Am I even alive?
It’s been a while since I’ve written something other than a review or personal experience on here. It’s been a while since I’ve felt so passionate about something that I felt like I should write it, even if someone else had already written about it or, even worse, written about it better. But here it is.
The Number of Orgasms Doesn’t Count
Read it a second time. Maybe in italic.
The Number of Orgasms Doesn’t Count
Orgasms are, generally, good. For more heterosexual sex, the man’s orgasm indicates the end of a session. The ability to finally attain orgasm is a big deal for many people, especially women. I understand. I like having orgasms. I wouldn’t last long in a sexual relationship with a person who didn’t care whether I was having any orgasms or who left them completely up to me without any (oral) assistance.
But, and this is a big but, sex shouldn’t necessarily lead to orgasm. That is, orgasm shouldn’t be the only goal. When you’re focused on getting off, your sex can become mechanical. Your eye is on the finish line, and you miss out on the journey. Now, this doesn’t always happen, but I frequently find that if you focus on enjoying the moment and feeling good over where you’re going, you’ll feel like your time’s well spent, even if you don’t get off.
Furthermore, focusing on achieving orgasm is the very thing that makes some people unable to orgasm. I notice that when I sufficiently distract my mind, I get off quicker and better.
I have literally had sex where I’ve had multiple orgasms, and it was unenjoyable overall. I’ve also had sex where I just didn’t manage to orgasm, but it was pretty much amazing. It felt more toe-curling, tear-inducing and intimate than sex where I achieved orgasm multiple times. I think, for some people, this doesn’t compute. They associate orgasms with pleasure. The more orgasms, the greater the pleasure except..
It’s just not true.
You can still feel pleasure without orgasm. Sex can be intimate. It can be rough. It can be carnal. It can teach you about yourself or your partner. It can just be a fun time — and all without orgasm.
And if either you or your partner is having difficulty achieving orgasm, the added pressure may just not be worth it.
Maybe someone will read this and something will click. Maybe they’ll stop pressuring their partner to cum or blaming themselves for their inability to bring their partner to orgasm an arbitrary number of times. Perhaps someone who has felt guilty over their inability to orgasm. Maybe you’ll let go long enough to just enjoy the moment. Because there are so many moments to enjoy and so many ways to enjoy them. Orgasm is not the only way.
My review for the Double Dare 4-Play was just posted on EdenFantasys. I had a hard time writing it, word constraints and all but think I managed to get everything in there. If you will excuse me, I will take the time to count my rabbit vibes.
Still there? With the newest additions straight from the UPS last night, I have 13 rabbit vibrators. Strictly rabbit style. None of those smaller dual stimulators or pseudo rabbits. I’ve also gone through 2 Rabbit Habits which decided to break on me (so I’ve tried 15 in all). I have used and loved many rabbit vibrators. Rabbits used to be my surefire way to get off.
But I didn’t get off with the Double Dare 4-Play. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was able to orgasm with a rabbit, using it the normal way. I’ve spent a while focusing on squirting which while mentally pleasurable and exciting, has never done a lot for me physically. Actually the Double Dare 4-play offered truly pleasurable G-spot stimulation but that’s not where I’m going with this. I’ve fallen out of practice with clitoral orgasms so every time I get a rabbit up there, my clit is confused. Before, I just sort of subdued my body into orgasm but now it’s fighting back. Now those vibrations are too rough, too buzzy, that material too hard, that shape too giving, so on and so forth. Honestly, I think my clit has become more sensitive in a negative way, much like my G-spot has become more sensitive in a positive way. I need to relearn my body but old habits die hard – unless it’s a Rabbit Habit which is a cheap piece of crap.
So here I am, with a pile of rabbits that call to me. Some I’ve had amazing interactions with. Some barely registered on my radar but they all make me a little sad, a little nostalgic for how things used to be. I miss knowing how things were going down. I miss how I could ignore my anatomy, unlike all those women who have never had a rabbit which fit. How did I avoid that? And, god dammit, I miss getting off. So you know what? Go read my review. I’m going to masturbate.
I’ve been a bit more inspired lately when it comes to posting on my blogs. I’ve also written a couple of articles for EdenCafe including one about cheating and another about my first orgasm. The former was submitted to Divine Caroline and is even being linked on their relationships page (although, in rather small text ;)). It’s awesome nonetheless.
It’s been a while since my last article and I apologize. Inspiration is sometimes fleeting. Also, I admit it: I think the title is pretty clever.
In one of my previous articles, I touched on just how unknown female sexuality is to males and females alike. Female masturbation is a sometimes overlooked aspect of female sexuality and although I like to consider myself somewhat enlightened about sex, much of the world is is still in the dark about the subject.
While some of us are avid connoisseurs have been masturbating for what seems like a lifetime, there are a few who aren’t even aware that, yes, females can masturbate. Some women stimulate themselves without even realize what they’re doing. It’s likely that some of those ladies are the ones who don’t know females can masturbate.
Females can masturbate. Without exploration, some women would never know about these powerful little buttons which can be so key so sexual pleasure. We can touch ourselves or use objects like vibrators or even pillows or teddy bears to make ourselves feel good. And you may have been doing it since you were just a little girl, developing you masturbatory style subconsciously. Many times, these styles focus on one external sweet spot, as opposed to internal stimulation: the clitoris.
Unfortunately, the clitoris isn’t really stimulated during sex, without making a point of it. Sex doesn’t simulate masturbation. Nor does masturbation tend to simulate sex (although some females focus on internal masturbation, the clitoris usually takes center stage). This leaves all parties involved confused as to just how get a woman off. The media portrays men as having not a clue and, in order to perform well, they need instructions like the secret book in American Pie. Unfortunately, it’s not just the men who don’t understand their partners; females have just as difficult time understanding their own bodies and the masturbation techniques which can work best for them.
The fact of it is, male masturbation is pretty obvious. It’s easy to simulate intercourse and it works. That’s not to say that it can’t be expanded upon but it doesn’t need to be and there’s a lot less grey area. Female masturbation, on the other hand, isn’t always so cut and dry. Mimicking intercourse doesn’t necessarily cut it for a lot of women, yet that is the accepted expectation. Although it seems like that are a lot more variations to female masturbation, it may take more work to uncover them than with male masturbation.
The aforementioned teddy bears and pillows are high on the list of what a young girl may have used to masturbate. I preferred a blanket and never considered using my stuffed animals for such intimate matters but I was apart of the humping school of thought. Sometimes I gravitate back toward the ol’ blanket method, balled up between my legs, but these days I also find a lover’s thigh or even face make wonderful humping instruments as well – and away I grind – for humping involves a lot of hip.
Of course, like males, we also have built in masturbate toys: our hands. Using a palm for diffuse pressure or fingers to stroke, tap, pinch and rub provide various methods of stimulation. Another popular selling point of fingers any hands are that they’re super portable; if you dare it, you can masturbate just about anywhere.
Another group of female masturbators have come to love water play. Whether it’s the spray of a removable shower head or the flow of a tub faucet, women have been using water to creatively stimulate genitals for who-knows-how-long. And what better place to get dirty than when cleaning up privately, in the bathroom?
Another popular method of masturbation (which is not just limited to the vaginally-enabled like) is thigh and muscles squeezing. Although I could never get off from squeezing my thighs alone, I recall doing so whilst sitting in class, prompting arousal while no one else was none the wiser. Some believe that squeezing thighs muscles indirectly stimulates the clitoris but I personally felt arousal within – it was G-spot stimulation. This could be a result of squeezing PC muscles (subconsciously) along with thighs muscles.
I would not pretend that internal stimulation isn’t pleasurable for many women, because it is, and I know I wasn’t the only girl who experimented with a taper candle. Honestly, the jokes about bananas, cucumbers and hot dogs did have to start somewhere. They’re just a sampling of the objects girls have perverted into makeshift dildos and almost anything with a handle can work: brushes, lint rollers, ice cream scoops, razors and flashlights all serve nefarious purposes that some would never suspect. But while others were discovering which buttons to press vaginally, I soon found myself traveling a different road.
Let us not forget the ever popular vibrator. Internal, external, dual stimulators (and sometimes more) are staples in many a nightstand. While I would never presume to downplay the significance of these instruments, as many women who have been sexual frustrated have finally found release through mechanical friends, it is usually not the first step in our natural progression of masturbation. At least, I find myself using vibrators (and dildos) in ways that can be used similarly to how I masturbated without toys.
This article by no means covers every method of female masturbation. I knew of a women who would lean forward, one leg in front, while she ground her clit against her heel. Women have been enjoying the vibrations of household appliances (spin cycle, anyone?) for years. Many women are turned on and can achieve orgasm through the seam of their jeans rubbing against their vulva. And masturbation is not limited to genitals, alone. I would hazard a guess that nearly all body parts can be stimulated to produce orgasm.
Female masturbation is still a more taboo subject than its male counterpart which is unfortunate because even the tip of this iceberg is more vast than some male masturbation routines ever will be. I can personally attest to the merits of every method listed, even if I prefer some over the others and I invite all women to do so because masturbation is healthy.
My hair is matted to my face with sweat. In the movies, it would swirl around my face in perfect waves but this is not a movie. It’s messy and tangled and it suddenly dawns on me how erotic that is.
I am covered in sweat, the sheets beneath me are warm with it. I always sweat more when I masturbate than during sex. I could say I don’t know why but I would be lying. It’s not because you do all the work, either. It’s because during masturbation, I feel it so entirely. I move my entire body. My back and hips lift from the bed. Some might use words like “gyrate” to describe the movement but I prefer “hump.”
I’ve always wondered if it’s the same for other women. Or am I unique in the way I pleasure myself? It’s a constant increase in effort. It’s a lot of work and it’s not explosive when I get off. It’s almost angry in a sense, as though my body were screaming.
I’ve masturbated so hard my arms and wrists have hurt for days. Sometimes I cannot help but laugh when I remember why I hurt. I moan and sigh and blood rushes to place no one else has experienced. No one but you.
Without fail, my fantasies turn to you. Sometimes things we have done. Sometimes things we have yet to do. In my mind, we’re fucking. In reality, my legs spread to let even the thought of you penetrate me.
I try to remember the last time we had sex. It’s been too long and I don’t know the date anyway. I can never remember how frequently we hace sex. Is it once a day or once a week? I remember, the orgasm though. I remember your body, slick with sweat, atop mine. I remember my fingers working furiously at my clit and feeling my orgasm. I remember looking up at you and commanding you.
“Look at me. Look at me!”
And you did. You looked at me as I came, your cock thrusting into my pussy and I worked it for all I was worth. It was the first time I ever really let the orgasm take control. My hips bucked beneath you and it just kept coming, my pussy contracting around your cock. I don’t know if it was the longest orgasm I have yet to experience or simply what can be only be called a clusterfuck of orgasms. But I know I came and my face was intent on yours as I did.
It was a bold move on my part, commanding your attention. It took so much, more than any other time I ventured to try something new. For years, I had avoided eye contact. Eye contact, I thought, showed vulnerability and I could not afford that. I remember you, early on, lying in my bed and wanting to look me in the eye but I simply stared at the ceiling instead.
It changed. Somewhere along the way, it was okay to be vulnerable with you, to look you in the eye, to cry when the need arose. Isn’t that a testament to our bond? But it still took years to break the barrier that prevented me from making eye contact during sex. How could we been having sex, been married for years without ever doing this? Why didn’t I push for it earlier? Had I known..
Had I known how deeply I would feel my orgasm. Had I known how deeply connected I would feel to you. Had I known how it would make you orgasm with me. We should have been doing this all along. I should have let myself experience this all along. I should have let us.
My revelation is short lived. You’re not here to share now and my heart feels heavy, my pussy shockingly empty. I can’t count the days until your return, either. It’s like I’m stuck in limbo.
And so I return to fantasizing about you. It’s like I have been rewired and every erogenous zone, every lustful thought connects straight to you. I imagine making up lost time. I throw myself into our love making, in my mind, straddling, kissing, stroking, touching you. Loving you. I don’t have to imagine to know that nothing has ever come so naturally to me. There were times I wanted to fight it with every fiber of my being yet I can’t imagine why. I can’t imagine fighting it anymore. Ever again.
I fantasize about you. See your body, hear your voice, feel your skin in my mind. I moan your name aloud as I cum, as though you are there with me. You’re not but I promise you all of my fantasies – and more – when I see you again, love. I don’t need to close my eyes to you anymore.
When he gets home, I’ll throw my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, our bodies pressed close together. The blood will rush straight to my pussy, my mind ever aware of the searing heat between my legs as our lips meet, our tongues dance against eachother, our bodies straining to be closer. I’ll feel his cock grow, urging to be free of its restraints, lusting to be in me.
He’ll push me against the wall as his hands slip beneath my clothes. Or I’ll do the same, my hands working at the buttons and zippers between us. Maybe we’ll make it to the bedroom. Probably not. Maybe we’ll move to the couch, hands groping and grasping frantically at each other. Maybe we won’t make it anywhere and pants and shirts will come off in record time, landing haphazardly where they may.
He skin will be salty against my tongue when I drag it across his skin. I’ll make note of his taste amidst the thoughts spin dizzyingly around my head. Suddenly, the floor is beneath us. He’ll lean back, his hands supporting him as mine travel up his chest, across his shoulders, down his back. My kisses will move from his face to his jaw down his neck, slowly transforming into gentle sucking along the way.
I’ll kneel, straddling him, pressing my hips against his, able to see his cock, feel it through the thin fabric of his boxers and my panties. My arousal will build until I am barely able to contain it, my pussy hot and wet for him. I’ll grind against him, listening to his breathing grow heavier, the way it does when he wants me. He’ll kiss me, my neck, my shoulders, leaving marks upon my flesh. His hands will roam my body, one finally settling against my breast, caressing and squeezing, playing with my nipple. The other will move to grasp my ass, pulling me into him, squeezing gently, the way he loves.
He’ll lean back further, arching his back and pushing his hips up further. My hand reaches to his shoulder, fingers grabbing, pressing into his skin deeply as my hips grind harder, faster against him. My panties will be wet and my skin flushed. I’ll tip my head back, run my hand through my hair, tugging on it as my lips part, breathily moaning. His name will escape my mouth as I work myself into a frenzy, hips grinding, pussy pulsing, heart pounding as I rub myself against him.
Then it will begin to build, my orgasm. The tension builds in my body, in the air, an explosion just waiting for the perfectly still moment to release. I’ll lean forward over him, my breasts brushing his mouth and he’ll strain to lick, to suck, to bite my nipples growing erect as he does. In turn, I’ll chew on my lower lip, grinding myself harder and faster yet, my erect clit rubbing against his erect cock.
Then it will happen. The fervor is too much. The bomb goes off. My muscles contracting and expanding in quick succession. My pussy spasms. He can feel it against his cock, if he pays close enough attention, and I think he will. My body will be flooded with heat, with hormones, with ecstasy. My orgasm will roll over me quickly but not so quick that I don’t have time to grasp the back of his neck, pulling him close for a passionate, heated kiss. Our tongues entwine and I will hold my hips against him as I cum, moaning into his mouth.
Somewhere along the way, the sky has grown dusky. I’ll part from his lips, smiling at his silhouette in the dimming light, my breath still ragged as my orgasm subsides and I pull away from the peak.
And now it’s time for the fun to begin.