One of my favorite things about sex – and, simultaneously, one of the things that vexes me most about sex – is that it’s different with every person. You can never fully rely on the dusty old playbook of techniques that worked so well on your last partner, or even on the majority of partners you’ve had; you must always be prepared to learn new skills and new approaches.

At first, I found this idea terrifying. My sexual confidence and comfort were so hard-won in each new connection that it scared the shit out of me to have to jettison most of what I’d learned so I could approach a new person’s body with a “beginner’s mind.”

It’s still an intimidating prospect to me, certainly, but I’ve come to view it as exciting, too – like singing a duet with a new person and discovering what your two specific voices sound like in harmony. You’ll create a sonic experience that has never quite existed before, and in the same way, sex between two people who’ve never fucked is always a mutual process of discovery, each of you (ideally) making adjustments as you learn what works and what doesn’t, and how that differs from “duets” you’ve sung before.

There are times when the vast variability of sex can feel sad. A breakup can feel like misplacing your favorite little snowflake in an avalanche, knowing you’ll never see it again. I remember giving head during rebound hookups just after a devastating breakup when I was 25; I kept making myself choke on new guys’ cocks because that’s what my ex had liked, despite these new vanilla men’s apparent indifference to the practice. It was almost a ritualistic part of my grieving, a way of proving to myself that the specific love I had lost was never coming back, and that no one else would ever be him. But it also showed me the beautiful side of that same idea: no one else would ever be him, and so I was free to explore new facets of myself and my sexuality that never would have been able to flourish in his company.

When I ventured into the land of polyamory, I observed that learning a new partner’s tastes (and having mine be learned in return) wasn’t just fascinating; it was also romantic. I had some poly partners who struggled to remember my preferences, doing things to me that their other girlfriends liked, even after I’d reminded them several times not to – and it always helped clarify the bitter truth: this person just wasn’t that into me, evidently, and so I might as well end things and move on. When I instead started dating people who seemed rabidly curious about my preferences, and who demonstrated their growing knowledge base with each encounter, I felt focused on, wanted, and liked. Their approach showed me I was worthy of laser-focused attention and careful study – unlike the more cavalier partners who had tried to apply a one-size-fits-all paradigm to my pussy.

It interests me that sex with each person is different not only mechanically, but also tonally. Some people in my sexual history have been super serious and intense in the bedroom; others have been goofy and relaxed. Some have been theatrical roleplay aficionados; others have been wholly and only ever themselves in bed. Some people like to listen to smooth jazz, others to crunchy punk rock. Some talk a lot, some hardly at all. Some yell and exclaim, some murmur and growl. Some do it under covers in the dark; others prefer lights on and full nudity. It’s always an adventure learning what a new person is like in bed, particularly since some people act totally different in that setting than you’ve ever seen them act anywhere else!

There are ways to ascertain someone’s preferences before ever sleeping with them – you can talk about sex (and you should!), share memories from your sexual pasts, and feel out the person’s vibe during makeout sessions, for example. But there are some things that may not become clear until you actually start fucking, at which point you’ll learn even more about this new person and how you both fit together.

In this way, sexuality is a never-ending path of discovery (including self-discovery!) if you let it be. Even with long-term existing partners, there’s always more to try and more to learn. You just have to let go of your fear of looking stupid when you try something that doesn’t work. Because, after all, we all have to start somewhere. Sometimes a blank canvas is just as exciting as a bright, bold painting – there’s so much potential there, so much joy and fun and excitement waiting to be discovered, waiting to be created.