Performing Pleasure and Forgetting Myself
Unlearning the need to “be good in bed” when all I wanted was to be safe in my body
A 3-part reflection on career collapse, masking in intimacy, and what it means to reparent yourself — gently, bravely, and on your own terms.
Part 2/3
Yes, you read it right.
I used to think something was wrong with me.
I’d flinch when touched too lightly.
I’d dissociate mid-kiss.
I’d say “yes” when my body whispered “not like this.”
I learned to perform pleasure instead of feeling it.
I wasn’t frigid. I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t faking it out of manipulation.
I was masking — even in bed.
And no one told me that was a thing.
The unspoken mask we wear in bed
If you're neurodivergent, you've probably heard of masking in school, at work, or in public spaces.
But intimacy? That’s where it gets quiet. Personal. Uncomfortable.
Because we don’t talk about how deeply the performance can go.
I didn’t just fake moans.
I faked comfort. I faked being present.
I faked feeling safe.
And I did it so well, I fooled myself into thinking that was normal.
Sensory pleasure is NOT romantic pleasure.
I don’t want just sex. I want rhythm. Warmth. Deep pressure.
I want to feel held — not startled by the ghost touch of a too-soft hand.
It’s not that I didn’t want to be touched.
It’s that I needed consistency. Intention. Slowness.
Light tickles made my skin crawl.
Tongues in ears made me dissociate.
Unexpected friction sent my whole nervous system spiraling.
But instead of naming my discomfort, I internalized it as failure.
I thought I was hard to love.
Hard to turn on. Hard to stay with.
The loneliness of pretending intimacy
There’s a specific kind of loneliness that happens when you're physically close to someone… but emotionally ten feet underwater.
I thought if I was a good partner, I’d push through it.
Smile. Moan. Make eye contact. Stay soft, stay responsive, stay… palatable.
But the longer I masked, the more I disappeared from my own body.
Masking doesn’t just erase identity.
It erases sensation.
I wasn’t actually enjoying myself. I was just trying not to make them uncomfortable.
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What I wish I knew back then:
You can stim during intimacy. Your flapping hands are not a turn-off.
Asking for dim lights, silence, or blankets doesn't make you “needy.” It makes you aware.
You’re allowed to say, “Can we stop?” without explaining your trauma.
Wanting slowness, weight, repetition, rhythm — that’s not boring. That’s regulation.
Sensuality isn’t only valid if it looks sexy. Sometimes it looks like crying mid-hug.
When I stopped performing…
The first time I had a sensual experience where I didn’t mask — where I was soft, stimming, not worrying about how I looked or sounded — I didn’t even cry.
I exhaled.
I landed.
It wasn’t the hottest, wildest, or most performative moment of my life.
But it was the most honest. And for me, that was everything.
A gentle invitation…
If you’ve been masking in your relationships — or if you’re just now starting to untangle what actually feels good, safe, and true in your body — you're not alone.
In my 1:1 Clarity Calls, we can explore:
What intimacy looks like when you’re not people-pleasing
How sensory needs show up in relationships
Why masking in bed often comes from deeper emotional patterns
No pressure to perform. Just a soft space to unravel with someone who gets it.
Book a 1:1 Clarity Call here
And if you want the raw, unfiltered version of this story (plus some of the tender, sensual truths I can’t post publicly) — that’s what my NSFW Substack is for.
Join my private space here — where pleasure is not performative.
Next up in this series:
Part 3 – Reparenting Myself: Healing What I Wasn’t Allowed to Feel
The quiet art of giving yourself the care you were denied.
I WANT RHYTHM POWERFUL message
It hadn’t occurred to me that you could mask in intimacy too, but of course it makes complete sense! So many of the things you’ve articulated I’ve experienced too. If autism is about the way we experience sensory inputs, of course it affects sexuality and intimacy, and if our senses are heightened, then when it’s good, logic would dictate that it’s probably better for us than neurotypicals.. but also when it’s not good, it’s probably worse..