That Feels Like Fizzy Champagne in My Chest

Finding Words for the Wordless

We expect people to be good at sex without ever giving them the words to talk about it.

We expect lovers to be attuned, responsive, intuitive, communicative—and also silent.
We expect ourselves to express desire fluently, even though most of us were raised in a culture that treats sex as either taboo, transactional, or tightly scripted.

So what happens when you want something and don’t know how to say it?
Or when you feel something and don’t even have the words to describe it?

You shut down. Or you act out. Or you go along with something you didn’t want. Or you give your partner a map that’s missing half the terrain and get frustrated when they don’t arrive where you hoped.

This is where language becomes the bridge.
Not fancy dirty talk (though that can be great). I’m talking about intimacy language—the everyday vocabulary that helps you put shape around your internal world so you can invite someone else into it.

Words Create Safety

We talk a lot in The Intimacy Lab about the body as the compass. But language is how we share the map. Without it, we’re stuck in guessing games. With it, we get to co-create.

Having a shared language for sensation, arousal, preference, and boundary is what makes safety sustainable—not just in a clinical way, but in a deeply alive way. When I can say, “I feel myself getting distracted,” or “That kind of touch makes me numb out,” or “I’m scared but curious,” I’m not just naming something—I’m offering access.

Language is connection.

Not knowing what to say doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re working without tools you were never given.

Let’s change that.

Start With Metaphor

Sometimes, words like “harder,” “softer,” “faster,” “slower” just don’t capture what we’re actually feeling. That’s where metaphor becomes medicine.

Try this:
- “That feels like fizzy champagne in my chest.”
- “It’s like my whole body just got really still inside.”
- “This touch feels like warm water running downhill.”
- “That kind of intensity shuts the door for me. I want to feel coaxed, not conquered.”

Sensations live in the body. Metaphor gives them a passport into language.

Encourage your partner to try it too. You’ll be surprised how much more you both learn when you stop trying to be right, and start trying to be real.

Create Your Own Intimacy Dictionary

Every couple (or threesome, or whatever constellation you’re in) needs a private lexicon.

This doesn’t have to be a big deal. It can be silly. Tender. Sensual. Specific.
What matters is that the two (or more) of you know what you mean.

Examples I’ve seen from clients:
- “Starfish mode” = totally surrendered, soft, ready to receive
- “The velvet door” = the entrance to deeper emotional opening
- “Blue light” = aroused but not ready
- “The slide” = that moment when things start moving toward orgasm
- “Reset” = pause, re-ground, eye contact, no agenda

Use words that actually feel true for you. You’re allowed to invent language for your experience. In fact, you’re supposed to.

A Practice: Intimacy Language Lab

Here’s something to try with a partner. Or solo, in journaling form.

Part 1: Sensation Words
Each of you write down 5–10 words to describe:
- What arousal feels like in your body
- What desire feels like emotionally
- What “no” feels like physically (or energetically)
- What safety feels like

Don’t overthink it. Use sound effects, images, whatever works.

Part 2: Translate to Metaphor
Take one or two of those sensations and give them a metaphor.
If “arousal” feels like “electric buzzing,” say that. If “safety” feels like “being swaddled in flannel,” say that. Get creative.

Part 3: Share It
Exchange what you wrote. No commentary. Just receive.

Then talk about what you learned. What surprised you. What words you might want to borrow from each other going forward.

Language isn’t about precision. It’s about connection.

You’re Not Supposed to Know

Let me say this clearly: if you struggle to talk about sex, that doesn’t make you unskilled or emotionally unavailable. It makes you normal in a culture that never taught us how.

We don’t need you to be fluent. We just need you to be willing.

Willing to stumble, to be awkward, to say, “I don’t have the right word but it’s sort of like…”
Willing to try. To listen. To name. To co-create.

Because intimacy isn’t just something we feel. It’s something we build—word by halting word, until we find ourselves in something real, wild, mutual, and deeply alive.