This Is How I Learned To Accept Being 'Too Horny'

I thought my horniness was a post-breakup aftershock. Instead, I’m realising this is my body making her demands known – and I have to listen to her, writes Carolyn Busa.
Courtesy of the author
Courtesy of the author

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I don’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that when my office’s work from home policy became a little more, um, loose, so did I.

I was in my late twenties and I suddenly found myself very horny. As you can suspect, working from home was a challenge in this state of mind; especially with my new roommate, the Hitachi Magic Wand. (I won’t get into it lest you have a bottle of wine and a few hours to spare, but let me just say this: that is one powerful vibrator.)

When I wasn’t masturbating, I was thinking about masturbating. The days I did go into the office, I found myself staring blankly at my computer, imagining bedroom adventures with my now growing list of crushes.

I had just gotten out of a nearly five-year, toxic relationship. I assumed this was just the normal, next step after heartbreak. I mean, Peaches said it best: “Fuck the pain away.” But while my heart healed, my habit continued. I managed to squeeze in quick sessions even if it meant being late and blaming my dog for my tardiness.

“He insisted on going outside again!” (I got horny.)

“He peed five times!” (I came five times.)

“The one benefit to me losing control of my mind (and time) was discovering just how good my body was capable of feeling.”

I needed to know more. And, after some eye-opening Internet searches, I learned what was happening to me was more than just break-up aftershock: it was science. In 1953, Alfred Kinsey, everyone’s favourite zoologist, proposed that while male sexual responsiveness peaks around age 18 before declining, women are most sexually responsive in their late twenties and thirties. In Sexual Behavior in the Human Female – ironically published some years after the male edition – Kinsey also proposed a woman’s sexual responsiveness remains more or less constant into her 50s and 60s.

I really did appreciate Mother Nature delaying a woman’s libido; it was as if she was making sure we all got diplomas, degrees, and some experience in the real world before completely turning us into horny mush. But holy crap, into our 50s and 60s? I realised I still had a lot on my to-do list that would require a fully functioning brain. I had to figure out how to control this new normal, not only for my life to-do list but for my to-do list of a different kind: my future partners.

You see, the one benefit to me losing control of my mind (and time) during this phase was discovering just how good my body was capable of feeling. I never knew such intense pleasure. The problem? Once I knew what I was capable of providing my body, finding lovers to match that level of intensity got harder. And because I was so vocal about being horny in my life as a comedian, lovers who knew this assumed pleasing me would be a walk in the park.

Wrong. I needed more. Simply ‘being horny’ wasn’t enough for me and, once again, I found science was backing me up. Inspired by Kinsey’s studies like the one above, a group in 2002 performed a study which concluded that a woman’s sexual peak was more likely to be linked to sexual satisfaction. That made sense, the more I thought about it.

There had been a shift in the origin of some of my more hornier moments. Half the time they were rooted in the obvious (sex, body parts, touching), but the other half were rooted from me. Well, me and my world. I was finding new pleasure in the weather, mundane conversation, dancing, my first sip of coffee, smells, bus rides (Note: not smells on bus rides). These simplicities didn’t end in orgasms but they satisfied my soul deeply. I realised I needed partners who could do the same.

My own sexual peak was demanding attention. I should’ve felt empowered by her brazen behaviour. And I was! But I also just wanted to get laid, and searching for soul-satisfying lovers didn’t always make that easy. It’s not that I couldn’t enjoy any part of non, soul-satisfying sex – an orgasm is an orgasm, right? – but it certainly trimmed the fat in terms of partner selection. It felt unfair to simultaneously be open to more casual sexual relationships and need that ‘soul food.’

I knew (or at least had a much better idea) about what I wanted out of sex, and it wasn’t always understood by my partners. Some didn’t know what to do with me, some didn’t know what to do with themselves, and some were just straight up confused – one even calling me ‘too kinky’. No, not for telling him to spit in my mouth (that, he was okay with), but for telling him (kindly) exactly how and where I wanted to be touched.

“My horniness transformed from a healing process to a way of life and, believe me, I won’t deny it was overwhelming.”

Where was I when the definition of kinky changed to ‘concepts that confuse men?’ Knowing what I wanted in bed wasn’t a kink, it was confidence. It was communication. Concepts that, as I continued my journey, became easier, and concepts that should be celebrated not criticised.

My horniness transformed from a healing process to a way of life and, believe me, I won’t deny it was overwhelming for others. It’s still overwhelming for me! The mushy brain, the fantasies, the vibrators. There’s a learning curve in finding a balance between pleasure and productivity. But the louder my horniness gets, the louder I get. I’m learning not to be scared of my body and I’m learning not to be scared of communicating her demands. It’s always worth it when I do.

Whenever – and however – your horniness makes herself known, listen to her. Learn from her. And when the time is right, let yourself get loud about her. I can guarantee you she has your best interests in mind.

Carolyn Busa is a writer and comedian. Follow her on Twitter at @misstoiletslave