What Happens When We Stop Performing and Start Feeling?
“We’re not working on our sex skills. We’re learning to communicate through our bodies.”
Last week, my partner and I had a fight. We talked it out—sure. But words can only do so much. They’re just projections of our inner worlds, attempting to make sense of something that’s often too raw, too complex, to put into language.
At some point, we just stopped. We looked at each other. Her eyes held this mix of frustration and sadness, and somewhere underneath, a tenderness that reminded me of why I love her so damn much. My own bitterness softened, though it still lingered. The sweetness of love and the sharpness of frustration—they were both there, undeniable, staring back at us.
So we did what we often do when we hit those walls: we fucked. We sank into each other, bringing everything we were feeling into that space. Joy, anger, sadness, lust—it all came with us. Sometimes, we even go for an anger fuck. She’ll let her frustration out on me, and I’ll give it right back to her. The energy shifts. And yeah, sometimes, once the surface melts away, the tears follow. Other times, when I ask her afterward, “Do you want to talk about what came up?” she just shrugs and says, “Nah, we’re good.”
And you know what? We are. In those moments, where we stop trying to explain and just embody what we feel, something shifts. Something real. Something unspoken but understood.
That night, it hit me. We weren’t “getting better” at sex. We were stepping into a deeper form of communication—unfiltered, non-verbal, and embodied. The eye contact, the way we touched, the energy we shared—that was where the truth lived. Not in what we said, but in what we showed.
Sex used to be about performance for me. Making her come, making myself feel like the greatest lover alive. But now? It’s about opening doors to the parts of ourselves we usually keep hidden—even from ourselves. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about accessing those deep, buried layers and allowing them to breathe. It’s about exposing what’s raw and real, even if it feels uncomfortable.
When we approach sex this way, it moves beyond pleasure and performance. It becomes this raw, transformative space where we meet ourselves and each other as we really are. No masks, no pretense.
In those moments, I feel closer to who I truly am. Not my thinking, performing self, but the part of me that feels, that aches, that still carries some of my animal instincts. It’s not about being civilized; it’s about being whole.
And that’s where relationships deepen. Because if you want to share the fullness of who you are with your partner, you’ve got to meet those parts of yourself first. How else can you offer what you don’t yet know exists?
Sex, in its truest form, is a pathway back to yourself—and, in turn, to each other.
In service of the betterment of men,
Erik
Mentor of Men
PS
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