Okay guys, buckle up because I’m gonna walk you through exactly how my partner and I actually used a sex journal. Yeah, it sounds kinda… academic? Maybe weird? But hey, we were stuck in a rut, you know? Things felt predictable. So after seeing this idea floating around, I just grabbed a cheap notebook off my desk, the kind I scribble grocery lists in, and said, “Right, let’s give this a shot before I chicken out.” No fancy leather-bound thing, just practical.
Step 1: Actually Starting the Damn Thing (The Hardest Part)
Honestly, bringing it up felt more awkward than the actual doing. We were just flopped on the sofa one Tuesday night, kinda zoning out. I nudged him, mumbled something like, “So, weird idea… I read about this journal thing… for, you know… stuff.” He just raised an eyebrow and snorted. But then after a beat, he shrugged and said, “Okay, what the hell, how bad can it be?” That was our green light.
Here’s what we actually did next:
- Picked a Spot: Just tossed the notebook on his bedside table. Easy access, no pressure to hide it.
- Ground Rule Zero: Blurted out, “No judging, okay? Just write whatever pops in your head after.” Simple.
- First Entry Jitters: It was after… well, after. We just kinda looked at the notebook lying there. I grabbed it first, feeling super self-conscious. Wrote like two lines: “Date: Tuesday. Tired but good. Felt nice taking it slow.” Real profound, I know. Handed him the pen. He stared at it for ages, then scribbled, “Agree with slow. Liked the neck thing.” That “neck thing”? I had no idea he particularly liked that! Small win.
Step 2: Keeping the Pen Moving (Surprisingly Less Awkward)
After the first time, it got easier. We didn’t force it every single time – that’d be weird – but maybe after every second or third time. We fell into a rhythm:
- The Debrief: Usually a day or so later, we’d find the notebook. Sometimes together while making coffee, sometimes separately. The key? No pressure to write essays. My entries stayed dumb short: “Thursday. Felt adventurous trying that new position! A bit shaky legs after haha.” Or just “Sunday afternoon lazy vibes. Perfect.” His got slightly more detailed over time: “Really liked when you took control that time. Felt exciting, different.” Whoa. Okay, noted!
- Reading Between the Lines: The rule was we could flip through it whenever, but actually reading each other’s entries became this… quiet little ritual. We’d never bring up specific entries directly like, “HEY REMEMBER THAT NIGHT YOU WROTE ABOUT?!”, but it simmered. Seeing “Wish we had more time last night” on his page? Next date night, I made damn sure we planned extra time. Simple.
Step 3: Sparking Stuff (Where the Magic Sort Of Happened)
This wasn’t a Hollywood montage. More like… practical insights building up. The journal just made things clearer:
- The Wishlist Section: After a few entries, I just scrawled “Things to Maybe Try?” on a page. Not even a list, just a title. Later, he added “1. Massage with that oil we bought? 2. Roleplay? Sounds cheesy but…?” under it. Seeing his handwriting say “roleplay” was way less scary than him saying it out loud! We bought some massage oil the next day. Easy win.
- Connecting Dots: I noticed I kept writing “rushed” or “tired” on weeknights. He kept noting “weekends good.” Duh. So obvious, right? But seeing it written? We finally blocked out weekend mornings for “us time.” Game changer.
- The Passion Part: Did it suddenly turn our lives into a porno? Hell no. But it did spark little things. Reading he loved it when I wore a specific shirt? Made me want to wear it more. Seeing I enjoyed spontaneous moments? He’d grab my hand randomly more often. That tiny feedback loop made us feel more tuned in, less guessing. That feeling of being understood? Yeah, that sparked more passion than any cheesy candle ever did. Just felt closer.
So, Did It Work?
Look, the notebook itself is just paper. The pen died midway and I scribbled with a crayon once. We still argue about whose turn it is to do the dishes. But honestly? It gave us a stupidly simple, no-pressure way to learn tiny new things about each other in the bedroom that we were too awkward or distracted to say out loud. It cut out some guesswork. And seeing those little desires or observations written down somehow made them feel real and worth acting on, way more than fleeting thoughts. It’s not rocket science, just a tool. We still use the dumb notebook, tucked between the bed and the wall. Still write dumb little notes. And yeah, sometimes when I peek at his latest scribble… it still sparks a little something. Worth the awkward start for sure.
