An Ode To Vanilla Sex

When it comes to ice cream, vanilla often gets a bad rap. Some say it’s more the absence of flavor rather than a legit flavor itself—especially compared to, say, chocolate and strawberry. And when it comes to sex, “vanilla” is considered a straight-up insult.

I have no stake in the ice cream debate, but I actually think vanilla sex is a whole bunch of awesome.

If you like to get out paddles and riding crops on the reg, more power to you. To me, that sounds exhausting for a Tuesday night.



Vanilla sex is comforting. It’s relaxing. I know what to expect, and I don’t have to worry about breaking out the lingerie or creating some elaborate fantasy role-play where I’m Daenerys and my hubs plays Khal Drogo (where my GoT fans at?). I know what to expect, and I can be myself, no pressure.

Besides, vanilla sex doesn’t mean turning off the lights, moaning (softly) a few times, and then rolling over. You’re not going for mediocre. You’re going for perfectly pleasurable, get-the-job-done sex. Sex you feel comfortable and confident with.

I’ve written my fair share of sex stories, and one thing that sex experts talk about all the time is making sex an almost mindful, meditative experience. That, they say, is the path toward an orgasm.

Now, I’ve actually never used nipple clamps, and I’m sure they’re all sorts of wonderful fun. But excuse me while I get back to being vanilla.

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