Sunday, January 27, 2008

A brief history of my orgasms

It makes me sad when I hear about a woman who can't or won't come. A few may have good reasons. Once a woman told me how she had been abused by her father starting at age 11, until she moved out at age 18. She had a lot of lovers, saying "I like to get the sex out of the way so a man will talk to me." But she had never had an orgasm.

I've told you about a friend who didn't want to let a man lick her pussy because she was afraid of losing control. And I've talked to a few women who seemed to hold varying degrees of this view. I guess most men are crappy at fucking, i.e. fucking so a woman really loves it. So these women don't have to worry about a good ride bringing them off. Pump, pump, snore, watch NASCAR. Finally, I know of a few who just can't come, although most of these just fake it.

I've never faked an orgasm. Maybe it helps that I have always been hopelessly horny. I started playing with myself when I was about 11, and had my first "orgasm" a year later. I put it in quotes, because although it was an orgasm, a revelation and a release, better was to, er, come.

My first lover slipped his cock inside me effortlessly. It felt nothing but good. He didn't last long, but it didn't matter because I was so overheated from him sucking my nipples and finger-fucking me, from weeks of build-up to the big night, and that we were doing it in my parents' bed (!) -- all made me come. I soon realized how I could really have an orgasm, when my college roomie Pam gave me a real pussy licking, and I ended up screaming, coming three times one right after another, and collapsing in a heap.

Oh, so that's what they've been talking about!


As I look back, I also realize I was always curious about sex, was easily aroused thinking about scenarios or appreciating them when they came true, and, to the distraction of my mother, was very uninhibited about my body. I always felt all the connections -- between my pussy and nipples, backs of my knees, toes, wrists, fingers, ears, the inside of my thighs...brain. I learned to make myself come even if a lover was not so skilled. I am a great cowgirl and can grind against him and get off.

I know I'm lucky. Some women, maybe most, can't come from fucking alone. But it helps to be fucked well. Over time I learned to tell the difference. My first older man, a professor, really knew how to take his time, heat me up, and then fuck me on top in a way that still rubbed against my clit. One good orgasm just taught me how to have another, and it became easier and easier.

I also know I am unusual in being both a "multiple" girl and a screamer. I can't help it.

When I turned 30, my lover at the time gave me a present. He fucked me into a couple of baby orgasms. Then he slipped down between my legs and tongue-worshipped me into 28 more huge and small orgasms and aftershocks. Thirty orgasms in all. I couldn't even move when it was done.

Maybe it won't be so bad turning 40, after all.

3 comments:

KT said...

Ha, I think I shall tell Husband and The Other Man that is what I want for my birthday coming up this friday, 22 orgasms. And if they both agree that means 44! Thank you for this amazing idea, and I hope your 40th gives you 40 spine shattering orgasms.

Linda Sue said...

I love that! Get them both involved!
Happy birthday.
XO

Jim said...

Wow . . . I can't even think, beyond picturing you having repeated orgasms, lol.

XO