Twenty Four Years in the Making

So being a hypersexual human being one would think that I had figured out ages ago how to give myself orgasms. That I would be a masturbation fiend. No, and no. I didn’t even have my first orgasm until I was twenty, two years after becoming sexually active. I remember my first orgasm very vividly. I had lesbian friends who tried to talk me through orgasms, hetero friends who gave me advice, men who claimed I needed them to hand deliver me orgasms. In reality, I just needed to let go and allow my body to tell me what to do. I needed time. I needed to grow into my sexuality not just possess sexuality. It was a hard earned lesson in listening to the signals of my own body and one that I still keep in mind for all aspects of my life.

My first orgasm was with Jay. I call him the phantom boyfriend nowadays. He was my first true love and my first orgasm. The first person I actually made love to (another good story for sure). I don’t often talk about Jay, but Jay was fantastic. He wasn’t a sexual god, and I’m certainly no sexual goddess. But I loved Jay with every particle of my being. My body was ready for, itching for climax. I was comfortable with myself and had recently learned to love my body and listen to it. It was time.

Jay and I had a hit or miss sex life. We either had sex as often as we could or we bickered and got angry and were too bitter to have makeup sex. This particular night we had been on a good stretch for a while and were in a phase of constant fucking interspersed with some love making. After dinner that night I grabbed him by the crotch of his skinny jeans and felt his cock respond instantly. We headed back to my room because my roommate lived in the library and would be there till ten when it closed. We practically fell through the door trying to get at each other as fast as we could. We were naked immediately but he stopped me from going further. I wanted him inside me but he made me wait and started stroking my clit with his dick. At first I didn’t know how to respond. It felt nice, but it was different and new and slow like making love as we were wont to do, but still headed towards passionate fucking. I started to get so excited with anticipation and realized that I was leaking all over the sheets, his dick, and my clit. We were covered in the stuff. I would have normally felt self-conscious about the amount of fluid but this time I just embraced what my body was doing. I grabbed his cock and started stroking it while I rubbed it against my clit a little harder and faster and in a few minutes I came. I. Came…. Me. The biologically incapable of coming, me… just came. I yelled out in passion and he came all over my hot wet body. We collapsed and hadn’t even had intercourse but were both so fully satisfied that it was all we needed.

From that moment on I could come almost any time I wanted to. I came during foreplay, I came during sex, I came after sex while our bodies were still connected. I’m not great at orgasming in the morning because I don’t have the mental strength to procure one. I just enjoy the sensation of a hard cock sliding in and out of me as a way to start the day so I didn't do much coming in the morning. But once again, that’s another story.

Four years after my first orgasm and six after the beginning of my sexual journey, I still was incapable of producing an orgasm on my own. I could come if I masturbated in front of a partner but not on my own in private. It seemed contrived. Fake. Meaningless. I didn’t like it.

And then the magical day came. I had a play date with my daughter and some friends and their infant daughter. We all went on a hike and my daughter enjoyed it so thoroughly that she didn’t take a nap all morning. When we got back home she was exhausted and immediately fell asleep. I had what I guessed would be about two hours of free time. A few days earlier I had bought a bunch of books, one of which was a book by Penthouse that had a bunch of letters, written by women, about sex. Some were fictional some may not have been but they were sexy. I started reading them and got wet almost immediately. I figured, ‘what the hell, it couldn’t hurt to give it another try.’ As I read I gently and slowly started to touch myself, almost absent mindedly, assuming that my fumbling caresses would lead nowhere. The more I read and touched myself the wetter I got and it dawned on me that I was becoming more excited than I had ever been alone before. I was reading about this woman who had a sex drive that far exceeded that of her partner’s (I could relate) and she subsequently decided to seek out alternate partners to supplement her already active sex life (I could not relate). But as I read more of her passionate hookup with her random stranger and the longing she felt in general as well as for her sexy stranger man I related in a way that was beyond just a sympathy of ideas. I felt her. I came as I read and touched myself.

I was so excited that I just lay there smiling for quite a while and then started reading again. Some other story, some other sexually frustrated woman and came again. I felt empowered and sexy and free. It was glorious and will likely continue to be for some time.