Look—I’ve read some incredible 69 scenes in books. I’m talking jaw-droppingly hot, fan-on-full-blast, bite-the-pillow spicy. Whether it’s straight couples, queer lovers, or some imaginative in-between, the fantasy is always dripping in desire and synchronicity.
But in real life? It’s a neck cramp waiting to happen. Let’s stop pretending this is the ultimate move. It’s not. It’s a logistical nightmare dressed up in a sexy little outfit.
First of all, let’s talk physics. I’m 5’3″ with a short torso, and aligning my body with someone else’s—especially when we’re both trying to perform—feels like an Olympic-level balancing act. Ladies, we’re up there holding our entire body weight with our arms, shaking like we’re in the final round of a plank challenge. Meanwhile, we’re also supposed to be focused, sexy, and hitting all the right spots?
And then there’s the infamous side version. I know some of you swear by it, but please. You’re craning your neck like a confused flamingo, one leg’s numb, and it somehow feels even less intimate than before. There’s a moment in every 69 attempt where both of you silently realize: this is not working, but no one wants to be the first to tap out.
Yes, of course you should try it once. Twice if you’re stubborn. But let’s stop pretending it’s the gold standard of pleasure. You know what is sexy? Taking your damn time. Focusing on one person at a time. No rush, no weird body stacking, no sore shoulders
Being a great lover isn’t about multitasking like you’re in a race against the orgasm clock. It’s about savoring—paying attention, being generous, tuning in to every little sigh and shiver.
There are countless ways to make someone feel worshipped and wild without pulling a muscle. Let’s normalize slow pleasure, deep connection, and saying, “Actually, let’s not 69 tonight.” We don’t do it anymore—and I’m not sad about it.
Syncrized O’s Myth or Real?
Okay, real talk. You know those steamy movie scenes where both people climax at the exact same time and then dramatically collapse into each other like they’ve just solved world peace with their genitals?
Yeah. Let’s talk about that.
The synchronized orgasm: is it real? Is it rare? Is it just another Hollywood fantasy that leaves us chasing ghosts in the bedroom?
I’ve been thinking about this a lot (don’t judge me), and I’ve gotta say—this whole “coming together in perfect harmony” thing is kind of the unicorn of sex. It can happen, sure, but it’s definitely not something that just magically does without effort, timing, and probably a few awkward trial runs.
Let’s be honest—our bodies are not synced-up Apple devices. We’ve got different timelines, arousal curves, and stress levels. Hell, sometimes I can’t even get my hair to cooperate, let alone my nervous system. For people with vulvas, orgasms usually take a bit more build-up, more focus, and often, very specific kinds of touch. Meanwhile, folks with penises? They tend to reach the finish line faster (not always, but yeah… often).
So when I hear someone say they “always” orgasm at the same time as their partner, I’m either deeply impressed or assuming they’re lying to impress someone else. But here’s the thing: it can happen. It just usually doesn’t look like the movies. It’s not all breathy eye contact and perfect thrusts with a symphony in the background. It’s more like:
“Wait, wait—not yet.”
“Okay, now.”
“Oh, shit. Too late.”
Romantic? Eh. Real? Definitely. If you’re dead set on trying it, it’s not impossible. It takes communication, a little strategy (think edging, toys, rhythm), and most of all—practice. And not the “do it once and expect fireworks” kind. I’m talking about the kind of practice that makes you laugh when it doesn’t work, not storm off and question your life choices. But here’s the bigger question I keep circling back to: does it even matter? I mean, seriously. Sex isn’t a competition. It’s not synchronized swimming. It’s messy, weird, funny, hot, and sometimes clumsy as hell. A perfectly timed orgasm might be
exciting, but connection? Real, messy, sweaty, connected sex? That’s the good stuff. That’s what lasts longer than the 8.6 seconds of glory anyway. So, my take? If it happens—awesome. Pop champagne, high five. But if it doesn’t? That’s not failure. That’s just being human. Focus on the moments that feel good. The breathless laughs. The forehead kisses. The slow mornings after. And hey—if you do ever pull off the mythical simultaneous orgasm, text me immediately. I’ll be over here, cheering for you like the supportive slutty friend I am. Always rooting for your pleasure,
Kaite
