In the continual pursuit for it, I’ve realized that it’s all about letting it go. Letting it ALL go. When I can simply pull the plug on my thoughts, expectations and anticipation and let everything swirl down the drain – it happens. Chasing it down, having a goal and being success-driven misses the point entirely. It’s all about enjoying the process. And when it does come, it comes BIG. I am, of course, talking about the elusive female orgasm. The one that is not supposed to have a biological purpose but because women do, it has puzzled scientists (who must be all men). The elusivity of my own, however, has puzzled me in recent months. After a huge emotional break up seven months ago, I’ve been chasing the big O like some pursue double chocolate cheese cake. What I’ve discovered is that when my mind is not ready – my body is not ready either. One cannot act without consent from the other. A shame really, when men can so easily divide up the connection with ease. Jumping into bed with a stranger will never bring about the desired results for me…and I end up mentally chasing something that won’t physically exist until I let go the chase and bring my mind and body together for the event. Being in love, helps. So, finally, and with regularity, I am coming! Coming instead of chasing. After more than 15 years of being sexually active, I’ve figured out a little bit more about me.
Sex while menstruating. Yes? Just roll out the old beach towel. No? Avoid it like the plague and masturbate for a week. Maybe? Penetration but no oral.
It seems to be when I want it most – tampon, cock and all!
Thoughts?
Choosing the right birth control method combined with being a woman, avec hormones, is a frightening prospect. Being in a sexually monogamous relationship for a few months has necessitated the need to guard against ….anything unwanted. Off to the pharmacist I went, prescription for the NuvaRing in hand. The first month was fantastic – no pill to remember to take and NO CONDOMS! My lover’s excitement of actually being able to come inside me was palpable (no pun). The first week into the second month however, told a different story. It started right after my period when the ring went back in. I woke up with a piercing headache in my left temple – which didn’t go away for a week- followed by intensely dangerous mood swings (I’m not proud – but I did physically abuse my love, the full powered boxercize punch I delivered to his left arm won’t soon be forgotten). The inability to wake up in the morning despite 12 hours of sleep did not help matters. Not to mention the bad dreams, increased appetite and feeling generally not myself. Crazy, in fact. Crying one minute, angry at nothing the next. The weekend spent with IndiaLove turned into a scene out of the Exorcist and prompted him to do some research into the side effects of the ring – I think he must have feared for his life, or certainly the future of our relationship. After reading some other women’s accounts of their experience with the ring, I dashed to the loo and took the damn thing out. The next morning, I felt back to my regular happy self. Thank god – I thought I might be certifiably crazy.
Lying awake in bed at night, Friday night, alone and horny is the definition of what it means to be single. But at least I am able to take care of myself when I need to. It’s a gaurantee. LIving in an overpriced studio apartment, that’s another definition of single. Single serving meals, single “tax” on travel, single seats at the movie theatre. All of these define what it means to be a woman alone in the world. And most times I am happy to be that person. But last night my shower curtain fell down. And I couldn’t get it back up. It was then that I realized I need a man! I couldn’t fix the damn thing and I couldn’t take a shower. Arrg…the single life – this is when I need a man the most! Good for several reasons, men are the best at fixing things that fall, hauling up heavy groceries, cleaning out the gutters and maintaining the car. This is when I need a man most. It’s better to be two sometimes. It’s easier. And the cold November nights seem a little less lonely.
Over a boiling pot of oil and while making sure the samosas weren’t about to burn, IndiaLove and I had the most incredible sex. What is it about food and distraction that makes making love so much more delectable? It must have something to do with the urgency, the heat of the situation and the thought that you really should be concentrating your attention elsewhere. Sexing it up when you’re not suppose to is fun, dangerous and erotic – even when it’s in your own kitchen deep frying samosa! Somewhere between the passionate kissing, the turning over of the samosas and the pulling off of our clothes, we managed to make not only a dozen fantastic little snacks but also some spontaneous love.
Masturbating. It seems to be the only way to guarantee me an orgasm these days. I’m not entirely sure what is going on in bed with my partner but it doesn’t always figure me into the picture of orgasmic release. I’m enjoying the sex we have, but it always ends the same way – his orgasm and not mine. I’m not so sure he’s confident in the art of “being there” or even in the art of any kind of subtle seduction. He just “goes for it”. Hands and fingers right into the honey pot without even licking the lid first. Too direct. Not enough eroticism. For me, that is. For him – that’s all he needs. A whiff of potential and then it’s all over. I have to wonder what I am not communicating. “Slow down” seems to be fairly straightforward. He is like an eager little puppy that piddles at the first sight of the leash. I may be forced to take this Indian Retriever back to Listening to Commands 101. In the mean time, as he rolls over and sleeps my own fingers and fantasies go to work. Satisfaction 100% guaranteed.
Saturday night was supposed to be my night – the whole evening was promised to be dedicated to my sexual pleasure alone…and how I was looking forward to it! I was told I could use him has I wished – he would be my slave for the evening as he was going to take Viagra to guarantee everything would be up and ready. But after five glasses of red wine, not even the Viagra could cut through the vino buzz. I was ready to go, as five glasses of anything only serves to, well…, serve me but not so him. He came in about two seconds and fell asleep – without a smile, a hard-on, or a satisfied partner! The expectation of a great evening dissipated into great disappointment that not even medical science could have remedied.
I’ve never really understood why guys find coming all over their partner’s breasts such an incredible turn on, but it does seem to be quite a popular way to unload. When IndiaLove (aka my tall Indian lover) told me he wanted to B his L on my Ts (Bust his Load on my Tits), I wasn’t sure whether to be offended, flattered, turned on or grossed out. I’ve never really been propositioned in such a way, but that could be due to the fact the my As never garnered much sexual attention. My DoubleDs however, demand it (they turn me on for godsake!) Complying with his request because I’m adventurous and kind of kinky, I realized, as he straddled my chest and began to indulge in some seriously intense self-love, that as he was finding the whole experience totally erotic, I was, too. And what else to do when your lover is kneeling over top of you, cock in hand, completely engaged and engorged by the whole ordeal than to reach down and have a go at yourself! Hello, Mutual Masturbation! Sex is great in all of its wonderful diversions! Having my hands busy, made his own work harder, and just as I was getting warmed up – he sprinted ahead and crossed the finish line. Fuck! Isn’t that always the way? I wish I could just pull it out and orgasm within 30 seconds. This however, seems to be almost an entirely male trait. Perhaps if men grew a pair of tits, women might be so inclined to B their own Ls all over their man’s Ts!
After two months of hard core trying, it happened! And OMG – it was worth the wait (well, almost)! A combination of dirty talk, the right place, the right pressure and the fact that I finally admitted to myself how much I actually cared for my lover brought the religion out of me for the first time in a long while. Thinking back on my whole bank of sexual experiences (I’ve had a lot) I can’t seem to recall ever having an orgasm with a one night stand, a friend with benefits or somebody I didn’t really love. It took me two whole months to sort out my feelings for my tall Indian lover – coincidentally, it took the same amount of time to “reach my peak of desire”. But having climbed that fence once, I’m now running free in the field on the other side! Contrary to popular belief (mine included) my lover needn’t be hung like a water buffalo to satisfy his darling. Coming had more to do with how I felt about him rather than how he felt inside of me. The physically stuff is great – no misunderstandings, but the spiritual, the mental, the untouchable aspect of having sex, or in my case making love, is when the amazing things happen. And like just like anyone who has had a religious experience, I’m now a confirmed believer: size is not all that matters!
It’s been two months of being with the same lover and I have yet to achieve an orgasm. Without pointing fingers or intimating blame, I have to confess that this is unusual, even for myself. It does take me awhile to get turned on to the point of orgasm and it usually involves several different techniques including, but not limited to kissing, nipple licking (mine, not his), manual stimulation (mine, not his) and hitting at least two of my erogenous zones: back of the shoulder, behind the knee, and lower back. Between his rapid rabbit like style of thrust and my neediness of attention to the finer details, coming has been a challenge – not for the lack of trying, however. My lover and I enjoy a healthy sex life with regards to frequency. Quantity is not an issue – it’s the Quality that has got me a bit concerned. I’m not sure he feels the same way as both his Qs are on par. I have mentioned this seemingly inconsequential fact to him and his response was this: “Whenever you’re ready, baby”. I was ready! So ready in fact, that after he finished in the typical style and form (and fell asleep), I indulged in a bit of self-love… and came in about two seconds! Why can’t he do that for me? Perhaps I’ve got to become a better communicator in the bedroom, or perhaps he needs a map, a book on “how to”, and a good dose of Ritalin! Whatever it may be, the frustrating question isn’t whether or not to come but rather when the hell is it going to happen?
Single in the City : Adventures in Urban Dating 