ends.

And thanks to the girls, I have learned that the secret to intimacy is shockingly simple, make people feel good, not self-conscious. Be present. Be kind. Maybe be a little funny if things go sideways.

And for the love of everything holy, leave the sweat commentary for your personal journal.

Where nobody will read it. Which is exactly where it belongs.

The Career Ms 💋

Happy Friday. Drink your coffee. Tell your people they’re great. And maybe share this with someone who needs the reminder. ☕