April 8, 2011
On How I Came To Come
I started masturbating at around twelve. As far as I can remember, my orgasms then were kind of like a box lunch: contained, satisfying, pleasurable, sometimes even surprisingly so, but nothing to write home about. I certainly enjoyed them enough to rub myself raw in the process of procuring them. I enjoyed them enough to learn how to masturbate in such a way as to orgasm undetected while sleeping in a bunk in a roomful of other sleeping girls at camp (face down, breathing huskily into my pillow, pelvis pressing on my finger that ran ragged circles on my clit).
But these orgasms pale in comparison to the orgasms I have now when I masturbate, and they whimper and cower in the face of the orgasms I have with my lover. These were fledgling comings, and inasmuch as I knew nothing else, they were fine.
I have had more than a few sexual epiphanies in my life, so trying to draw some linear orgasmic narrative will by necessity forgo some of these moments and emphasize others, suggesting if nothing else the pure fiction of trying to draw any straight line between a well-rounded life’s elliptical moments. And yet, even in acknowledging the strange fiction of any life’s narrative, I have to say that there are a few defining moments in my sexual life that caused me to pause, to reflect even as I was experiencing, or perhaps shortly thereafter, and still awash in the crimson post-come glow, say “huh,” even if only to myself.
Certainly, learning to come with another person was a big deal, but that precise moment when I first came from someone’s manipulation of my genitals with hand or mouth is lost. If pressed-and I guess that once more I’m pressing myself, a turn of phrase that illustrates exactly how onanistic a practice writing can be-I’d guess that the person who first made me come was a boyfriend named Randy (his last name is so spectacular, so perfect and so Semitic. I forbear giving it to you, but trust me, I salivate at the thought of gifting it) and that he made me come by licking my seventeen year-old pussy on shag-rug floor of a high-rise apartment in Boston where I was an au pair and he was a gardener.
The next summer my girlfriend Marta would teach me that Randy’s ability was not singular, and I would teach her a few things too.
I don’t remember much else specific, so that’s all I’ll say on that specific moment. But what I will say about the general trajectory of my young adult orgasmic life is this: it seems like a slow build over time. That over time, my orgasms grew in strength and power to what is now my fallback method of coming: a single huge, screaming Linda-Blairesque-head-snapping orgasm that holds me pleasurable hostage for its sweet short eternity. I can’t explain this signature orgasm: I don’t know why, I don’t know how, I can’t explain the mechanics of it all, but I can say that in general, it takes me a while to come, but when I do, it’s a singular and pyrotechnic spectacle.
Having thus stated that generality, I have to then explain the exceptions to this orgasmic rule, for they are the moments that have shocked me and taught me in a blinding somatic rush that everything I think is true is open to unexpected redefinition at any sexual time. My body can surprise me. I don’t know what I’m capable of, and every time I think I do know, I can-and hopefully will-be shocked once more into newness.
I come from a matrilineal line of squirters, the white tiger of female sexuality. My mom squirts; my grandmother did too. I had always felt inadequate in the face of their squelchy sexuality. I always wondered why my genetics didn’t go the way of my mother’s side, damning me with my clearly inferior squirtfree orgasms.
In this case, I know pretty much exactly what change occurred, and that is that I discovered my g-spot. Clearly, my discovering my g-spot is like Columbus’ discovering America: my g-spot, like America, had always been there. I just learned how to make use of it. I ascribe this discovery to two factors: first, as I’ve aged, so has my body, and as my clit has become less sensitive and scream-keening, my g-spot has stepped in to take up the sexual slack; second, buying a set of Smart Balls helped me recognize the importance of my g-spot like no other toy (you can read about my experience with them here). The more I’ve toyed with my g-spot, or had it toyed with, the greater breadth, intensity, and variety of orgasms I’ve experienced. Certainly, having my g-spot tended to has helped me squirt.
It also helped me achieve the flutter-flutter rollercoaster set of orgasms that caused me to write the post I mention in the first line of this essay. I never realized until recently the wonder, the power, the glory that my g-spot holds in its mysteriously subtle spongy mass. Touching it does not bring a direct pin-spot of joy as touching my clit does; rather, it brings a slow and inescapable enveloping ball of pleasurable light. Touching my g-spot won’t make me come all by itself (not yet, anyway), but it does change my orgasm in ways I’d never envisioned.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve lost a lot of the dumbass baggage of youth. I don’t really think about my cellulite when I’m fucking. I don’t think about how I look. I don’t think about what my partner is thinking, beyond thinking that he (currently he, and not she and not them, though I’ll never rule any of those possibilities out for the future) is enjoying himself. As I’ve grown older, my body and my mind have changed and as I’ve grown older, I enjoy sex more than I ever thought possible. I can assure young women that whatever sexual fun you’re having-or not having now-it gets immeasurably more luscious, complex and wondrous.
But mostly I can say this: recognize that you’re never beyond surprise. You and your orgasms will change, and you will discover some joys, lose others, and find new ones. And never, ever, underestimate your g-spot in specific or your pussy in general. It’s yours to find, and find anew, and it’s always waiting, just at the ends of your fingertips.
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I am in total agreement with you on orgasms changing over the years, and with myself as well as different people. I started masturbating at around 9 and used to find all types and ways to come, but I have found the very BEST orgasms are a combo of g-spot and clit stimulation. Awe inspiring.