Welcome to Ask a Cleveland Sex Therapist. Want to ask Matt a question that could be tackled in a future column? Click here. Now, onto this week’s topic.
Recently, I was sitting in my office, between sessions, getting ready to wrap up when I noticed the books I have displayed on my coffee table were askew. When I went to fix them, I saw that the cover of my copy of Becoming Cliterate by Laurie Mintz was bent. I don’t know why, but when the covers of paperback books become damaged, I become annoyed. But this article isn’t about my anger, I will save that for my therapist. Instead, seeing this book inspired me to pick it up again and explore what was inside. Having read this book once before, I remembered it being one of the most transformative pieces of literature, helping shape how I work with vulva-owners. This time around, it impacted me a little differently. This time, it reminded me about how much work we still have to do in helping everyone, but especially women, embrace pleasure and sexual freedom.
Think about the messages many of us received about sex growing up. As someone who grew up Catholic, a lot of my messages weren’t centered around fun and play. Most of us were told quite the opposite. Women were told to be careful, to avoid pregnancy, to watch out for infections, and perhaps, if they were lucky, that when sex does happen, it should happen with someone they love. While I can’t deny the benefit of informing people about the importance of sexual health, where was the conversation about pleasure? Pleasure is a huge component of sexual health and empowerment. Where was the explanation that the clitoris exists, that it plays a major role in pleasure for many people, and that there is no shame in learning what feels good in your own body? For most of us, those conversations never happened. Then, somehow, we expect them to enter adulthood knowing what they want and feeling comfortable asking for it.
I see the impact of this silence in my work all the time. Someone tells me they can orgasm alone but feels like they are “doing sex wrong” because they do not orgasm during penetration. Someone else knows what feels good but worries that asking for it will hurt their partner’s feelings. Another person has spent so long focusing on whether their partner is enjoying themselves that they have barely had a chance to ask what they enjoy. The frustration builds and builds until shame barges in and makes itself at home in the bedroom. None of this means there is something wrong with these people. It means they have been trying to build a satisfying sex life with an instruction manual that left out some pretty important pages.
Part of what I loved and makes Becoming Cliterate so powerful is that Laurie flips the script and challenges the idea that penetration should be the main event of sex and that everyone else’s pleasure should just happen along the way. We have all inherited a narrow sexual script: desire appears, penetration happens, someone orgasms, and that is the end of the story. Think of every movie from the 90s and 2000s if you need a visual. If your body responds differently, it can feel like your body is the problem. But why are we measuring so many different bodies against one limited script? For vulva-owners, the clitoris is not a bonus feature. It’s the main event! Paying attention to it is a requirement, unless otherwise stated.
Of course, knowing the anatomy is only part of the work. Everyone can learn where the clitoris is and there can still be a struggle to say, “I’d like you to pay more attention to it,” or “Can we slow down? This is overwhelming.” What can be more annoying for vulva-owner is knowing that your pleasure matters and still feel selfish when you make room for it. Sex negativity has done a number on our heads. Even when we intellectually disagree with it, it teaches some people that their pleasure is something to earn, something to hide, or something that matters only if it happens in a way their partner expects. That is a lot to carry into the bedroom.
So, what do we do with that? How do we fight the years of misinformation, stigma, and shame? Well, we get curious. If you have a vulva, it is important to know that you are allowed to explore your body without making orgasm the goal of every experience. Notice what kinds of touch feel good, what feels neutral, and what does not work for you. Notice whether the setting, your stress level, or the pressure to respond a certain way changes your experience. If you are with a partner, you can bring them into that curiosity. “I’m still figuring this out” is a perfectly fine thing to say. So is “I know what I like, and I want to show you.” You don’t need to be an expert in human sexuality to experience pleasure.
Picking up that bent book reminded me how much has changed since I first read it and how familiar these conversations still are. I sit with clients every week, trying my best to help them navigate our sex negative society. I wish every person had access to sex education that treated pleasure as a meaningful part of sexual health. I wish fewer people came into my office believing their bodies had failed because they did not respond according to a script they never chose. We may have a lot of work left to do, but we can start by talking more openly, listening more carefully, and remembering that pleasure belongs to the person experiencing it. When people feel free to be honest about their bodies, intimacy has more room to grow.
Matt Lachman is a Licensed Professional Clinical Counselor and Supervisor, AASECT Certified Sex Therapist, and owner of Cleveland Sex Therapy, located in the heart of Gordon Square. Since opening Cleveland Sex Therapy in 2019, Matt has been dedicated to promoting sex positivity and inclusivity in his work with individuals, couples, and polyamorous relationships. When he’s not helping clients navigate their sexual and relational journeys, you can find him enjoying a cold brew at Gypsy Beans or relaxing on his couch watching reruns of Happy Endings. Ask a question of your own here.
Disclaimer: The advice provided in this column is intended for general informational purposes only and should not be considered a substitute for professional therapy or mental health treatment. Each individual’s situation is unique, and the insights offered here may not address the complexities of your specific circumstances. If you’re experiencing challenges related to your mental health, relationships, or sexuality, I strongly encourage you to reach out to a licensed therapist or mental health professional for personalized support. You’re not alone—help is available.
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