21 November 2011

The Secret Orgasm Button

Alright folks, it’s TMI time. If you were reading this blog because you enjoy hearing about the numerous and exciting ways in which my brain/emotions/social skills occasionally malfunction, but are less interested in the ways in which my body and sexual organs do the same, then now is the time to stop reading this particular post. Take a break from the internet, go have a cup of tea (steeped for as long as you like!), maybe play with an adorable animal of some kind. I will not be offended. However, I am taking this time and space to make sure that my “adult content” label is not for naught.


From a very young age, I loved to wank (sounds like the beginning of a fairytale, doesn’t it? “For as long as anyone in the kingdom could remember, Katie’s hands were down her pants. It was a time of peace and prosperity.”) When I discovered orgasms - long before I heard about sex, or knew that you could make them happen with other people - awesome - I basically decided that life was amazing, and that this was going to be my new thing that I did all of the time.

I was sexually active very early, much earlier than I would be comfortable hearing about from, say, my daughter (if, god forbid, I ever make a kid.) For that reason, I’m not going to make a timeline. Early on in my sexual exploration, though, I learned that a) some boys didn’t care about making a girl cum or even experience any pleasure and b) the boys who did care were, through no fault of their own, really terrible at it. As a result of the first group of boys, I learned not to value my own sexual pleasure in an encounter. As a result of the second group, I learned to fake orgasms or deny that I wanted them. In the age-old tradition of me shooting myself in the foot, I was too shy to actually talk to a partner about what would get me off, even though I could do it to myself in 43 seconds without anything but my hand and my imagination (it’s not weird that I timed myself, is it? Everyone does that, right? Right???... *insert sound of crickets*.)

I developed a sort of defeatist attitude when it came to partners and orgasms. “Don’t worry about me, I have a lot of trouble getting off” I would lie to each new boy or girl, ignoring the fact that I was getting myself off several times daily. I was self-conscious about my inability to cum in front of someone (oh, wait, am I giving away an important plot point? Oh well.) and I dreaded that moment mid-cunnilingus when the rare determined lover, having started out with enthusiasm and confidence, would lay their head on my thigh, exhaustion and desperation in their eyes, and say “do you mind if I take a break?”

I think that part of my problem is that I did not actually start out connecting orgasms with sexuality. I can get myself off while thinking about virtually anything, or thinking about nothing at all. Everyone always says that women’s sexuality is much more emotional and cerebral than men’s, and either they’re full of shit or I’m not a woman. It could go either way. If I see someone who is attractive, or there is a sexy scene in a movie, I think “wow, that’s hot”. I might get wet. But it doesn’t really go in my spank bank, if you know what I mean. I do watch porn, but rarely of things that I’m actually interested in doing in real life. More often than not, I find a blowjob video, keep it on absently in the background for a few minutes, then skip to the end to time my climax with the girl getting it in the face (an act, I might add, that I do not enjoy whatsoever.) If there is a story to the video, I make damn sure to skip past it. We could go into a deep psycho-analysis of why I feel the need to associate my own climax with that of an act that, in the videos I see, seems to bring pleasure only to the male party, where there is no apparent affection between the participants, and that actually has some unfortunate traumatic implications for me. But I could stay on this topic forever, and I’d rather see people get all the way to the end of the post without stopping to put their head on my thigh and asking for a break.

I never thought that there was anything odd about my approach to orgasms. When I tried to talk about it with female friends, they expressed so much disgust that I would touch myself down there (horrors!) or let a boy put his tongue in that place (double horrors!)  that I assumed I was lucky to be having any pleasure at all, and dropped the topic.

Fast forward to now. I have had a number of sexual partners over the years, and some have achieved some mild success in getting me off, or at least in having me get myself off while they are still within a ten mile radius of me. Success! Er, sort of. A number of other factors - decreasing self-confidence in conjunction with health problems and prescription medications - have made getting aroused even on my own trickier with time. But, it doesn’t really matter, because my obsession with sex is weird and should be diminished if possible anyways, and good girls don’t care about their own sexual pleasure, and most women don’t bother with orgasms anyways, as long as their man indulges them in a quick cuddle to fulfill her deep emotional needs after he fucks her.

I know, I know. That sort of sarcastic “societal norms fucked me up” rant is the reason I am uncomfortable with the internet. We all have to operate in society, and not all of us end up psychologically scarred. But when I got on to fetlife 9 months ago (look, fetlife, you’ve successfully gestated a sexually aware young woman!) I started looking around and realized something: holy hell, people are having a lot of orgasms.

There were women who could orgasm from having their ears nibbled on and women who could orgasm from having somebody cum in their hair and women who could orgasm just because their Master said so. There were women having to put down tarps every time their Dom(me) came near them in case of a climactic flood, and women who were cumming two, three, four and upwards times in a row. (I don't mean to be disturbing, but this sounds like a Doctor Seuss book to me. "Would you get off in a boat? Could you get off with a goat?" Feel free not to answer that question.)

I feel sexually inadequate on the best of days, through nobody’s fault but my own. And, let me make two things very clear: nobody is making me feel pressured to cum, and every effort under the sun is being made to make me feel comfortable exploring my sexuality and to help me take the time to find out what might make me tick. But people’s best advice - which is mainly to relax and to not try to force things - is starting to make me want to cry. I enjoy my playtime immensely. I am aroused to the point that it is agonizing not to cum, but it still doesn’t happen. I can get myself off, curled up against Sheldon and encouraged by his voice in my ear and hand on my throat, but, at the risk of sounding like a petulant child, I want what the other girls have. I don’t know how many times I’ve felt myself on the edge while being spanked, but no matter what the circumstances, it doesn’t happen. I keep waiting to find the secret orgasm button that the other girls seem to possess. I think I have an expectation that one day we will be playing, and Sheldon will hang me upside down from the ceiling and poke me in the left foot with a pencil while dangling a bowling ball from my clit and pouring warm goat’s milk into my navel, and I will cum so hard the building will shake and the sprinkler system will be activated, and we will both laugh and go “aha, of course, why didn’t we try that before? It was so obvious!!!”

My “ability” to analyze things is not exactly a gift from god. I can overthink just about anything, and ruin just about everything in the process. I tend to approach sex as though it were a scientific experiment. Maybe this time it was the wrong moment in my hormonal cycle/the temperature was 1.7 degrees too warm/I should not have entered the room with my right foot because it displeased the gods.

This post is not really intended to seek advice. It might be seeking sympathy (or, put less kindly but more realistically, pity.) I already know that my brain is skilled at destroying all that is good in the world. More than anything, I probably believe that overanalyzing my overanalysis will fix the problem, and I want to give you folks another reason to laugh at me.

Or with me. I know I’m absurd. So you can laugh with me ^_^

With love,



  1. oh my god I have never laughed so hard over a blog entry before..
    "but this sounds like a Doctor Seuss book to me. "Would you get off in a boat? Could you get off with a goat?" Feel free not to answer that question.)"

    Dr Seuss is my all time FAVOURITE author!!! and to think of his writing a book about sex just cracks me up.......

    no other brilliant words of wisdom.... don't have any - well i did write you a rather long email with what brilliance i could muster at that hour of the morning without any coffee...

    I did nominate you for a VBA award - you will have to check my blog to understand.. I in the meantime must dash back to work - I am late..


  2. You are really funny - i loved the Dr. Seuss part too - but i particularly enjoyed the times i could ruefully relate to what you were saying. i too learned to orgasm early, and didn't connect it to sex for a long time. In fact, i had been sexually active for a couple of years before i realized that what happened when i touched myself was what was supposed to happen in the context of fucking. Ha - who knew??!!

    i did - about 10 years ago now - have one relationship with someone who could make me orgasm repeatedly through finger-fucking - other than with him, it tends to take me forever, if i even can, unless i do it myself.

    i have some gift for overanalyzing also, so i think your strategy might be worth trying!



Leave some love.