The Business of Getting Off (Notes on the Orgasm)

This is your brain on orgasm (Photo Credit: The Daily Beast)

Back in high school, I had a friend confess that she had never reached orgasm. She masturbated sometimes and had already had sex, but no matter what, she could never cum. Sometimes she would say, “I think I might have cum but I’m not sure,” to which I would always reply, “trust me. If you did, you would know it.”

It was true. About a year later, the same girl wound up in a new relationship and this time, those involuntary contractions finally kicked in. There was no question about it.

Now, before I go on – no, that girl was not me. I was fortunate enough to discover my first orgasm when I was maybe 10 or 11 years old. And when I did, I knew it was love.

But anyone that’s ever cum knows that it’s not always as easy as it was the first time you did. With those overly sensitive days of adolescence behind me, I’ve come to realize a few things about the business of getting off:

It’s not the end of the world if you don’t. It really isn’t. When my friend was experiencing “orgasm-block,” I wondered why it was she still masturbated or had sex in the first place. “It still feels good,” she would say, and eventually it made sense. In those days, it didn’t matter if it took me 2 minutes or 2 hours; if I was masturbating, I was definitely going to get off. But sex was different. My first few partners were never able to help me reach orgasm. It wasn’t because I wasn’t into them and it wasn’t because I didn’t know how to on my own. It just wouldn’t happen. In retrospect, it could be in part because I was much more reserved about sex in those days (more vanilla missionary, not too much foreplay, etc). It could also be due to the fact that my youthful partners were also quite inexperienced (one was a virgin and the others may as well have been) and just as reserved. These are things that a younger version of myself was fine with overlooking. Again, none of them could make me cum so it began to feel commonplace. Plus, I’ve always been of the mindset that it’s more about the journey than the destination. Depending on your partner and how good the sex is, it might not even matter (this is RARE, but has been known to happen). While this is all well and good, I would never complain about reaching orgasm with a partner today, and to be honest, unless the sex is near perfect in other respects, it’s not likely I’ll be sticking around a partner that can’t help me cum for very long.

Everyone gets off differently. Like I said before, orgasms with partners used to be as elusive to me as confirmed Big Foot sightings (still waiting on those). Over time, I became open to all kinds of sexual positions, but getting off continued to be a mystery. One day though, I decided that if they couldn’t get me off, I might as well try it on my own. And so I discovered the key to getting me off was via clitoral stimulation. Suddenly, it all made sense. I could have sex AND get off at the same time! Why didn’t I learn this sooner? Considering the fact that you rarely see women pleasuring themselves to orgasm in movie sex scenes or even in most standard straight porn, it made sense that it didn’t dawn on me earlier. Not to mention how little orgasms are discussed in general (positive discussions about orgasms in sex ed? Definitely not the standard here.) I spent so many years wondering if something was just “wrong” with me that I never realized the answer was right at my own fingertips. Now, this doesn’t mean that this is the key for every woman, but it very often does help, especially if she’s unable to reach an orgasm vaginally (which is a much rarer occurrence than most realize). And once you begin to realize the different things that help you orgasm, the more frequently you’ll be able to do so, and the better a lover you’ll be since this awareness will bring with it more confidence and the ability to let your partners know what they can do to get you off. It’s a win/win situation!

Your mind can be your best friend of your worst enemy when it comes to cumming. There are so many factors involved when it comes to reaching orgasm. Stress levels, depression, performance anxiety – these things can certainly cause a person, female OR male, to lose their ability to orgasm. I’ve been on both sides of this spectrum, and it can become incredibly frustrating for both you and your partner. However, it’s always important to understand that in these scenarios, no one is at fault, and how you proceed from there can really make or break a person. No one likes to hear discouraging comments from their partner, regardless of whether they’re your spouse, friend with benefits, or a random booty call. “Wow, you take too long,” is not a flattering response to your lover’s inability to climax when you want them, and chances are that this kind of attitude will lead to the death of your sexual romps with said partner. Rolling over and falling asleep or fleeing the scene of the crime once you’ve cum, leaving your partner alone in their frustration, is also not an appropriate response. You always want to make sure you do everything possible to help your partner cum (in which case, you’re only allowed to leave the room if they think it’ll actually help – but then there’s a good chance you won’t be invited back in). There are a million different ways to get someone off, or to at least help them get off. And if it still doesn’t happen, just make sure they’re the ones to call it quits or else you might fall victim to a series of faked orgasms, created specifically to avoid complaints from lazy lovers the world over.

(I’ll definitely be writing more on this later.)

There’s just so much ground to cover when it comes to the wonders of climaxing. But in the end, there’s only one thing you really need to know: It’s (probably) the best thing you’ll ever feel. Ever. I know earlier I said it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t happen. And this is true, so long as the opportunity to cum exists in the future. Sexual activity of any kind can be seriously appreciated even without orgasm, but there is nothing in this world like those few seconds of pure ecstasy*.

If you’ve never had the good fortune to cum, well, first, why are you reading this!? Get off your computer, find a little privacy (or don’t, if that’s your thing), and get to working on yourself! Or if you’re lucky enough to have someone that can help you out, get to them now and spend a few hours, days, weeks exploring each other until you’re finally able to. After all, there’s nothing like the ego-boost that comes with getting someone else off, and if you have a partner that’s just too lazy to realize that, move on to someone better (even if that someone better happens to be made of silicone and batteries).

It’s that simple.

*Alright, there might be something that comes close, but we’ll save that for another discussion.

From Morgan Avenue with Love (New York City Stories – Take 7)

(Continued from Part 6)

Monday rolled around and I wasn’t sure what to do except that I had to do something before the relentless awkward silences between Tyler and I. Luckily, he had some prospective work meetings to hit up so I decided to venture out finally check out the ol’ Statue of Liberty.

The Statue was the only major NYC landmark I still hadn’t seen. My first trip to NY brought me to the Empire State Building (which, though touristy, I highly recommend for anyone’s first trip to the City. The sights are phenomenal in the open air), and I’ve already been to the other landmarks like Times Square and Central Park and some of the major museums. So it made sense to finally put my curiosity to rest and see what that big green dame was about.

When I finally got around to the ferries, I quickly realized that the final one bound for the statue had already left without me. However, the Staten Island ferry would be traveling for a few more hours and was free to ride, so I opted for that. Since I haven’t been to Ellis Isle, I don’t know what it is exactly that I’m missing, but if you’re traveling on the cheap as I’ve been, riding the Staten Isle isn’t too bad at all. You still get a fairly good view of the Statue, plus it’s nice to catch the breeze on there when trying to beat the wicked summer heat. I had some (other) tourists take pictures of me and I took pictures of them, and when it was time to get off on the island, I realized I didn’t have a clue as to where to go.  I wandered around for a few blocks and wound up popping in to the first bar I found to unwind with a beer. Somewhat dive-y, full of locals, but nothing to write home about. One down the hatch, and it was time to return to the city.

Back on the mainland, I sent a text out to The DJ. He’d mentioned that he had a weekly gig at a bar in SoHo and that I should come hang out, but knowing him, I wasn’t sure if this was a solid plan or not. There was never a real way of knowing where he’d be. I called Lisa to see if she wanted to hang out in the mean time, and possibly be my date to see the DJ.

“Sure! How about dumplings first?” she suggested. We met up in Chinatown and she took me to Vanessa’s Dumplings where I had quite possibly the cheapest and yet most filling meal of my entire trip thus far. The place was small and simple, with a few picnic tables on the right side and a huge line of poor, hungry college kids on the left, eagerly awaiting the most cost-effective Chinese fare around. I opted for a veggie dumpling, a veggie sesame pancake, and a coke for good measure, all of which set me back about $3. The problem with this place is once you’ve eaten there, you question why food anywhere else will cost at least double that to get you as full as this stuff does. The dumpling was alright, but the sesame pancake was phenomenal. The craziest part is I couldn’t even finish both items – that’s how big the portions are! While eating, Lisa ran in to an old roommate whose name she’d forgotten.

“I’m Pris, and you are?” I ran interference for her.

“Oh, I’m Ned. I used to live with Lisa,” he replied, and went back to his conversation with her. Lisa later told me that Max wasn’t exactly a regular apartment building tenant, but rather that he squatted in the basement of the building along with a few other rotating faces. His girlfriend, whom he didn’t bother to introduce, looked annoyed. We went back to our dishes.

The DJ finally responded to my text, sent me the address for his gig, and told me to meet him there. A knot formed in my stomach. I’d seen him once in the past year when he decided to finally grace Florida with a visit. When we were together, it was like the old times we’ve never actually had.

I guess I should briefly explain the deal with the DJ. We met once via mutual friends when I was 18 after chatting over the phone and internet for some time. One date was all it took, and really, it was all there ever was. One good date to look back on fondly, to keep us together as though we’d someday really have a chance at something we both knew would never work. With all his faults and all his bullshit, I’ve never been able to shake that witty motherfucker out of my subconscious, although I think I may be getting closer with every passing year. We kept in touch more or less via the wonders of Livejournal and AOL Instant Messenger for years after he moved to New York City, leaving me to envy him while I remained stagnant in Miami.

I had a relationship and plenty of pot and he had his adventures and struggles in the city between then and the next time we’d meet, 3 years later. I went to New York shortly after I turned 21 and our moment came again. I wrote a story about it once, about our night in the city and our nights in his apartment, about the Yellow Tail we drank and the American Spirits we smoked and all the vinyl and the pipes above his bed and the girl he was dating that I made him forget because I knew it was our only chance and how it all made so much sense that it couldn’t possibly last. About our sad farewell at the Fung Wah Chinatown bus stop that last night, about not getting over it on the bus ride back to Boston, or on the flight back to Miami, or the subsequent months thereafter. But I was 21 and then life kept happening and I met this wonderful person who I wound up jumping head first in to a relationship with and that was good enough for me. And that girl he’d been casually seeing when I saw him last? He wound up dating her again, for a good 4 years.

I remember feeling jealous that she was able to keep his interest for so long, the one who refused to settle or settle down. But not to my surprise, his relationship tales were never very endearing, and I wasn’t entirely surprised when it finally all came crashing down. And then the danger started because we began to talk, and talk and talk, and suddenly the nostalgia for times never had began to grow again. But nothing would ever come of it because nothing ever will.

Lisa took me on a brief tour of the Village before we heading to the DJ’s gig. She showed me markets and the place where Sally faked orgasms in When Harry Met Sally (Katz’s Deli) and Little Italy and all these other neighborhoods, each distinct in their own way, and we stopped at bars in each so that the knot in my stomach was beginning to feel smaller and smaller. We turned a corner and I could see him standing outside, having a cigarette, the same smile on his face I’d been picturing for years.

“Well, hello!” I said as I walked right up beside him.

“Pris!” he hugged me warmly hello, like a nice, familiar, broken record. I braced myself for the skips.

( To be continued in Part 8… )