When Pleasure Is the Job

It’s 11am on a Tuesday when I open a discreet package delivered right to my doorstep. It’s a brand new vibrator, a sleek, ergonomic little number that most recipients would be over the moon to receive. I know, because I was once one of those keen recipients.

But the thing is, I didn’t pay for this adorable, unassuming sex toy. It was sent to me for free by a company that I may be paid by to promote it. I need to try the vibe before my 3PM meeting with the brand in order to understand how it works, how it feels in my hands (and on my vulva), and how it may be marketed to my audience in a way that feels authentic and relevant — helpful, even. But my work day is packed. I have emails to answer, a script to write, team meetings to attend, and absolutely zero desire to flick the bean at the moment. So, do I attempt to reach orgasm before the clock strikes 3PM, or “fake it” to the brand (à la my frustrated foremothers)?

While I have deep respect for sex workers and consistently talk about the importance of sex workers’ rights, sex work is not my profession. I am a sex educator and a sex ed podcaster; I create medically accurate, science-backed, inclusive, pleasure-centered sex education for all. I share honest product reviews for my sponsors and even participated in a single-subject longitudinal study about how pleasure impacts my overall health and wellness over the course of a 21 days.

It’s still worth noting that sex workers and sex educators do have a few things in common: We get shadowbanned and censored on the internet (and sometimes get our social media profiles deleted altogether). Our professions are often seen as taboo and unsavory to the general public, and bodily autonomy is central to our work.

It’s not lost on me how lucky I am to get to do this job full-time (despite the litany of complaints you're about to read). I receive grateful messages from young folks weekly explaining how my podcast made them more confident in their sex lives. It’s a joy to positively impact people in this way — to influence their ability to experience empowerment, support, and various forms of pleasure.

But what happens when, arguably, the one thing that’s supposed to feel fun and light becomes banal, and even, in some cases, a nuisance? When I lay on my soft sheets with a vibrator in my hand, a sexy Dipsea audio story in my airpods, and then start thinking that I’d rather be doing anything else?

People may assume that having an orgasm as a homework assignment might be stellar (and sometimes, it is!). But when I’m busy, bloated, overwhelmed, or just plain not in the mood, engaging in pleasure can easily become another item on my ever-expanding to-do list. It can be challenging to separate the act I should want to do for fun because I can, with that same thing I must do for a paycheck.

I imagine this happens to most people who get to do their “dream jobs” in the world of sex education. We hope we get to teach people about pleasure and change their relationships to themselves and others positively (you get an orgasm, you get an orgasm! Oprah-style), when in reality, the pleasure becomes the work you never thought you’d get used to.

But you do get used to it. After nine years of doing this work, I have gotten used to the boxes and boxes of unopened sex toys that pile up on my desk and the countless orgasms I choose not to reach, because climaxing multiple times per week is beyond the bounds of what my “normal” libido craves. (It’s important to note that everyone’s normal is different: libido is impacted by a multitude of factors like stress, medications, exercise, mood, overall health, and so much more. It ebbs and flows over the lifespan and certainly changes during and after big life milestones like pregnancy, loss, relationships, perimenopause, and menopause to name a few.)

For some, making time for pleasure may feel similar to how I’m describing it: like extra and unwanted labor. Like something that’s not worth all of the fuss.

But here’s something I have learned about myself: I am usually happier, calmer, and more grounded after an orgasm. Even if I wasn’t in the mood to begin with. In my experience, horniness begets horniness — and accessing pleasure makes me a more fulfilled version of myself. It’s worth the extra 20 minutes.

If you’re someone who has trouble making time for pleasure, consider making time to try the new vibrator anyway. Even if you’re overcoming something to come. And I’ll take my own advice here. So I’ll open the box, take out the sleek vibrator, and charge her up. Because an orgasm — however big or small — is worth the fuss, even if it takes some time to get there.