My Precious Orgasm

Let me clear this up before I begin: I love orgasms. I enjoy and relish each and every one. There are not enough words to describe just how much I truly love them, but I’m sure you understand - I love them as much as the next girl.

I have to tell the truth though – orgasm isn’t the crux of my sex life. I firmly believe that orgasm should never be the end goal of our sexual encounter nor the tool we use to measure performace. Rather, pleasure itself is, and should be, a desirable end in itself. Some of my best sexual experiences with RS didn’t end in orgasm – the pleasure of pleasing him is all I crave some nights, and other nights the pure pleasure of pleasure itself is all I need. Orgasm just isn’t the be-all-to-end-all for me, and I don’t think it should be.

I happen to have a somewhat interesting relationship with my orgasm, simply because, for the first two years of my relationship with RS, she eluded me completely.

I was seventeen when we began our relationship, and prior to our dating, my sexuality was undeveloped and undiscovered. Masturbation? Sure, I remember touching myself as a child and adolescent, but it never evolved into anything further, and I surely never experienced any orgasmic pleasure from it, even once I moved into my teen years. I’m still unable to orgasm using my hands – RS can however bring me to orgasm using his fingers, so it’s not a physical issue. Perhaps it’s some sort of mental block on my part, but believe me, I’ve tried.

My lack of orgasm continued unchallenged in our relationship, and we didn’t talk much about it. RS was a virgin when we began dating, and we were both coming into our partnered sexuality for the first time. When we look back on those days, RS expresses such regret at his lack of understanding of my needs. His hands in my pants was a game of how many fingers he could get in there at one time – I slapped him at four and told him to grow up.

He didn’t know how to please me, and I couldn’t help him – I didn’t even know how to please me.

It wasn’t long before it became an issue in our relationship. I perfected my fellatio skills and wanted nothing more than to please him any way I could, and at times I felt like he didn’t try hard enough. It started to wear on me, and I later learned it did the same to him. It became an issue, and our sex romps ended in tears and frustration. We were trying too hard, and I wanted it too badly, and it just wasn’t going to happen.

From my studies I knew I should learn to please myself before expecting anyone else to know how. I knew this. I knew it the way I know my times-tables and the periodic table. But I just couldn’t. I had naive notions of my first orgasm with RS at his hands. I didn’t want my first orgasm to be my own. RS was my first in every way; he was my first kiss and my first taste of love. With him I wanted to experience every first love could offer me. And my first orgasm seemed to fit right in there, and I refused to let go of this ridiculous notion, no matter how much unhappiness it caused me.

We did eventually get there though; it was Halloween, and we had just passed our second anniversary. I had, in many ways, completely given up. My lack of orgasm still bothered me, still wore away at me, but I resigned myself to thinking that there was something inherently wrong with me, that it just wasn’t meant to be.

And then it happened.

Like divine inspiration, RS’ hands moved before I even knew what I wanted, what I needed. It was a beautiful moment – I was free. Free of the worry that I would never know the pleasure of orgasm, free of the fear that RS would give up on me and move on to someone who could fully appreciate him as a lover. I was free to explore my own pleasure – that first orgasm was all that mattered. After that I could, in my mind, go on and have fifty more without him.

I was elated. In those moments, I couldn’t have been happier. And RS, the orchestrator of it all, had no idea it had even happened. I don’t know what he thought it would look and feel like, but mine obviously didn’t register as one for him – in fairness I’ve since learned my orgasms and know how many varyingly different ones I have based on stimulation and positioning and what not. RS is still sometimes unsure, but we have an understanding now that ‘when in doubt, just keep doing what you’re doing until I tell you to stop’. It works well for us.

My long and arduous relationship with my orgasm has undeniably changed my understanding of sexuality, and for that, I can only be thankful. Two years without orgasm were not a waste; in those two years I experience more joy than I ever thought possible, the simple bliss of love. I wouldn’t change those two years now. I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason, it just takes a while to figure out what that reason might be.

I have a much better relationship with my orgasm now. We’re good friends, and we know each other well. But I know I can’t take her for granted, and every time we meet, I’m truly grateful. She’s a precious member in my sex life, but she’s not the only member. My sex life does not revolve around her. And I’m incredibly grateful for that.