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On adult sexual tastes

I hate olives. In my opinion, these disgusting, overly-flavoursome nuggets of not-food are the best way to ruin a salad. Even so, I am repeatedly told by friends, family, and others who I suspect are getting secret kickbacks from olive farmers, that when I am older I will grow to love them.

Sadly, despite the olive I eat once a year to test whether I’m officially an adult yet, I have failed to start throwing them gaily into my mouth like someone at a posh dinner party.

Why am I banging on about olives? Because, although I still hate them with a passion only usually reserved for mushrooms, there are other things that I have acquired a taste for as I get older. In no particular order, here are a few adult sexual tastes that I’ve acquired, that are far more fun than olives:

Sexy massages

I used to feel the same about massage as I did about tickling: that it was something people were forcing on me in the misguided belief that I’d like it.

Now, at the grand old age of ‘oh shit I’m nearly 30’, I find that having moisturised hands pummeling my back and shoulders is not only nice but borderline orgasmic. The slickness, the power, the feeling of being so utterly cocooned and caressed by someone is delicious. Even more delicious when the massage goes south, and his slippery hands are mainly just lubing up my arse.

Only from someone I love, though – getting any sort of massage from a stranger still brings me out in a cold and unpleasant sweat.

The word ‘panties’

I have no idea why. Perhaps because when I was younger the word sounded too childish. As an almost-woman I was keen to project the image of an adult seductress. But now this dainty word makes me feel ever so slightly younger. It also conjures images of small, candy-coloured scraps of knicker fabric which makes me feel sexy even when the reality is less ‘miss’ and more ‘M&S’.

Spending more than a tenner on bedsheets

I know, it seems profligate. At University I’d have been happy to use the same cheap polyester sheets for an entire term, taking only short breaks to crinkle them a bit when they became too stiff with sex juices.

Now, as a much more mature adult, I find there’s something tingly and sexual about not just clean bedsheets but quality bedsheets. Soft cotton with a hint of fabric softener puts me in mind not just of sex but of the kind of sex I’ve had in hotels. Passionate, filthy, do-it-in-each-corner-of-the-room sex. Sex with bubble baths afterwards, and fresh towels, and occasionally complimentary slippers. Young me didn’t know the joy of this sex: adult me wants to reminisce about it by spending money in John Lewis and constantly loading the washing machine.

Sober sex

Naturally sober sex has always been good. I’m just not sure I realised how good, until I hit 25 or so. The older I get the more frustrated I am with my drunk self for not being able to fully appreciate every stroke, slap and sigh of a really decent fuck.

Drunk sex can be fun: giggly and uninhibited. And the slight spinning of the room makes you feel like you’re fucking in a fairground. But with sober sex you can feel every stroke, squeeze at just the right moments, and above all avoid falling off the bed.


  • MP says:

    Bedsheets definitely improve sex. As do quality condoms. And quality sex toys.

    Oh, and not being in a student house helps massively too – when you don’t need to worry about your neighbours being disturbed, can have much better sex!

    • Girl on the net says:

      Bloody good point. There’s a delicious luxury in not having flatmates who you might accidentally wake up/horrify.

  • Cindy says:

    Leaving behind the “sixty-nine”- let me concentrate on fabulous head, THEN enjoy reciprocation.

    • Don Rhea says:

      I am not a fan of ‘sixty nine’. When my head is between your thighs I want nothing to distract you from the feeling you are experiencing. Just lie back and enjoy. If you wish to reciprocate, that can come later…..

  • Ash says:

    But…if I wash or change my bedsheets, they lose that beautiful sex smell.

  • John McPigeonDeath says:

    I’ve never had sex.

  • Argon says:

    Sex in hotels is almost always better than sex at home. Yes. But it’s more than the sheets! It’s the, “I’m on holiday and I’m stress free” (or more likely: it’s “the partner is on holiday and stress free”). And stress free makes for better sex.
    And, of course, in a nice hotel you don’t have to worry about waking up the others in the hostel (above you on the bunk, or across the room, etc.; or even the next room, as in one particularly bad hostel, where even a double room didn’t mean privacy).

    Also, olives are nice, and so are mushrooms. And though your kink is different from mine, and that’s ok, not liking olives is weird.

  • Olives. Ugh… salty grapes. :/

    • Girl on the net says:

      Marry me.

      • Hah! :)

        My friend said I had to eat so many in a row, to acquire the taste. Why the heck would I want to hammer my taste buds into submission? I trust them, they’ve worked just fine thus far…

        • Moni Leigh says:

          Exactly! Oh, it’s so nice to find others who dislike olives. They’re just… salty, bitter awfulness. And both of my guys love them. Blech.

          And then there are the mushrooms. I can handle the (mostly, lack of) taste, but the texture…. /shudder/ No matter how they’re prepared, it’s that same almost-rubbery, slightly-too-chewy-in-the-wrong-way bit of *wrong*.

  • Panties. Love that word. Have no idea why really.

  • @kilted_wookie says:

    So with you and Moni on the mushroom thing.

  • Neal Champion says:

    I too tried an olive every 6 months or so to see if they weren’t disgusting yet. But they always were…until, at the age of 53, I suddenly liked them! So you may have another ~25 years to wait. Sorry

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