I thought I knew the secret to great sex. Then one man proved me wrong

If you've been following my column, you may be aware that I recently broke my sex drought after six lonely months and a particularly stinging heartbreak.

Side note: why is it always the situationships that leave us the most broken? It makes no sense.

Anyway, a few weeks back, the sex gods smiled down on me and said, 'Alright, you've done your time. Let us gift you with a man with the world's most perfect pecker.'

The floodgates opened - along with my mind. I was forced to retract a long-held assertion that size doesn't matter, after this particular gentleman showed me it really does.

It made me wonder what else I'd gotten wrong about sex all these years. Well, on a recent Sunday morning, as I enjoyed another gloriously sunny stride of pride - or, as some negative Nancys prefer to call it, a walk of shame - I had another epiphany.

It was a tad chilly, and the steep incline back to my apartment from his house was enough to test even the most committed wearer of heels, yet I found my mood was as bright as the weather and that my upbeat frame of mind lingered all day.

It wasn't the all-nighter that had me grinning like an idiot as I strolled home. It was the lazy, sleepy, utterly unathletic romp we'd had that morning.

I had always kind of thought that good sex was about good technique. Finding someone with stamina. Someone adventurous. Someone who knows exactly what they're doing. Reader, I stand corrected.

I had always kind of thought that good sex was about good technique. Reader, I stand corrected

I recently retracted a long-held assertion that size doesn't matter, and it got me wondering what else I'd gotten wrong about sex all these years

Turns out good sex is all about good timing - and the optimum time is the morning.

There's something about waking up beside someone you fancy, still tangled in the sheets, neither of you particularly concerned with looking your best, that makes everything feel a little more relaxed.

Perhaps it's the lingering haze of the night before. Perhaps it's the fact that the first-date nerves have finally packed up and left. Whatever it is, the whole experience feels somehow more intimate.

Plus, here's a tip, lads - a woman lying on her side is often more likely to reach orgasm and, afterwards, you're left with a lovely body to curl up against and absolutely nowhere you need to be for a few precious minutes.

Glorious. Ten out of ten. No notes.

When I mentioned this revelation to my girlfriends, the response was almost embarrassingly unanimous. One friend admitted she used to think great sex involved chandelier swinging and limbs getting stuck in strange places, but these days she'd take ten sleepy minutes under a duvet over an acrobatic all-nighter any day of the week.

Another laughed and said the best sex of her life now happens at 7am with a man she's been married to for 12 years, because neither of them can be bothered performing anymore and it's the only time they sneak in a quickie.

A third said she spent most of her twenties worrying about whether she looked sexy enough, whereas now she couldn't care less if she resembles a startled scarecrow.

I think this discovery has a lot to do with age because, somewhere between your twenties and forties, sex quietly changes. It seems many of us spend our younger years trying to look sexy and, later on, finally realize we'd rather just enjoy ourselves.

I was nowhere near so carefree in my twenties. Back then, I treated a sleepover like a military operation. I'd sneak off to the bathroom before he woke up, rinse my mouth, scrub away any smudged mascara, attempt to resurrect my hair and generally try to convince him I'd naturally woken up looking like a Victoria's Secret model.

Then, when the inevitable morning enthusiasm kicked in, I'd feel obligated to put on some sort of award-winning performance.

By the end, I'd be exhausted and mentally booking my Uber home.

These days, I've realized something rather wonderful. Sometimes a lazy morning fumble is infinitely more satisfying.

Gone is the endless head noise about whether my stomach looks flat enough or whether I've remembered to shave every square inch of my body. I've finally accepted what most men have been telling us all along: They're generally just thrilled we've turned up.

Once I hit 40, I found myself caring far less about looking sexy and far more about just enjoying myself.

The other morning, I caught a glimpse of myself in his bedroom mirror and nearly laughed. Twenty-five-year-old Jana would have been horrified.

My hair looked like I'd been dragged backward through a hedge. There was yesterday's mascara lurking somewhere near my ear. And yet here I was, having the time of my life.

Had this happened 20 years ago, I would have launched myself out of bed and sprinted to the bathroom before the poor man had a chance to focus his eyes.

Turns out good sex is all about good timing - and the optimum time is the morning

Instead, I went back to bed and got back to business. Growth.

Now don't get me wrong, the first time I sleep with someone there's still a touch of theater involved. I'm a Leo. I'm hardly going to abandon the performance entirely. I still enjoy the thrill of turning a man on.

But it's that second-day sex that really does it for me.

There's no athleticism required. Nobody is attempting anything that demands a Pilates qualification. There are no complicated maneuvers or desperate attempts to recreate something that looked impressive online.

It's comfortable and based purely on desire. It's the sort of sex that would probably look terribly boring in a movie and yet somehow feels infinitely better when you're having it.

Which is when it finally dawned on me that perhaps I'd had it backward all along.

Because I've finally realized that the best sex I've ever had wasn't with the men with the biggest muscles or skill set, it was with men who made me feel comfortable and desired.

They let me let go of any self-consciousness and just enjoy it - bedhead, morning breath and all. And, funnily enough, that's usually when the really good orgasms show up.