The sex ended and the customer service started
I was still catching my breath. Makeup gone. Hair doing something I would not post. He was already on an elbow, looking at me like I had a feedback form under the pillow.
Was it good?
Not dirty. Not sweet. Not even curious in a nice way. It had that smile people use when they have just handed you a coffee and they are waiting to see if they made it right. I nearly laughed. Then I nearly said something cruel. I did neither. I said yeah, because yeah is easy, and I stared at the ceiling like it owed me rent.
I do not want a form. I want you to read my body and then shut up.
It is not a compliment. It is a performance review
Look. I am not precious about sex. I like it. I say what I want. I will tell you if you are rushing, if you need more lube, if your hand is in the wrong postcode. I am not sitting there hoping you guess my whole personality from a sigh.
This is different.
Was it good turns the whole thing into a score. You are not asking if I am all right. You are asking if you passed. And the second I hear it, I am not in the bed anymore. I am on the other side of a counter. You want a five star. You want the little nod that lets you roll over and feel like a man who knows what he is doing.
I have had that question after nights that were actually good. That is the annoying bit. It can be fine, filthy, funny, the lot, and he still pops the survey like his ego has a clipboard. Ruins the air. Makes me feel like I should leave a tip.
My flatmate heard a version of this through the wall last month. Next morning she made tea and said, without looking at me, he sounds like he works in retail. I nearly spat the tea. She was not wrong.
What that question is actually doing
Most of the time it is fear dressed as manners.
He is scared he was selfish. Or that I faked it. Or that I am comparing him to someone else, which, rude, but also, sometimes I am, because I have a memory and a body, not a reset button. He wants the answer that lets him stop thinking.
Fair. I get fear. I have it too. Mine just does not come out like a manager doing a two minute check-in.
Was it good is also lazy. If you were paying attention you would already have a clue. Breath. Hands. Whether I pulled you closer or went a bit still. Whether I laughed. Whether I wanted water or I wanted you off me. Bodies talk. They are not subtle if you are not performing for an invisible camera.
And if you really cannot tell, ask something that is not a rating.
Are you okay?
Do you want to stop?
Was that too much?
Those are human. Was it good is a Google review.
The did you finish cousin
Same family. Worse, sometimes.
Did you come is not automatically evil. If we know each other, if the tone is easy, if it is actually about me and not his report card, fine. I would rather someone check than steamroll and assume.
But the way a lot of men say it is not a check. It is a demand for a gold star. Say yes so I can be done. Say yes so I do not have to ask what you need. Say yes so the story of tonight stays neat.
I have said yes when it was not true. I am not proud of that. It felt quicker than a seminar at one in the morning when I have an early shift and he has already decided the night was a success. That is on me as well. I hate lying in bed. I still do it when the alternative is managing his feelings with no clothes on.
If you want the truth, do not ask it like you are owed a result. Ask it like you can handle a no without sulking into the pillow.
What I want instead
Quiet, first.
Not the weird silent treatment. Just a minute where nobody has to turn it into content. Hand on my back. Water. A daft comment. Not a thesis. Not who taught you that, which I have also had, and no, we are not doing the origin story of my sex life at half twelve.
Then, if you need words, make them specific.
I liked when you did that.
Was I too rough?
Do you want more or are we done?
See the difference. Those are about the actual night. Was it good is about you.
I also want you to clock me without turning it into a job. If I go quiet because I am wrung out and happy, do not panic and start interviewing me. If I go quiet because I have left the building in my head, notice that too. There is a gap. Fill it with care, not with a questionnaire.
And for the love of God, put the phone down. I have watched a man ask if it was good and then reach for the lock screen like he was clocking out. That is when I start planning the cab in my head.
When I will answer honestly
If I trust you.
If you have not made the whole thing about your technique.
If I am not already doing the maths on how long I have to stay so it does not look rude.
Then I will say it was all right, or it was filthy, or I needed slower, or I did not get there and I do not need you to treat that like a house fire. Sometimes I do not come and the night is still good. Sometimes I come and I still feel a bit lonely. Sex is not a pass fail. People who need it to be one are usually the ones who are not listening in the first place.
I keep a diary. Not a sex diary, just the usual mess. The nights that stay with me are almost never the ones with the best choreography. They are the ones where nobody needed a review. He made tea. He did not flinch when I wiped my mascara off and looked like a different person. He did not ask me to rate him so he could sleep.
That is the bar. It is not high. It is just adult.
What I say now
I used to protect the mood. I do it less.
If it was good, I say I liked that, and I say which bit, because vague praise is how you get the same move again whether it worked or not.
If it was mid, I say it was fine, I was not all there, next time do this. Then I watch his face. That tells me more than the sex did.
If he asks was it good in that bright, needy way, I have started saying I do not do scores. Sounds cocky. I can live with cocky. I cannot live with turning my body into a satisfaction survey because he watched too much stuff where women gasp on cue and then clap.
You want feedback, stay present while it is happening. Ask before you change something. Look at me. Hold the back of my neck like you mean it. After, shut up for a second and let the room be a room.
If you still need the question, make it smaller. Make it kinder. Make it about me, not your ranking.
Are you okay.
That one I will answer.
Was it good, said like customer service, can wait in the hall with his shoes.
