Miley Cyrus doesn't have time for foreplay. I, on the other hand, would quite like some.
In a 2020 appearance on Call Her Daddy, Cyrus spoke candidly about her approach to sex, explaining, “I enjoy sexuality more than I enjoy sex.” She also admitted, “I don't really fuck with foreplay because I'm just too busy.”
I respect a woman who knows what she wants. I really do. But hearing someone speak so casually about skipping foreplay left me genuinely baffled. The idea of rushing straight to penetration, as though everything that happens beforehand is an unnecessary detour, is almost entirely at odds with my own experience of sex. Why would you want to skip the part where you get to enjoy yourself?
Of course, Miley is entitled to enjoy sex however she likes. If getting straight to it works for her, good for her. But her comments made me think about my own relationship with foreplay, and the uncomfortable realization that I've sometimes gone without something I know I need.
I've Always Known What I Like
I've never been confused about what I enjoy in bed. But mostly, I like feeling that the person I'm sleeping with is interested in my pleasure, not just their own.
None of this feels especially revolutionary. And yet, I've found myself in sexual situations where those seemingly straightforward desires have gone unmet.
What gets to me isn't simply the absence of foreplay. It's the feeling that comes with it: that someone can be perfectly happy to receive my attention without wondering whether I'm receiving the same pleasure in return.
When I'm enthusiastic about making someone else feel good, I want to feel that enthusiasm coming back to me. Not because sex is a transaction, or because I'm keeping score, but because I want to feel wanted in a way that extends beyond someone wanting access to my body.
There's a difference between someone wanting to have sex with you and someone being curious about what makes sex good for you, too. I've experienced both, and I know which one leaves me feeling cared for.
That's part of what makes this so frustrating. I know what it feels like when someone prioritizes my enjoyment. I've been with someone who made me feel wanted and treated my pleasure as an important part of the experience. I know that sex can feel different, and that knowledge makes it harder to convince myself that being left wanting more is something I should simply accept.
The Sex-Positive Woman Who Doesn't Always Speak Up
Here's where things get a little embarrassing, at least for me.
I write about sex. I write about pleasure, relationships, and the ways women are encouraged to think about their own sexuality. I'm a sex-positive person who believes women should feel comfortable expressing what they want and exploring what feels good.
And yet, when it comes to my own sex life, I haven't always found it easy to practice what I preach.
I can explain why women's pleasure matters in an article, but that doesn't mean I'm always confident enough to advocate for mine in the bedroom. Sometimes, I find myself worrying about making things awkward. I don't want to disrupt the mood or turn an intimate moment into an uncomfortable conversation. I don't want to seem demanding. And if I really like someone, the stakes can feel even higher.
I've made comments. I've expressed what I enjoy. I've tried to communicate what I'd like more of. But there's a difference between dropping hints and having a conversation that makes it clear your needs matter. I've sometimes found myself hoping that someone will pick up on what I want without having to spell it out, even when I know that isn't necessarily fair to either of us.
Still, there's another side to this. Communication isn't a magic trick that makes every sexual mismatch disappear. You can tell someone what you enjoy, be clear about what you want, and still find yourself wondering whether they're interested in making that experience happen with you.
That's a harder reality to sit with, especially when you really like the person involved. Because once feelings enter the picture, asking for what you need can feel less like a simple conversation about sex and more like risking the possibility that you aren't as compatible as you'd hoped.
Foreplay Is Not a Radical Concept
Perhaps this is why Miley's comments struck such a nerve. It's not that I think everyone needs to approach sex the way I do. It's that I've become increasingly aware of how easily my own pleasure can slip into the background when I'm more concerned with keeping someone else happy.
So when I hear someone describe skipping it as a matter of convenience, I can't help thinking about the people who aren't skipping it because they don't want it, but because they've grown accustomed to not asking for it.
There's a difference between choosing a quick sexual encounter because that's what you genuinely enjoy and accepting one that leaves you feeling overlooked.
I don't expect a partner to read my mind, and I don't believe anyone owes me a particular sexual act. But I do want to feel comfortable expressing what I need, and I want a partner who cares about my experience enough to have an honest conversation about how we can both enjoy ourselves.
Learning to Take My Own Pleasure Seriously
I've spent enough time thinking about the ways women are taught to accommodate other people, to be desirable, to be agreeable, and to avoid making anyone uncomfortable. It's one thing to recognize those expectations intellectually. It's another to notice them creeping into your own life, even when you know better.
Maybe that's the part of Miley's confidence I envy. Not her particular approach to foreplay, but her apparent willingness to say what she wants without apologizing for it. She doesn't need to want what I want. I just need to get better at believing that what I want is worth expressing, even when I'm afraid that doing so might complicate something I care about.
I don't think being sex-positive means having everything figured out. It doesn't mean never having disappointing sex or always knowing how to communicate your needs. Sometimes, it means admitting that there's a gap between believing women deserve pleasure and feeling confident enough to demand that same pleasure for yourself.
I'm still figuring out how to ask for what I want without feeling like I'm asking for too much, and how to tell the difference between a compromise and quietly accepting something that makes me unhappy.
But I know this much: I don't want to be so concerned with being good in bed that I forget to ask whether I'm having a good time, too.