Receiving, Not Penetrated: Rewriting Language Around Sex & Intimacy
- Bair Klos
- May 6
- 12 min read
Updated: May 22
DISCLAIMER: This blog post contains discussions of sex, intimacy, gendered language, and cultural conditioning. It touches on anatomy, dirty talk, and the emotional and psychological dynamics of sexual relationships—sometimes critically. While the tone may be candid, irreverent, or even spicy, the intent is never to shame anyone for their preferences or experiences. If certain phrases or ideas feel tender or triggering to you, please honor your own boundaries while reading. This is a piece about reclaiming language—not policing pleasure. You are always the author of your own body.
Aloha world~
This blog post was born out of many threads—and now it’s all unraveled into this delightfully chaotic, deeply personal, slightly rage-fueled writer rant.
It started with my blog post on de-westernizing worldbuilding, which made me hyper-aware of the inherited cultural lenses I write through. That awareness started to bleed (literally) into my personal life—especially as I’ve been learning more about my own body after a PCOS diagnosis. That diagnosis sent me down the rabbit hole of understanding the four hormonal phases of the menstrual cycle (which, let’s be real, most of us with uteruses were never taught properly).
At the same time, I’ve also been reclaiming knowledge of female anatomy—not the glossy, diagrammed version from 7th grade health class, but the real, rich, nuanced truths about what it means to live in a body that receives, that cycles, that opens and contracts.
All of that culminated into a remembrance of a TikTok I saw well over a year ago; a video that casually dropped the truth bomb that, even when written from a woman’s point of view, most sex scenes are still written with male-centered language: “He penetrated her,” “She was filled,” “He took her,” etc etc etc. You’ve read them. Maybe you’ve written them. I definitely have.
So this post is where all of that converges. My personal journey of embodiment. My obsession with story. My period. And a single line in a TikTok that planted a seed I couldn’t unsee.
Let’s talk about it.
The Importance Of Language & The Spoken Word
Psychological research supports the idea that the language we use profoundly shapes our thoughts, perceptions, and interactions with the world. A popular therapeutic technique called cognitive reframing (also known as cognitive restructuring) is one of the cornerstones of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), and it’s all about changing the way we talk to ourselves—and by extension, how we see ourselves.
Therapists use this technique to help people challenge harmful inner narratives like, “I’m a failure” or “Nothing ever goes right,” and instead shift those thoughts toward something more compassionate and truthful, like, “I’m struggling, but I’m still growing.”
Why does this work? Because language shapes reality. The way we describe our lives—internally or externally—changes the way we process, remember, and relate to those experiences.
Cognitive scientist Lera Boroditsky has extensively studied a different but related phenomenon, demonstrating that language influences how we perceive concepts like time, space, and even relationships. For instance, in some Aboriginal communities in Australia, people use cardinal directions instead of left and right, which affects their spatial orientation and memory. This suggests that the linguistic structures we adopt can fundamentally alter our cognitive processes.
This concept, known as linguistic relativity, or the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, posits that the language we speak influences our worldview and cognition. While the strong version—that language determines thought—has been debated, the consensus supports a weaker form: that language influences thought in significant ways.
The words we use don’t just describe reality—they define it. They draw boundaries around our perceptions, sculpting what we see as normal, desirable, acceptable, or true. Language is not neutral. It’s inherited. It's ancient. It’s embedded. And it’s often soaked in centuries of power dynamics we didn’t choose, but still echo.
In the same way worldbuilding can be unintentionally Westernized due to the narratives we’ve grown up with, the way we write about sex is often unconsciously male-centered. Even from a woman’s POV, we default to language like "he took her," "he penetrated her," "she was filled," as if sex is something done to her rather than experienced with her.
And that’s exactly what this blog post is about. It’s a form of literary cognitive reframing. We're taking the default phrases of sex—phrases shaped by centuries of male-centered thought—and rewriting them from the inside out. Not because male pleasure is bad or male language is evil, but because the story deserves a broader, truer, more embodied telling. Words don’t just describe sex. They define how we understand it, how we remember it, how we write it—and how we feel about it.
Inherited Phrases We Never Questioned
It’s not that these phrases are inherently wrong or evil—they’ve just been absorbed as default, and that’s exactly the problem. Just like in my de-westernizing worldbuilding blog post, where I pointed out the unconscious assumption that Western culture is the “norm” and everything else is a deviation, the same thing happens here—with sex, gender, and the body. There’s a baked-in assumption that the male body is the baseline, the actor, the initiator. When in reality, biologically speaking, everyone starts out as female in the womb. The male body is not the default—it’s simply one version of human expression. But centuries of storytelling have taught us otherwise.
As I shared in the section above "The Importance Of Language & The Spoken Word," the words we use shape how we see the world. And in this case, the language we use to describe sex directly influences what we believe sex is. These phrases don’t just describe a moment—they reinforce the idea that doing is more important than feeling. That tightness is more erotic than openness. That the act itself matters more than the experience of it. That his motion is the story, and her body is just the setting.
And here’s the real harm: people who learn about sex through literature—especially young people, women, queer readers, and anyone not centered in mainstream narratives—start to internalize these frameworks. They begin to believe that if their body doesn’t respond the way it’s “supposed” to, if sex doesn’t feel like how it’s described in books, something must be wrong with them. It’s not just inaccurate—it’s damaging. It tells a false narrative that alienates people from their own pleasure, their own bodies, and their right to shape their own stories.
Let’s break down what some of those distorted expectations might look like:
Distorted Expectation: If you’re not “tight” enough, you’re not sexy.
Reality: Vaginas are meant to stretch and accommodate. Arousal and safety cause relaxation, not resistance.
Distorted Expectation: If you don’t orgasm from penetration alone, something’s wrong with you.
Reality: The majority of people with vulvas require clitoral stimulation to orgasm. This is normal. This is anatomical.
Distorted Expectation: If you’re not wet and ready to receive immediately, then there is something wrong with you.
Reality: Arousal is emotional, mental, and physical. For women, or vagina owners, it takes much longer for arousal to occur. Not to mention, many factors affect lubrication. Wetness is not the only indicator of desire.
Distorted Expectation: If you don’t “yield” or “surrender,” you’re doing it wrong.
Reality: Receptivity is not passivity. Desire can be active, hungry, present. It doesn’t have to look soft or quiet.
These aren’t just tropes—they’re scripts. And if we’re not careful, they start to overwrite our reality. As writers, we have the chance to interrupt that pattern. To offer alternatives. To craft language that reflects real experiences, not just inherited ones. Because if the language of sex only tells one kind of story, how many people will go their whole lives thinking theirs is wrong or doesn’t matter?
Let’s start with the classics. The ones you’ve read in books, fanfiction, maybe even your own journal at 2 a.m. under dim lighting and a burst of inspiration:
“He penetrated her.”
“He took her.”
“She was tight.”
“She was filled.”
“He claimed her body.”
“She yielded beneath him.”
These phrases are so common, so ingrained in the literary (and erotic) canon, that we rarely pause to ask: Where did this language come from? Who does it serve? Whose experience does it center?
Again, it’s not that these phrases are inherently bad or wrong, they’ve just been absorbed as default, and that’s exactly the problem. They come from a cultural lineage that privileges the actor (usually male) over the experienced (usually female). They’re verbs of action, conquest, and dominance. They’re rooted in centuries where women’s pleasure wasn’t considered, where sex was about reproduction, control, and ownership (🤢🤮).
Even now, in modern fiction, we see male pleasure framed as assertive, directional, goal-oriented, while feminine pleasure is passive, decorative, responsive—but rarely directive or centered. This doesn't mean we need to burn every romance novel with a “he took her” in it. But it does mean we get to choose differently now. To unlearn. To rewrite.
Because as said above, these phrases shape the way we view sex. They influence what we think “good sex” looks like. They reinforce that doing is more important than feeling. That tightness is more erotic than openness. That the act matters more than the experience.
And if you’re someone who writes from the body—not just about it—then you know: sex isn’t just a mechanical event. It’s sensation. Emotion. Rhythm. Breath. Relationship. The language should reflect that.
Writing Sex from the Inside Out
So what does it actually feel like to have sex when you're the one doing the receiving? This is a question that is not asked enough—not in our cultural narratives, not in our classrooms, and certainly not in our literature. Writing sex from the feminine or vulva-having perspective means moving beyond how it looks and diving deep into how it feels from the inside. It’s not about replacing one cliché with another. It’s about rooting the experience in embodiment—sensory, emotional, internal, relational.
The experience of receiving during sex can be:
A gradual unfolding
A pressure and stretch that warms and deepens
A pulsing rhythm that syncs with breath and heartbeat
A full-bodied ache that’s more than just physical
A letting go of tension in both the body and the mind
A conscious opening, not a passive yielding
Writing from the inside out means describing those experiences not just as metaphors for the reader, but as truths for the character. What’s happening emotionally as her body opens? What does she feel in her chest, her belly, her thighs? What does her breath do? Does she pull him deeper or shift away? Is she safe? Nervous? Thrilled? Hungry?
The language doesn’t have to be overly anatomical, but it should be intimate, lived-in, and specific to her. It should reflect her agency—not just in what’s done to her, but in how she responds, guides, wants.
Let’s rewrite the scene where “he thrust into her” with something that brings us into her experience:
“She opened for him, feeling his hard length ease into her, breath catching as sensation rippled through her core.”
“Their rhythm built slowly, her body responding with a hunger that surprised even her.”
“She welcomed him, her hips rising to meet him, grounding the moment in something wordless and whole.”
This kind of writing gives readers more than just friction—it gives them feeling. It places the reader in the character’s skin, not just on top of it. It says: this story is not about what’s done to her. It’s about what she experiences, chooses, and feels from the inside out.
Why Dirty Talk Needs a Rewrite
Now, let me preface this section by saying that I'm not trying to yuck on anyones yum, however, we should talk about the language we whisper, groan, or growl in the heat of the moment. Dirty talk. And specifically, the kind that gets parroted in books without much thought—because it “sounds hot,” even when it’s baked in weird gendered baggage. You know the ones:
“You’re so tight.”
“You’re dripping for me.”
“I’m gonna fill you up.”
“You like being used, don’t you?”
Look, no kink shaming here. If consensual degradation is your thing? Hell yes—go for it. But the issue is when these phrases are treated like the standard, the only kind of sexy, the default dirty talk template.
“You’re so tight” is probably the most common offender. It’s meant to be praise, sure—but it reinforces a cultural pressure for people with vaginas to be “tight” in order to be desirable. That pressure has real-world consequences: shame, anxiety, pain during sex, and a misunderstanding of how arousal actually works. In reality, a relaxed, aroused vagina opens, expands, and softens. That’s not failure, that’s readiness.
This is where the rewrite comes in. Let’s offer some alternatives, phrases that still steam up the page but don’t reinforce myths or male-centric expectations:
“You’re pulling me in.”
“I love the way your body opens for me.”
“You feel so good around me.”
“The way you want me is driving me crazy.”
“You’re taking me so deep.”
These versions don’t sanitize the moment, they just reflect it from a more mutual, embodied lens. One where the experience is about connection, desire, and response, not just performance. Again, this isn’t about eliminating all rough talk or making sex scenes soft and quiet. It’s about being intentional. When the language defaults to dominance/submission without exploration or consent, or when it places all the power and pleasure in his hands, it flattens the potential of the moment. You can still write rough, desperate, delicious sex—and make it feel like it belongs to both characters, not just one.
Sex as Sacred: A Personal Reflection
My personal belief and philosophy is that the most intimate and normal thing one person can do with another human being is have sex. Not just "have" it, but share it. Open to it. Be changed by it.
Especially for those who are demisexual, or just deeply attuned to emotional connection, sex isn’t just about friction. It’s about safety. It’s about letting someone in. Some people can see a hot body and feel aroused and lust after another person. That’s valid. But for many of us, it’s more than just the physical. Especially for women. It’s emotional, mental, even spiritual. It’s a kind of closeness that asks you to be seen in a way few things do.
Because as someone with a vulva, with a body designed to receive, sex isn’t just doing something with someone—it’s literally letting someone inside. That is not a small thing. That’s not casual, even if the moment is. It’s layered. Vulnerable. Sacred.
And for someone who owns a penis—someone who physically enters another person—that should be treated as a deep honor. Not a punchline. Not a conquest. Not a casual line of dirty talk about being “tight” or “wet” or “ready.” To be received by someone who trusts you, who wants you, who opens for you, that should feel holy.
And yes, sometimes sex is messy, awkward, hilarious, or just straight-up hot and fun. It can be playful. It can be primal. But that doesn’t mean it can’t also be reverent and shouldn't be treated as such.
The way we write about sex should reflect that range. It should leave space for the sacred. The soft. The slow. The seismic. Because when we join not just bodies, but hearts, minds, and spirits—it becomes the most human thing we can possibly do.
The Queer Lens & Trans Inclusion
Before we wrap up, we need to acknowledge something crucial: people with vulvas are not always women—and not all women have vulvas. The language we use in sex scenes should reflect that reality.
Queer writers, trans writers, and nonbinary writers have been at the forefront of expanding the language of intimacy. Because when you don’t see yourself reflected in the default scripts, you have to create your own—and that often leads to more embodied, inventive, emotionally resonant sex writing.
Writing from a vulva-oriented or receptive-body lens isn’t just about cis women’s pleasure—it’s about honoring all people who experience sex through reception, internal sensation, emotional connection, and bodily nuance. When we write with broader, more inclusive language, we:
Affirm trans and nonbinary readers who are often erased in literary depictions of intimacy.
Create room for more diverse, authentic portrayals of sex.
Detach pleasure from gender, and let it live in the experience itself—not in roles assigned by tradition.
Inclusive language doesn’t mean making the scene clinical or sterile—it means being aware, intentional, and curious. It means asking: Whose body am I writing from? Whose pleasure is being centered? And how can I make this moment feel true to them—not just familiar to me?
Let’s write sex scenes that include more people. That see more people. That feel like home for bodies that don’t often get to be the main character.
Quick-Fire Rewrite Guide: Shifting the Sex Scene Lens
Here’s a cheatsheet for common phrases and ways to rewrite them through a more embodied, feminine, or mutual lens. These are suggestions, not rules—use them to inspire new rhythms, not restrict your voice.
Traditional Phrase | Rewritten Alternative |
He penetrated her | She welcomed him in / She opened for him |
He took her | They met in the dark / She pulled him closer |
She was tight | She held him / She pulsed around him |
He filled her | She held him inside her / They moved as one |
She yielded beneath him | She opened with trust / She rose to meet him |
He thrust into her | She rocked to meet him / Their rhythm built slowly |
Her body was his | Her body responded to him / They tangled together |
These reframes are less about softening the moment and more about deepening it—reclaiming language that has often defaulted to male dominance and returning it to mutuality, embodiment, and presence.
Use what resonates. Toss what doesn’t. Just don’t forget: language isn’t neutral. So make yours mean something.
Closing Thoughts: Language Is Power—Wield It Wisely
We began this post by asking: what does it mean to rewrite sex from the inside out? And here’s where we return to the heart of it:
This isn’t just about style—it’s about worldview. It shapes how we understand agency, pleasure, vulnerability, and even love. And if our metaphors for intimacy revolve around domination, entry, and possession, what does that say about how we think of sex?
By rewriting these phrases, we give ourselves permission to imagine new ways of being—with others, and with ourselves. Ways that are softer. Stronger. Truer. Ways that don’t just describe sex—but honor it.
The words we choose matter. Because they don’t just tell the story—they are the story.
“Language is power, life and the instrument of culture, the instrument of domination and liberation.” —Angela Carter.
Write without fear, ignore the inner-perfectionist, and when in doubt, have a shot of whiskey—then keep writing.
—Bair✍︎
References & Further Reading
Cognitive Behavior Therapy References
Beck, J. S. (2011). Cognitive Behavior Therapy: Basics and Beyond (2nd ed.). The Guilford Press. APA Definition of Cognitive Restructuring
“Cognitive Restructuring: How to Improve Your Mindset,” by Kendra Cherry, Psychology Today. https://www.verywellmind.com/what-is-cognitive-restructuring-2795062
Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis & Linguistic Relativity
Boroditsky, L. (2011). How Language Shapes Thought. Scientific American. https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-language-shapes-thought/
Whorf, B. L. (1956). Language, Thought, and Reality: Selected Writings of Benjamin Lee Whorf. MIT Press.
TED Talk by Boroditsky: https://www.ted.com/talks/lera_boroditsky_how_language_shapes_the_way_we_think
Want to stay up to-date and get exclusive updates and insights on future projects, book launches, writer and reader resources, FREE literature, writing freebies, and a more? Sign up for my Newsletter!
Find more helpful writing tips on the rest of my blog.
SUBSCRIBE to the blog on my personal website, Substack, or Medium.
Struggling to get your word count in? Check out my writing podcast!
Need a new notebook? Check out my hand-bound books!
Support the blog on Ko-fi!
Check out My Writer & Reader Merch Store
Like this post?
Share the link on your social media or
pin the image below to your Pinterest board!
Commentaires