I have sex with my girlfriend four times a day — but I still feel insecure

Metro

16-05-2025

Welcome to How I Do It, the series in which we give you a seven-day sneak peek into the sex life of a stranger.
This week we hear from Connor*, a writer in London who used to be hyper independent as a single guy. But this all changed a few months ago when he met his now-girlfriend.
'We're super committed, whereas before, you'd struggle to get me to commit to anything,' he tells Metro. 'I couldn't be happier.'
However, despite being over the moon with his new relationship, enjoying the throes of passion, love and connection (sometimes four times a day), Connor is silently struggling with his own emotions.
'There's something else I haven't felt before in a relationship. Self-doubt,' he adds. 'It's not as if I've got crippling performance anxiety but at the start of the relationship, I was definitely aware I really wanted to 'be the best' in a way I hadn't before.'
Without further ado, here's how Connor got on this week…
The following sex diary is, as you might imagine, not safe for work .
We wake up with sex, as has become our daily morning routine. I'd always hated morning sex – someone's hands touching me just as I shake off sleep in a fuzzy grump? No thanks.
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But that's all changed since we've met. We did it once, and now it feels like there's something missing when we don't.
Her hand crawls across my leg to check I'm hard, then she turns on her side and faces away from me. It's gentle at first before my hands eventually grasp her hair tight, pulling her neck backwards as if every thrust can be felt through her whole body.
In the grogginess of the morning, neither of us are able to finish. We arrived in New Orleans late last night to celebrate Mardi Gras, staying with her aunt and uncle, so jetlag and family close by mean she's worried we're too noisy and taking too long. I joke that she'd complain if we didn't take long enough .
We reluctantly get up and head downstairs before going straight to the nearest Mardi Gras parade, where her aunt and uncle are taking part.
I didn't think that catching 'throws' all day – usually plastic beads – would be quite as entertaining as it was. The whole city was there and even grumpy old me was fully involved. We collapse that night into bed without the energy to do anything but sleep.
Today's Mardi Gras. Our 7am alarm isn't given chance to sound, as her overzealous aunt wakes us at 6.30am. A tornado of costume-fitting, pack-lunch making and general stress kill any opportunity for us to have sex.
At home, we have sex three or four times a day since we work from home. It's a hugely significant part of our communication with one another. But after a long-haul flight and two days of this schedule, the disconnect is apparent.
We return from the festivities at 2pm; drunk, exhausted and horny. Falling into bed for a supposed nap, I begin to fumble with her underwear. Her eyes tell me to kiss her, that she wants sex, but hearing her aunt and uncle audibly disagree about our plans for the evening turns her right off.
It's the afternoon by the time we get chance to spend any time alone. After our run, she showers while I wait to go next. As she leaves the en-suite, we cross paths, and my hand glides across her damp stomach. She tells me she loves it when I'm sweaty.
A niggling thought crosses my mind. Her overt sexuality is something I adore, but I also wonder if a bit of sweat is all she needs to get going? I guess it comes from my lack of self-worth.
If my sweat has that effect on her, so must everybody else's. At times my worries bubble up into conversation, it's something I'm ashamed of. She tells me she feels the same, but what matters is that I'm in front of her now. I agree but I still feel that insecurity deep down.
I carry her to the bed. She wants it hard, fast and quiet. Her aunt hearing us is worrying her. She pushes me to come, and I ask 'what about you?' but she's convinced she won't be able to. After the sexually muted recent days, I take the opportunity on offer. She bares her chest, and I unload.
Over lunch we speak about our pasts. We're both getting used to our new life together, where we spend as much time in bed together as possible.
Although I trust she's never felt the way she does before, it's natural to make comparisons, and I can't help wonder if it's the same in the bedroom. I know it shouldn't matter, but I hope this is all as new to her as it is to me.
I can see and feel how fulfilled she is, though it's not until she's drunk that's she's particularly verbal about things that'd make me feel more secure. Still, I worry that my need for reassurance somehow diminishes her opinion of me, which stops me ever asking direct questions about it.
Most the time, we have sex hard and rough. There's a trust and a safety in our intimacy which allows me to dominate, and allows us both to explore pain within sex.
We're fulfilling fantasies we never thought possible, but my insecurities linger. Even though I'd always wanted this, I never felt it was an option with anyone else, that it would feel forced and fake somehow. She tells me it's the exact same for her.
A day to ourselves, finally. There's one thing on our minds. We start the day with something gentle, on our side with me behind. I hold her leg in the air and pick up the pace until she orgasms and I follow suit.
There's something about her body – the flexibility, her clear connection with her physical being and her devotion to working out – that adds something to the sex. Something intangible. She's convinced her fitness regime helps her connect with her body during sex. It certainly helps me.
With the house empty we're able to have sex like usual. At our second attempt she's as loud as she wants. We explore one another with our usual tenacity and passion. She bites my lip, inadvertently drawing blood, and in return I hold her face into the pillow until I finish, but that only makes her finish quicker.
There have been times where we've both wondered about the appropriateness of our sex. I think it's what brings us closer. Our communication is so constant, so empathetic, there's just a total safety there.
We set a safe word once, and so unnecessary was it, we've both completely forgotten what it was.
We go to a nighttime local parade, Krewe of Oak. Her aunt introduces me to a couple, Johnny and Chad – then, as is often the case, a gay man takes a shine to me, bringing me a NOS balloon to welcome me to the parade. He doesn't give one to my girlfriend and her ego takes a hit, but most of all she's worried that I see jealousy or insecurity in her. We're not dissimilar on that front.
I'm not naturally a jealous person, and I don't think she is either. But we're adjusting to each other and what our relationship looks like. There's something scary about being staunchly independent then suddenly depending on someone. Right now, I'm very aware of how much I've got to lose.
A huge costuming event, Mom's Ball, is upon us. A warehouse party for the weird, wacky and wonderful of New Orleans (of which there's many).
Johnny from last night brought some ecstasy which I take with my girlfriend and her family. I know it's illegal, but the party vibe and the thought of sharing that experience with her make it hard to resist.
The event is a bit of a disappointment though, so we leave and sit on a bench as we come up, watching the incredible costumes go by. There's plenty of nudity on show and there's one too many people here for seedier purposes. NOLA'S quirky culture attracts a few bad eggs. We soon go home, underwhelmed by it all. More Trending
The recent lack of sex combines with the ecstasy and we forget our surroundings. With her legs folded behind my shoulders and her pelvis lifted off the bed, we can fully consume one another – all the worries the previous days have held are gone.
The euphoria we feel has another side-effect, a psychic empathy seems to answer our respective insecurities and we're both overwhelmingly vocal in our love and disbelief at having found one another. It continues for hours, the beads of sweat dripping on one another go ignored.
For once, I wake up with a grin. So does she. We embrace, with no words needed that something about last night that brought us closer together. I pull her close as I look to relive it.
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Her aunt shouts up; breakfast is ready, we've got a parade to get to, and her uncle's already sat in the car waiting. One more week left.
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