O, my first orgasm

Superman

2006-05-28T19:45:00.000-07:00

The editor apologizes for the recent lack of updates. She has been overwhelmed by a new job and internet-deprived.

This entry was found on the Male Sexuality Survey at http://male101.com/faqs/pn/first-orgasm.html. It was submitted by an anonymous heterosexual male.

My first (orgasm) happened shortly before my twelfth birthday. I was really naive and had no idea what masturbation was, but from the time I was a young boy I found a great thrill in pulling down my pajama bottoms in bed. I often fantasized about getting caught with my pants down and that my dad would use the opportunity to spank me as I bent over the edge of the bed. As I pretended I was being spanked, I would thrust my hips against the mattress with each imagined swat. After a few of these, I had an involuntary contraction of my sphyncter muscle and I thought I was going to dump a load right there so I stopped. I thought that was weird so I thrust a few more times and it happened again. I wasn't experiencing anything pleasurable but I decided to see if I could make it happen again. I continued thrusting my penis against the bed, but nothing would happen. Determined to get that sensation again, I kept going until I felt compelled to go faster. After a couple of minutes I felt something building up in my penis and I thought it was getting ready to happen again until there was a sudden rush of extremely intense pleasure in my penis followed by a really self-conscious feeling and an overwheming need to pull up my pj's immediately! I wondered what that was. I thought I had discovered something nobody else could do. Twenty minutes later I was doing it again and it felt every bit as good. Incidentally, to this day, I've never had that same contraction that started the whole thing. It was several weeks before I realized that a tiny bit of clear fluid came out each time.

The first time I had a proper ejaculation was nearly a year later. It was a snow day and I was bored at home. Watching an episode of the old superman series, I challenged myself to see if I could masturbate to an orgasm during the commercial. When the commercial was over, I had to stop and wait for the next commercial. My first couple of attempts were unfruitful. By the third time I was really ready to go for it. I used my preferred method of rubbing against the bedspread. Up to this point I left little wet spots which would evaporate pretty quickly without leaving a stain. I would cover them with a pillow or book and an hour or so later they would be gone with no stain left behind. I really went for it on this commercial and sure enough, I had an extremely long satisfying orgasm. To my surprise as I stood up to pull up my pants, I found a large long puddle of milky white fluid on the bed. I thought I had broken something. I covered it with a dirty towel and thought nothing of it. Over the next few days I repeated the same process until I started notice that where I had left these little puddles, there were elongated spots where the bright red color had began to fade on the bedspread. I also looked at my top sheet where I was leaving similar puddles after bedtime and found that the bright blue had faded in several similar locations. This new stuff left evidence behind and there was no way to hide it. I always hoped nobody noticed, but now it's obvious to me that my parents and especially my older brother who I shared a room with never said a word about it. I actually wish now that my brother had said something so I wouldn't have continued to feel so self-conscious about it. I had that bedspread for another two years with those obvious stains on it. That's when I started to develop my hand technique, and always took a handkerchief to bed with me to clean myself up.

All About My Masturbation

2006-05-06T18:54:00.000-07:00

Sarah wants to share whatever she knows that can help people who have or know vaginas take good care of them, love them, and have fun with them. You can read her informative, fun, and prolific All About My Vagina at http://myvag.net.

Female masturbation seems to intrigue a lot of people, either because they can’t figure out how common it is, or how girls do it at all. Or, of course, for voyeuristic reasons, as has been the case with most of the email anticipating this page.

I don’t really know what proportion of girls masturbate, or how often, but I do it. Sometimes a lot, sometimes not as much. Not very much lately, because I live with my beloved boy and have sex almost every day, but when one of us goes somewhere for any length of time, I masturbate some.

There are lots of reasons that I have masturbated. Most often just because I wanted to, but also occasionally to get to sleep, or to help cramps or a headache, and sometimes to help get aroused, in which case I wouldn’t follow through to orgasm. I didn’t ever masturbate to relax before a date or a party.

The first time I masturbated was in grade 8. The idea hadn’t occurred to me until it was discussed in sex education class. The class convinced me that it wasn’t wrong or unhealthy, but I knew that my dork status would be elevated to perverted dork if anyone ever had reason to suspect my habits.

Until about grade 10, I don’t remember having any kind of discussion about masturbation with any of my friends, except in the context of dirty jokes. For the rest of high school, the most myself or my girl friends would say was impersonal and kind of political. Agreeing that masturbation by girls in general should be accepted, the way it was for boys. Stating that it was silly that a masturbating boy was deemed healthy while a masturbating girl should be taken to the doctor. I don’t remember guys getting in on the discussion.

That was all more applicable in a small, redneck town such as we lived in. Some girl once made a comment in health class to the effect that she couldn’t be expected to know what her vagina looked like because she would never, ever look at it. Only my friend and myself were taken aback.

Until I was about 20, I never discussed or referred to masturbation, so I didn't develop any other names for it. I knew various names but didn’t use them. I don’t remember telling a lot of masturbation jokes, and I’m pretty sure I never accused anybody of it or made fun of them for it. Currently, I prefer to refer to my own masturbation as either "availing myself of myself," or as, umm... beating my meat (when I am being silly).

The only girl I have ever witnessed masturbating was at a sleepover in grade nine, when I woke up early. It was nothing graphic (she was still laying in bed), I could just tell what she was doing. All I thought was that she was kind of dumb for not realizing I was awake, as I presumed she didn’t want me to see.

She was proceeding in about the same way I would, as far as I could tell, and the existence of radically different methods didn’t occur to me until like last year, when I was reading a lamely-executed masturbation resource page for entertainment.

What I have always done is (voyeurs get ready but know that I probably wouldn’t get you off on purpose) rub two or three fingertips between the outer labia of my vulva, just above my clitoris. This pulls the skin of the clitoral hood against the erectile nub itself and feels good. I find my clitoris too sensitive to touch directly. I don’t move my fingers in circles or anything, just up and down, fairly quickly. I've never seen another girl masturbate, or had a girl graphically guide me in touching her, so I can't vouch for anyone else's technique.

If I am not concerned about mess on my fingers, I’ll get them slippery with the wetness my vagina makes. If I am especially concerned about mess or smell, I’ll rub through my underwear or clothes. I used to like my long underwear for the waffle texture.

Sometimes I would also insert things in my vagina-- mostly just my own fingers but occasionally small objects, commonly bottles of lotion or bath oil. Also, in high school, if I had somehow mustered up the courage to buy a sexy bra on a shopping trip with my mum, I might put it on while I masturbated. I eventually stopped doing that, maybe after I got used to the idea that I could occasionally be sexy.

The first few times I masturbated, I was too overwhelmed with the discovery of orgasms to fantasize at all. Since then, I’ve fantasized more often than not. Sometimes the masturbating would arise out of the fantasizing, and sometimes I would be masturbating just because I was randomly aroused and end up fantasizing.

The object of my fantasies was more likely to be a specific person if I was fantasizing before I started touching myself. The popular belief seems to be that girls always masturbate about a specific person, with a face etc., but I have had fantasy lovers with no identity. Sometimes my smutty thoughts would just be about an act, not about a particular person, or about a feeling that I didn't put into specific images or words. Sometimes the mental fantasy was more about a sensation or idea than a sex act or person. Oooh, arty me I masturbate about colours and air. Anyway. If I had a serious crush object then they would be the default fantasy lover.

For a couple of years I meditated almost every day in some form or another, and would sometimes focus on sexual energy and get myself all riled up with breathing exercises and the beauty of nature and the universe and end up masturbating because I couldn’t achieve orgasm without touching.

Mostly I masturbated in bed before I went to sleep, but also often in the bath or shower, and sometimes other places (watching tv, camping) if the urge struck me. I don’t remember masturbating anywhere very exciting or public.

When I first started, I masturbated quite a lot, and then would try to cut down, and not succeed, and then forget for awhile and slow down, and then masturbate a lot again, etc etc. Usually the more I did it the more I wanted to. Every once in awhile I would make myself sore with rubbing and have to give it a rest for a couple of days. This pace tapered off as I got older, but I would still have bouts of frequent masturbation.

Having a regular sex life does not make me stop masturbating, although I think it does reduce the frequency a bit. Right now I reckon I take myself to bed (or wherever) once a week or so (?have not paid much attention).

What if it falls off?

2006-05-05T19:39:00.000-07:00

According to a recent article in Maxim, when Overeducated Nympho was fifteen her mother sat her down for a chat. "You know it’s true that boys only want one thing, right? So watch out for them, OK?" She grinned to herself, thinking, "Whatever–boys had better watch out for me!” Her exploits can be explored at http://overeducatednypho.com. Enjoy!

The first time I masturbated I was six years old.

I didn’t really understand what I had done, even years later in science class when we learned about masturbation I didn’t quite make the connection. Since it concerned “my private place” (what my mother called it), I understood it was something to keep to myself, to keep secret. I didn’t see it as wrong or sinful, just… well… my secret. So I only did it at night when I was in bed waiting to fall asleep. I didn’t tell anyone about it. I had just started a new school and didn’t want to be known as The Weirdo.

I first began noticing “happy feelings” whenever I had to pee and would sit on one leg so I could wait until the end of class to use the restroom. If I started kinda rubbing myself on my leg, it would help ease the need to pee. If I rubbed a little differently, it felt nice. One day I put my little hand there and things felt really nice. From then on, if I was having trouble sleeping, I would rub myself until I sighed and I would fall asleep easily.

But I was worried.

What about Mom, when she did the laundry and saw my underpants, could she tell? Could she see anything that would suggest what I’d been doing? When I did it during the day and came to the kitchen for dinner, could anyone tell by my face? What about at school (although I never did it at school), could anyone tell I touched myself? Did I look naughty? Was it obvious?

As I got older I worried more and more. My friends didn’t talk about it, my older cousins didn’t talk about it and they even knew penis jokes, it wasn’t on tv or in any of my books. What if what I was doing was bad? Was I doing it too often? Was I doing it too hard? What if I broke something? What if the next time I went to the doctor and he looked and it looked wrong? Then what? “I’ve been rubbing myself for years, doctor, I kept trying to stop because I worried it would fall off but it felt so good I started doing it every day”? Surely the doctor would tell Mom and she’d be mad because she’d have to find a new one for me and I knew she didn’t like spending money.

I really did try to stop. I was more concerned about the thing itself and not so much morality. What if I like, used it up? How did it work? If you used it too much did it stop growing? If you did it too hard, would it get worn and fall off? Why wasn’t this mentioned any where, it seemed pretty important to me!

It was still quite some time before I put together my sighs and masturbation. I only kinda got it during the reproduction unit in science class, but the teacher avoided details because we were still kinda young and laughed every time she said “penis” or “vagina” (come on, those words still sound absurd).

I didn’t really get it until one of my friends from long ago came to visit. Christopher was always getting in trouble, but I was friends with him anyway. Mom told me it was good to be friends with everyone, even if they were mean or low-class or in the dumb reading group. Christopher was always in trouble with his mom, but we had fun. We saw each other for the first time in eight years and he introduced me to Truth or Dare. He dared me to eat a dog biscuit (not as gross as I thought, just bland), I asked him if he had kissed a girl yet, he asked me if I masturbated. I paused on that one. I actually recall cocking my head to one side and thinking really hard.

“Don’t you know what that means?” he asked

“Yeah, I learned it in school.”

“So….. do you or don’t you? Masturbate?”

I thought some more and finally said “Yes. I do. Masturbate. Huh.”

And I thought some more.

That’s when everything started clicking together for me. I was already a horny little thing, but now things were processing much much faster. I started paying MUCH more attention to boys as they went through puberty. They began to be taller than me, they got hard biceps, they got long lean legs, they started dressing better. I noticed it ALL. At night I’d go over my newest findings, a huge file cabinet of images of boys from school and what they looked like and what I wanted to do to them. I started talking to my friends and we pooled our information into a beautiful vat of knowledge over which we’d giggle and make fun of each other and say Ewwww to all the things we heard about from older kids, but secretly I really really wanted to find things out for myself.

And so it began.

My First Wank

2006-05-05T19:32:00.000-07:00

In the words on the wanker, "I wank, therefore I blog". Check him out at http://wanklog.blogspot.com/

Unlike many people I am unable to accurately say the first time I masturbated, I have a bunch of memories about things relating to masturbation though.

The first year I had sex ed at school was year 6. Masturbation was mentioned. Every year through until year 12 we had the same in health class. I remember trying it out when I was around 12 - 13. But I don't think I had ever managed to orgasm as such.

Until only recently (last 5 years or so), my foreskin was tight and stayed around the head of my penis, so that limited the standard stroke most people use.

I remember using the flat of my hand the flick across the small part of exposed glans penis that I did have, but never an orgasm. One night stands out in particular in that I had "wanked" a fair bit, but I did not realize what an orgasm felt like, so being ignorant, I thought I may have been pissing myself, so I held it in. That could very well be the first "complete" wank, but without ejaculation, I feel it doesn't count.

Another night around 14 years old sticks out in that I was determined to see what happens if I go further. I grabbed a length of toilet roll and set myself up in bed, thinking of Pamela Anderson (what else was there at 14 years old? :P). After a while and by a while I mean at most a minute, I felt the familiar urination urge, but all the health books at school said this what was supposed to happen. Faster, Faster, Faster still. Bam! Ejaculation. Now it wasn't a load anyone would be proud of, but those few millilitres of semen are the first time I remember ejaculating.

Of course after that I was hooked! You couldn't get me to bed soon enough.

By about 17, I then decided it was time to see what this foreskin thing was all about. I read that it could be pulled back, mine wouldn't go very far. I also read that it was best to see a doctor, no thanks. I would be so embarrassed about asking the man who delivered me to get my dick to work.

I had read that with gentle stretching, it would eventually allow for retraction. So I started, pulling it back as far as it would go, comfortably, and holding for 5 minutes, which I would repeat twice. This went on for about 9 - 12 months.

One night I was lying on the couch, doing the same when I could see the foreskin rising away from my penis, the ridge! Was I almost there?! I gave my foreskin another tug and it fell down the cliff and I was there. My foreskin retracts.

This opened up a whole new world to me. I was no longer limited to my rather basic technique of masturbation. But first thing's first. I had to make it a little more mobile. At that stage it was quite an effort getting it that far. So i kept up the stretching, getting it ever more looser. The best part was unlike doing something like fixing your car where the pay off is having one of the most important tools you own work, the payoff for this was sheer ecstasy. If only real work could be like that!

Like I said it wasn't until a very few years ago that I had complete and unrestricted retraction of my foreskin. And boy do I love it. Sometimes I do not have the time (or privacy :( ) for a real good, slow jerk. So in that situation, I don't bother with the foreskin.But, when I got the time and inclination, it is great. Watching that first drop of pre-cum roll down the head, using it to lubricate things. I fear to look at my pants right now for fear of having to go with what my brain is telling me ;)

So that is pretty much the history of my masturbating career.

Finding the Words

2006-05-04T08:15:00.000-07:00

This excerpt by Martha Coventry was originally published on the Intersex Society of North America's website in 1997. It can be viewed in its entirety at http://www.isna.org/books/chrysalis/coventry

"When I was growing up, and well into adulthood, I used to have a waking nightmare that a squad of men in uniforms would arrive at my door, take me into the night and execute me for not being a real woman. In my mind, they were always justified and I never raised my voice in protest. When my youngest daughter was two and I was 35, I was incapacitated nearly to the point of self-destruction by some unknown shame. I began intensive therapy, desperate to discover why I felt so bad, so tainted, so wrong. One Sunday morning, feeling inches away from disaster, I called my therapist. “I don’t know if this is important,” I told her, “but I had this operation.” There. I had said it out loud, and in that instant a tiny sliver of light appeared.

I knew nothing of what had been done to me when I was six years old. One evening, my mother came into the bathroom where I was playing in the tub. She told me that the next day I would have to go to the hospital for an operation. I remember something rushing out of me at that moment, like wind through a closing door. Did I put my hands down to protect the clit that stuck out innocently from between my labia? Not a word of explanation was ever given for the surgery, and when they cut out my clit, they cut out my tongue. I could not cry out to save myself, and that stifled scream wedged in my throat, blocking my voice. Endless fears about who and what I was took the place of words and they settled like darkness over me.

At age eleven or twelve, I had my first orgasm. Somehow I had brought myself to the edge and I just touched the opening to my vagina and it happened. Shockingly. Perhaps it was this new and powerful experience of pleasure from a place that held so much pain that made me determined to find out the truth about my body. A few nights later I crossed the living room, my bare feet on the cool cork squares carrying me towards my parents, the two people who were my only safety. They sat at the dining room table. Big black and white photos of my sisters and me were laid out under the light. My mother picked mine up and I heard the word “boy” come out of her mouth. Fear heaved in me. I was a boy. I was supposed to be a boy. It was too late to stop myself. “What was that operation I had?” I blurted, as my gut tightened against the blow of the answer. My father, a surgeon, looked at me. The father I loved with abandon. The father who agreed to let this be done to me. The father who cherished me above all else, turned and, with no idea of what his words would do to the rest of my life, said, “Don’t be so self-examining.” The moment of silence that followed that brusque dismissal lasted for almost twenty-five years.

In warfare there is a technique called sapping. Saps are trenches that are dug underground, unseen, silently, beneath an enemy’s fortifications. Eventually the walls collapse under their own weight. To be lied to as a child about your own body, to have your life as a sexual being so ignored that you are not even given the decency of an answer to your questions, is to have your heart and soul relentlessly undermined. The thing that makes you wild and free is insidiously crippled. To reclaim that childhood state of wildness, you have to rescue your own life and learn to speak about who you are. The life you had no power to save when you were three weeks, or eighteen months, or six years old, or thirteen, you have to save at twenty-eight, or thirty-six or fifty-five. You have endless chances. And it is never too late."

The editor encourages you to read the rest of this powerful memoir at http://www.isna.org/books/chrysalis/coventry

slippery when

2006-04-24T07:50:00.000-07:00

Chelsea Girl lives in Chelsea, where she enjoys hobbies like writing, reading, fucking, and mocking, not necessarily in that order. Other enjoyments include her right to free assembly, oxygen, and full use of her opposable thumbs. Born under Scorpio in the Year of the Tiger, Chelsea is suffused with animal magnetism. Her turn-ons include long walks on the beach, cold nights by a blazing fire, leather pants, and cinematic decapitations. Her turn-offs include phony people, sociopaths, poor personal hygiene, and Vegans. She blogs at http://www.prettydumbthings.typepad.com/. This post was originally published at http://prettydumbthings.typepad.com/chelseagirl/2006/04/slippery_when.html/.

…His cruelty could have drilled holes for Swiss watches.

It may not be a testament to my best self, but cruelty holds a page in my erotic self. I respond to a bit of cruelty, especially if it’s well-timed and well-placed. These days, the cruelty that makes me melty-drippy is assumed, not real. It takes its form in a kiss that bites, a caress that pinches, a word that commands. It is a fuck with force. It is not the kind of cruelty that leaves me with invisible scars.

That was not always the case.

Armand got handed to me like a baton. I got a phone number. I called it. We made a date to fuck. It shocks me now that I was that pragmatic then about sex. But my friend Gen told me that Armand gave amazing head. I wanted amazing head. I made a date with him in order to receive said amazing head. I’d dreamt of head, imagined head, stroked myself in the gasping cold of night under eiderdowns in a nun-wide bed to rococo speculations of amazing head, and I wanted nothing more than to experience it, right then, right there, on that hard little wet knot between my thighs.

So I called him. I went over to his tiny apartment. I rang the buzzer. I was let in. I was pleasantly surprised by his looks, and within a few tens of minutes, I found myself on his bed fucking him.

But he didn’t give me head.

I gave him head. I gave him plenty of head. I fucked him in every possible position I knew. I worked and worked at pleasing him.

...Behold, the cruelty: once, after fucking me, Armand gazed at my naked prone body. “You have a big ass,” he commented, and added, “but it’s round, though.” And then he looked levelly in my eyes for a reaction. I like to think I didn’t give him one, but I’m sure I betrayed myself.

I would go back to that tiny apartment again and again. I’m not sure how many times, exactly, that I fucked Armand, but it was probably a handful. It wasn’t like I had a boyfriend, and it was like I wanted head. I wanted to know what felt like to have a warm, wet, human tongue buried in my girl bits, licking and sucking and tenderly teasing me into the glistening pinkwet surrender that I’d only experienced from my hand and my vibrator.

I wanted to come with a person. I wanted, for reasons still not entirely explicable to me, that person to be Armand.

… in part I picked Armand because he came with recommendations, dammit. My friend had assured me he was, in our parlance, very considerate. He would eat me like a five-course meal, she said, and I would come like a rocket.

Neither happened. Again and again neither was I eaten nor did I come. Until finally I summoned the courage and I talked to him about it (we never did much talking. It was not a meeting of the minds, Armand and me).

Gen said you gave her head, I said. He mumbled an assent.

Why won’t you give me head? I asked.

He stared at me for a moment, and then he said, “You get too wet.”

Too wet. I got too wet. My pussy dripped and it was too much. My body betrayed me with my desire. Not only did my desire make itself present, but it was too much, too loud, too voluminous, too wet. It was a prodigious, off-putting desire, a slippery wetness of veering tire tracks and dented galvanized railings. It was a clamoring, needy wetness, a wetness that announced itself and demanded unspeakable, unlickable, disgusting acts. It was, like me, excessive.

“But I’ll make you come,” he said, and he went to his dresser and pulled out a yellowed appliance that resembled my dad’s blow-dryer. Looking kind of like a rectangle on a handle, it had a big suction-cup attachment square in the center of the rectangle and a long plug extending from the handle.

Armand told me to lie on my belly. He plugged the appliance on, and he started a long vibratory journey down my shoulder blades, over the valley of back, around the cleft of my big and round ass. Then he told me to roll over; I did.

He parted my thighs and set the vibrator to work on my clit. Predictably I came. My first orgasm with another human being was also with a machine. He watched me come and then he smoked a cigarette. I got dressed and left, noting a big wet spot on the bed where I had been lying.

I never saw Armand again after that. It seemed pointless, really. He wasn’t going to give me what I wanted. More importantly, his cruelty had lost its charm for me.

While I wish I could say I never felt self-conscious about my wetness, my palpable and viscous desire, I can say this: at that moment I knew Armand was a dick. It was one thing to say my ass was big. It was, however, another thing altogether to insult my pussy.

smut

2006-04-20T09:01:00.000-07:00

Primal Goddess ( previously blogger111) is a big beautiful radical feminist who is just discovering the Goddess within and feeling her return to human awareness. She studies the paleolithic/neolithic Goddess cultures and lives with her love and their many wonderful beasts. You can read her words at http://www.xanga.com/PrimalGoddess.

My Grandmother never had an orgasm. That is the way it is told in my family. On her wedding night, she did not believe it was okay to have intercourse; she did not believe my Grandfather-when he said what was supposed to happen. So, he precedes to buy a book; and show her that penis into the vagina, is completely normal.

She had never seen a penis, except on a baby; maybe. And had no idea about sex or men; and nothing about her own body. This is just my Mother's mother, that is not many generations ago. I found this all quite shocking, even as a kid, hearing this.

I had my first orgasm when I was in the sixth grade. I was alone. I did wonder if God was "ok" with what I was doing, I remember making some kind of deal with him about giving me a sign if it was wrong. I don't remember what God said, but needless to say-I never stopped giving myself orgasms.

I remember getting that "fuzzy feeling" "down there" when I would see soap operas, with people kissing and being romantic. Really, anytime I saw people kissing I got that feeling. Still around the sixth grade, I found the joys of Jackie Collins. She is Joan Collins sister and she writes quality smut! Lucky, Chance, Hollywood Wives, Rock Star; she has many more. They are very explicit in sexual details and situations. Reading one of her books was my first introduction to homosexual sex being described. Gay and Lesbian. I was not unfamiliar with the idea of women together; I had seen my dad's "dirty magazine" collection when I was in the third grade and one featured the Landers' Sisters. To this day, I find it strange that officially we shun incest as a crime against nature and god-yet, the idea of men desiring and it being normal to fulfill the act of being with two sisters, mother and daughter, aunt and niece, etc. is what is really expected.

I really have always read. I read my dad's Hustler, two Penthouses and few Playboys; over and over again. Cover to cover. When we moved, which was many times; I always marked and noticed where they got packed and where they were put in the new house. To this day, I enjoy adult magazines and movies. I don't know if seeing "porn" as a child is why I enjoy it or I am just that way. Either way, I don't see anything wrong with it, as long as you have a healthy mind, heart and soul; when it comes to sex/life. I would suppose that as we open more awareness to universal consciousness; we would be stimulated by finer things.

I am still just flying by the seat of my pants with the whole sex thing. I would be called naive, though. I was a virgin till eighteen, did not kiss a boy till late teens. Did not date. Even in my twenties, celibate for the most part. I had only had awkward teen age encounters before I met Randy and only a few times. Sex still makes me feel uncomfortable talking about it, I can intellectualize it all day; understand that our naked bodies and all of our functions-most of all sex, are perfectly normal and right. But, I am just now coming into my own sexuality; as a person-as a woman. I was brought up with words to describe sex like: smut, slut, hussy, filthy, men only want one thing, to want sex as a woman was to be a whore, and pre-marital sex was not only a sin but the sign of a bad woman.

If it is true that my Grandmother lived eighty years, fifty or more with her husband and never had the joy of coming; that is very sad. I looked up in Louise Hay a physical issue I have and she recommends that I have "shame and guilt" about sex. That is true. Just the things I have done and desired so far, would cause the female line of mine to lose their minds. And, by society standards I would be considered quite mild in experience of sex. I want to write about all of this so that I do not have those feelings about sexuality; mine or anyone else's.

I envy those who freely express their selves sexually. I believe this is the natural state of human sexuality. Because of our confusion of sex, being taught that it is wrong, so much of it is wrong- that we feel-we have created a "dark" use for sex that also keeps us apart. My understanding of sex on a spiritual level is, it's expression was meant and is meant to be our highest act of love. It should never been seen as dirty or wrong.

I have these lessons to unlearn, there is a part of me that wishes to be expressed and it is the Goddess. I have called her into my life and it is powerful and scary in the most exciting way. Kind of like sex. I think the Goddess is sex. Can I say that? I find it holds true as long as you don't pick it apart. A man is sex too, just not like a woman.

post humper

2006-04-17T14:57:00.000-07:00

Jessie writes of men, sex, and her bird. You can read her writings about cocks, cock, and cockatoos at http://genuinejessie.blogspot.com/.

I don't remember when I had my first orgasm. It came naturally to self-pleasure. The only thing my parents ever said was. "Keep your bedroom door closed when you do that, dear!"

I've probably had an "orgasm", as classically defined by Masters and Johnson, the day I became physically sexually mature enough to have one. Sometime around the age of 13 or 14.

I was always a "pillow humper", getting off on the indirect simulation from silky and textured pillows. I could easily be a "post humper", though.

At a summer job, I found a metal post with a screw sticking out in just the right place. Lucky, or not, it happened to be close to where I had to stand, keeping score for kiddie baseball games! No one noticed how I held myself, and I pretended to be SO concerned and involved with the game! If I made a slight error in the score, everyone knows that they don't teach Math very well in school these days. All the parents kept score, anyway.

I wouldn't usually have the concentration needed to climax that way, but at night, before bed, I always did. I know I probably had orgasms before I was 15, but none are so remarkable.

speedo

2006-04-13T07:49:00.000-07:00

Jay Thomas discusses philosophy, progressive politics, experimental writing and the media arts at Bad with Titles http://www.beetleinabox.com/blog/

I had my first orgasm when I was about thirteen. It happened during the last vacation we’d ever take together as a family. My dad had started losing money as quickly as he’d made it. His drinking had gotten worse, and so had my mom’s anorexia, for which she would soon be hospitalized. I think we all knew it would be the last. In the hotel nightclub we visited for cocktails before dinner, my dad tipped the piano player to play Margarittaville over and over and sang out loud to the words “looking for my lost shaker of salt.”

My parents had gone for an evening walk on the beach. I’d decided to stay in the hotel suite to make headway through the Isaac Asimov novel I hoped to finish before the vacation’s end. I tried to settle into an armchair that looked plush but seemed to be constructed of unforgiving planks of wood. Perhaps I needed a nap. I took the book into my room, set it open-faced on the nightstand, and lay down on my back. The ceiling fan spun slowly, steadily, producing no discernable draft. I followed the edge of one of the blades around its orbit until I became slightly nauseated.

When I closed my eyes, I saw the torso of a slender man in a black speedo. Earlier that afternoon, by the pool, he’d paused in front of me, perhaps chatting with a friend. My eyes had darted immediately to the bulge beneath the taut, glistening fabric. I’d forced myself to look away because it was bad enough that I might be looking at someone with lust in my heart. My evangelical friend Everett, who’d saved me for a second time a year after New Life Ranch, had told me that the book of Paul said that fantasizing was just as bad as having sex, because the sin was already in the heart. But I couldn’t imagine what Everett would say if he knew that guys made me feel that way.

Picturing the man in his speedo made touching myself feel better than it ever had before. When the orgasm happened, I shouted “Oh, God,” and immediately cursed myself for bringing God into it. Then I noticed the warm fluid all over my chest. Surely something had gone terribly wrong.

I ran to the bathroom to clean myself up, yanking the toilet paper off the spindle so fast the roll continued to unwind on its own. I shook as I wiped myself clean. I’m sorry, God, I said. I didn’t mean to do that. I watched tears hit the bathroom floor. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please don’t let anything be wrong with me. Please let me be all right. I won’t do it again. Please forgive me.

Portland Road

2006-04-10T09:09:00.000-07:00

Deek Deekster writes the everyday story of the smell of sex at http://funk.co.uk/

In the summer, after school, sometimes we would head to the swimming pool, which was slap-bang opposite on the other side of Portland Road. This was a joy. Public near-nakedness, water, dares and bets. We would splash through the stinky footbath and stay in the big pool until our lips were blue with cold. Every 40 minutes, to keep congestion down and allow every member of the Great British Public to have a swim, there was a mass-ejection of one particular colour armband. "Will ladies and gentlemen with BLUE armbands please leave the pool" ... "Will ladies and gentlemen with RED armbands please leave the pool" ... cue hasty swapping/hiding of armbands plus innocent denials if the lifeguards caught on.

One time we ended up playing with a group of girls, some from our co-educational school, some from elsewhere, all of us either just on the edge of or just into puberty, in a game of tunnel-of-legs. The girls formed a line down the shallow end, we boys took the biggest breath we could, dove down and swimwriggled belly to the floor, squinting in the cloudy piss-and-chlorine mixture to find our way to the end of the tunnel and the next breath. Over and over again we extended the line, and the girls reached down and pulled us through their lengthening legs to encourage our exploits. After the 7th or 8th time, I emerged with a gasp, victorious and grinning, only to suddenly jackknife in the water, spasming in an incredible and unexpected way. What a feeling, wowowowowow, what the fuck was that? I was completely surprised. This was not something I could explain, and although later I attempted to re-create it, it wasn't until a few months later that I was able to.

This is the place I had my first orgasm.

carmex

2006-04-03T07:27:00.000-07:00

Strumpet enjoys the finer things in life: Sex, drugs and rock 'n' fucking roll. She has now moved on to bigger and better sex toys.

And girls they want to have fun
Oh girls just want to have fun

~Cyndi Lauper

When I was a kid, I was given a lot of chores to do before I could go outside to play.

I would try to make these chores as fun as possible.

One of my chores was dusting the living room.

Now, my mother is very anal.

Runs in the family.

I would have to make sure that I got into every nook and cranny.

I could not miss a spot, because she would be checking.

One good thing about Choretime was that we would be able to play a record on the stereo while we were cleaning. Me and my brothers would always take turns picking out what album we would get to listen to. I would always choose the soundtrack to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I knew all the words to every song before I knew what they were about. Before I had ever seen the movie. I was nine years old and singing 'Touch-a, touch-a, touch-a, touch me. I want to be dirty.' I would sing it all day long and long into the night.

One part of dusting the Living Room was the coffee table. On either side of our coffee table were sliding cabinet doors. And, one day, while making sure not to miss a spot, I slid one of the cabinet doors over. Now, this was where my mother kept all of the old magazines. Her back issues of Cosmo, Vogue, and Glamour. I did not know, however, it was also where she kept my father's back issues of Playboy, Penthouse and Hustler. Waaaaay at the bottom of the pile. Underneath his boring Popular Science shit. Well, now that I had discovered this.... I just had to go back there when no one was looking.

I was starting to get a grasp on what, 'Touch me. I want to be dirty,' might actually mean.

I am the oldest of three, so when my parents would head out, I was left in charge. And since there was no babysitter around to keep tabs..... as soon as they left, I would check on my brothers and immediately go check out the stack of magazines while my bros innocently played Star Wars in their bedroom.

Every single time the 'rents were planning a night out, the first thing that popped into my newly dirty mind was, 'Totally tubular, I get to go and look at tits and ass! Like Awesome, fur shur!!'

I was way too scared to actually steal a magazine for my own personal use later and keep it under my mattress, or something. I thought my mom would know it was missing. Or that she would find it. So, I had to get all my dirty snooping done while they were out.

I would greedily devour every inch of every picture. I would place dainty kisses upon the pages where their nipples were.

As time went on, and I started to do more than just ogle the hot chicks, stare at the centerfolds and try to understand the dirty cartoons.....I actually started to read the articles. This is when I discovered Penthouse Forum.

Oh, what a glorious day that was.

I started reading about people cumming. Didn't know what this was. But, it sounded really fucking cool. I would read about parts of my body I didn't know existed. It made me quite curious. To say the least.

As my chore list grew, it eventually entailed dusting my parents bedroom. Whereupon I discovered the stash of his current issues of Playboy, Penthouse and Hustler. Now, I had a new spot to play when they went out. The first chance I had after they would close the door behind them, I would immediately run to their bedroom, lock the door, open up my father's dresser and grab a Penthouse. I'd kneel down next to the bed with my chosen issue and would strategically place my crotch over the wooden-edged corner of the bedframe. And as I read, I would rub against it. I soon started to realize what these sensations were that I had been reading about. And I was determined to make myself 'cum.' Whatever that was. But, I knew it wasn't going to happen with the corner of the bed.

Now, I had always played with myself. But, had never really discovered my clit. After feeling it come to life when I would read Forum and rub against the corner of the bed, I decided that at night I would just have to play with that part of myself a little more intensely.

This is where it gets a little strange.

Cos I don't really recall exactly how I started to do this. I didn't really know what I was doing with my fingers and I soon realized I enjoyed having a bit of fun with random objects 'down there' and one of the random things I soon grew attached to playing with was my Carmex. The small white round glass jar with the yellow metal lid. I was already addicted to putting the stuff on my lips, the tingle I felt along my mouth when I did so, and that fantastic Carmex smell. And one night after applying the stuff, my hand was wandering while the Carmex was still in its grasp....the cool glass seemed to feel really good against the lips of my pussy....so I started to place it upon my clit. And I soon realized it felt really good to rock the circular container of Carmex all around my little pea.

I began to do this every night.

When my parents would go out I would read the stories of Penthouse Forum incessantly, and then at night I would fantasize about being in such scenarios while I rubbed that Carmex container all around my clitoris.

When one night....

....BAM!

There it was.

I came.

I thought....Wow....No wonder people write stories about that!

I also thought.....next time I can do it BETTER.

And an addict was born.

Soon after, I discovered my father's porn collection.

Oh, what a great day THAT was!

So, now that I'm older there are two ways to get into Strumpet's pants.....

1. If you are a man with a wickedly perverted sense of humour and a dirty, dirty mind who is not afraid to use either in the bedroom....

2. .....or you could just put on some Carmex.

The Gym

2006-03-30T05:37:00.000-08:00

Sarah is a student working towards her MPH. She studies sex in prisons and ethics. Her hobbies include reading, watching TV, yoga, and masturbating.

The day started like any other and I didn’t have any special plans the day IT happened. Hell, I wasn’t even alone in my bedroom when IT happened—I was surrounded by people. They knew just as much as I did that IT would happen and happen then. The IT I am referring to is my first orgasm.

My first orgasm was something I wasn’t trying for or something I wanted at the time but it was very welcomed. I was at the gym working out when IT happened. It was the leg day workout and after a few exercises I laid down on the leg curl machine to do a few sets. (Yes, I had my first orgasm on the leg curl machine!) I set the weight at 50 pounds and did my first set noticing it felt better than normal. My genitals gave off a nice, light pulsing sensation but nothing earth shattering so I didn’t think anything of it and set the weight at 60 pounds for the next set. That set became more intense and I didn’t want to stop just so I could see how good this feeling could get. The sensation was building so I thought I’d try a set at 70 pounds.

Well that did it. Not even halfway through that set I came. I felt the greatest, most intense quivering between my legs and I just wanted to shout! I couldn’t though because people around me would know for sure what happened. I was already paranoid that somebody was watching me knowing what I was doing. I let my body fall into the bench enjoying that post-orgasmic bliss trying to pretend that I just did a really tough set.

After a few moments the intensity died and I thought it was safe to get up. As I slid off that bench to a somewhat upright position I had the biggest grin on my face knowing something special and magical just happened. Those first few steps were like walking on clouds.

Ever since then I’ve tried to repeat this wonderful little exercise perk every time I do a leg workout only with some success. Who knew exercising could be so fun?!

Speck

2006-03-27T09:04:00.000-08:00

Persephone is a thirty-something sexual submissive who loves to share her experiences and fantasies with others at http://tangysweet.blogspot.com.

I can remember long ago when the ordinary joining with a man was all I'd known and all I thought possible. Then, one night in a hotel room, came the one who showed me there were other ways to play. He was one lover of two at that time in my life, one like night and the other like day.

For a while, the ordinary way of loving was like the dry ground of brightly lit daytime. It was a stable and familiar place, somewhere I could see what lay before me. The other times, with the other man, were the rainy stormy nights. Eventually in my mind, the two ways to make love mixed, making the ground muddy beneath my feet and leaving me unable to find my footing for a while.

He didn't ask me the first time. He simply got out the rope and demanded my wrists. I could have said no and he would've stopped, but I was playfully curious. I didn't know then that it would open a door in my psyche that I didn't even know existed. I didn't know then that door would open into a world that had only ever just tickled the edges of my consciousness. I never thought I'd visit, let alone live there.

The first time, watching him stalk around the bed with the rope held loosely in one hand as he figured out the best way to bind me, I'd giggled nervously. I cracked jokes and felt my stomach flutter. But when the rope slipped around my wrists, when it pulled tight, spreading my arms and making it impossible for me to cover my breasts, my cunt, my face, the giggling and jokes stopped.

Exposed and feeling somehow strangely honest, he teased me ruthlessly; building me up and easing me back down over and over. He controlled not only my ability to move, but when and how I would cum. That night he drew out something inside me that had been only an unrecognized speck before. He fanned the speck until it glimmered brilliantly, set only to intensify with time.

That first time he bound my wrists and spread my legs without a word, he teased me until I panted and I moaned, until I begged him for release. When I came, I did it thrashing and pulling at the rope as the waves of it overwhelmed me. It left me trembling not only in my body, but also in my mind.

Not only was it the first time I came while I was bound, it was the first time a man made me cum completely on his own, without any manipulation on my part. He truly did exert his control over my body in every sense of the word. He compelled me to give all my trust to him with the assurance that he would take care of me. He forced me to expose myself and open to him in ways that went far beyond the rope that bound my limbs.

I like to imagine that he saw that speck inside me, knew I would be the type to take to his kind of play with a natural inclination. Perhaps it wasn't at all like that, maybe he simply saw an opportunity to act out his fantasies with me, with no thought to whether or not it might change me forever...but I like to think the former is true.

Diary of My First Orgasm

2006-03-23T10:48:00.000-08:00

The editors would like to note a change in policy. We are now accepting first orgasm stories that occur before age 18. However, these stories must be solo (no partners, sorry). Those who hesitated with the age limit, submit submit submit. Thank you.

J writes extensively at http://www.very-koi.net/. She rocks. And so does her mom.

Masturbation has been a very frequent activity for me ever since I experienced my first orgasm about a month after turning 13. One of my female classmates described to a group of us exactly how to do it and how it felt. Needless to say I couldn't wait to get home and give it a try. After going to bed earlier than usual, I shut off the light, got under the covers, hiked up my nightie and experimented for about an hour without much progress. Even so, I was clearly having a LOT of fun.

Things were getting a little hot under the comforter because it was early September, but I wanted to continue and see if something might happen. I pushed the covers aside, slid out of my nightie, and tossed it to the floor by the bed. Having only recently entered puberty, I could easily see my vulva by tipping my hips up a bit and I figured I'd turn on the light to get a better view of what I was doing. Dimming the light, I laid back in bed on top of the sheets, this time experiencing a whole new set of feelings and joyous freedom as the cool air blowing through the open window caressed my exposed, naked body. I savored those feelings for a few minutes before slowly spreading my legs. My pelvis tingled when the fresh air wafted over my crotch and newly emerging pubic hair. It felt incredibly sexy, much unlike anything I had experienced before. The whole situation was kind of risky too, since my parents don't believe in locks on bedroom doors.

I ran my hands lightly over my body for a couple of minutes, and my heart rate jumped and my breathing deepened. Eventually I reached down between my legs again and was astounded to find that my inner and outer lips had moved away from each other and the entire center area was wet. A closer look down there revealed a wide-open column of dampness taking on a darker pink color, almost red. The bedroom gradually filled with the mild scent of my newly discovered womanhood. Once again I slid my hand back to my clitoris and vulva, fingers moving up and down and in circles.

Everything was definitely feeling different now. At some point I realized my hand was moving faster as the minutes ticked on. The tingling and heaviness in my pelvis became close to unbearable as my heart raced and I panted heavily. I got a little scared and wondered if this was actually an orgasm or if I was hurting myself somehow. I would have stopped, but the girl at school said things would happen this way. Her advice was to just keep going and massaging myself no matter what.

The muscles in my body tensed as I manipulated my clitoris with increasing speed and pressure, my entire arm cycling up and down all the way to the shoulder. My other hand wandered down to my vaginal opening and found a soft mound of twitching, warm flesh, dripping with lubrication. I moved two fingers of that hand lightly against the orifice, in synch with the other hand working my clit. This heightened the intensity to a new level and for the first time I began to realize this is what orgasms are all about, even though I had no idea of what was about to happen. Instinctively I removed the one hand from my vaginal opening and quickened the action on my clitoris with the other while applying more pressure, really concentrating on that single erect organ of sensitive tissue sticking out from my crotch.

Just as it seemed the feelings could not become any more intense, everything broke loose all at once. My nipples hardened and pointed outward toward the ceiling. My buttock and hip muscles flexed in a manner that spread my legs apart so the sides of my knees practically touched the bed covers below. My back arched and I raised my butt slightly off the bed. An intense combination of warmth and electricity enveloped me, as the whole area between my hips seemed to fill up and was about to explode. I started hyperventilating.

This was IT, I thought, while a big smile went across my face. I moaned and my eyes slowly closed because I wanted to feel every sensation of the moment while my arm and hand moved as a single unit with only one purpose in mind. I was truly finding out what an orgasm feels like, or so I thought. But even this didn't prepare me for what happened next.

Totally without warning or any anticipation on my part, my heart began slamming away, each beat visibly moving my chest along with an audible rush of blood pumping through the vessels in my ears. My whole body went rigid and straight as a board. Only my feet, shoulders and head were in contact with the mattress -- everything in between was up off the bed and my butt cheeks hovered about a foot in the air. My rib cage expanded with every labored gasp and I shrieked when convulsions gripped my pelvic region and quickly traveled outward to rock my entire being. Hips bucking uncontrollably with each contraction, I shot a few drops of some clear fluid which landed on my inner right thigh about halfway to the knee and dripped down to the back of my leg.

I did not want it to end. My arm stroked frantically and the convulsions kept up for what must have been over a minute. The bed shook with each violent hip thrust and there was a good amount of moaning coming from deep within my throat. I didn't worry too much about who might hear me and assumed everyone was asleep or watching television. Of course, the contractions finally weakened as my orgasm subsided. I lay there in a sweating heap, panting, marveling at what just happened. I was totally overcome by a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

A voice on the other side of the door startled me. "Jamie, are you all right?"

Oh God! My mother heard me! I sprang up, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Uh, yeah Mom! I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm fine." I was light-headed and still seeing stars when the doorknob moved. I hopped up and threw myself against the door. "Everything's fine Mom, you don't have to come in!" She said okay and walked back to her room.

That was way too close, and it really scared me. No more masturbating, I thought as I shut off the light. It isn't worth it. My mother would die if she found out, and I would too. I stumbled back to my bed, collapsed onto it, and immediately fell asleep naked.

The bright morning sun awakened me. I felt groggy but strangely at piece, then I remembered why. Mmmmmmmm, nice feeling! The covers were over me too, and I figured I woke up sometime during the night and pulled them on. Reaching down to the floor for my nightie, I felt the rug. Looking up wearily, I saw it neatly draped over the chair in front of my vanity. Over the chair!? Mom was in here!! What did she see? My nightie on the floor made it obvious I fell asleep in the nude. I got this horrible sinking feeling in my stomach and a kind of burning around my face and ears, with dizziness setting in a few seconds later. I was never this embarrassed in my life! I took my robe off the hook on the back of my bedroom door, wrapped it around me and took a deep breath. Have to face Mom and think up some kind of excuse.

Mom was downstairs in the kitchen when I wandered in nonchalantly. She said good morning and asked if I'd like pancakes for breakfast, and I said that was fine. She didn't mention anything unusual or act strangely in any way. That had me wondering, so after an uncomfortable silence which seemed to last forever, I asked, "Mom, were you in my room anytime before I woke up?"

She answered, "Honey, I was a little worried this morning and thought I should check. When I looked in, I didn't want your father or your brother seeing you that way so I covered you."

We stood there just staring at each other, neither of us really knowing what to say. My throat tightened and tears welled up in my eyes before I lost it entirely and broke down in sobs. As I buried my face in my hands, Mom pulled me to her and gave me a long hug. "Ssshhhh, don't worry, everything's fine," she whispered.

I kept sobbing. "Mom, I feel so horrible! I didn't mean to fall asleep like that, don't be mad at me. I'm ashamed of myself! Don't think I'm bad or something, okay? Please?"

She sat me down and took a chair beside me. "Honey, look, when girls get to be your age, they do certain things when they're alone because they need to sometimes. They touch themselves in a very special way on some very private parts of their bodies to relieve these strong feelings we all get. Do you know what kind of touching I might be talking about?"

Still looking down, avoiding her gaze, I nodded slightly.

Mom continued, "There's nothing wrong with doing that, just so you know. I mean, there have even been times when I did it." I looked at her with amazed, bloodshot eyes. She asked, "Is that what you were doing last night, dear?"

A few seconds went by. I nodded and began crying again, only this time it was more from relief than embarrassment. I began to explain between sobs, "Some girls at school...yesterday...we were all...talking about..."

Mom hugged me again. "You're becoming a young woman, Jamie. You get these feelings, and that's part of growing up. Sometimes you have to deal with them on your own. It's certainly better than letting a boy give you a disease or get you pregnant. Especially at your age."

I said, "Well, no more for me. I won't do it again. Promise."

She retorted, "Oh yes you will. I know you will. Especially after what you felt last night."

Feigning puzzlement, I asked, "What do you mean?"

"I heard you, dear. Don't worry, no one else did." Then she added with a little giggle and a sly grin, "Must have been a good one, huh?"

That got me laughing a little and I sniffed hard. "Yeah, it was more than anything I expected."
She asked, "You mean it was your first?" I said yes, then she just smiled and got this glassy look in her eyes like she was going to cry too. Now I know why, although at the time I couldn't figure that out. She asked me to make a promise, one that I CAN keep.

"Promise me that when your father and brother are home, you'll keep the noise down, okay?"

We both had a good laugh with that one. I answered yes, then quickly added, "There won't be a need to keep anything down because I'm not doing it again." Mom just smiled and shook her head.

Well, about a week after that first scary experience, I resumed masturbating as my mother predicted I would. Since then, I have continued to do it, on average, two or three times a day, often with multiple orgasms. It just feels too good!

A few years have passed since then. Mom and I have had many discussions about sex, guys, and masturbation. She still masturbates ("Tell your father and I'll kill you!") even though she loves Dad and says he keeps her happy in bed. Sometimes, she told me, you just have to give yourself a little quality time alone. We discussed techniques, multiple orgasms, ways to make it feel better and fun uses for a showerhead. Sometimes I don't even close the bedroom door when I have to masturbate and Mom is the only one home, although she's not quite so liberal to do the same when I'm around. On my 15th birthday she gave me an extra present, a 'little personal secret between us' -- an electric plug-in vibrator with different attachments, two of which are obviously insertable. Mom explained that the battery models break easily because they don't hold up to heavy use (wink) and all those batteries would get awfully expensive (wink wink).

At 16, I lost my virginity to a guy I really liked a lot, and never regretted it. During our very first intercourse I had an incredibly wild orgasm which, I'm sure, was due to all the 'practice' I did alone. If I didn't keep myself satisfied through masturbation before that time in my life, I know I would have gotten involved in sex at an earlier age before I was ready.

I just want to say, "Thanks Mom."

Why I started liking math

2006-03-20T08:17:00.000-08:00

Shay just graduated from University (June '05) with a snazzy BA.H in Psychology. Currently she is between degrees - taking a couple of courses in couples/family therapy and working as a research assistant while she waits for acceptance into a grad program. So far she is on her way to becoming a sex therapist or a sex/sexuality researcher, but who knows, things can always change. Her main blog is at http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com/ but it's not hard for clever people to find my "other spot".

Kids remember funny things.

I remember overhearing a conversation that my dad was having with someone else (possibly a client?) over the phone, talking about masturbation. I clearly remember playing with my barbies in my room and listening as he said something like, "if you don't masturbate to figure out what you like, how are you ever going to know what you need from a partner in bed?"

At the time I wasn't really sure what this conversation meant, but I had a vague understanding of what "masturbating" meant (something grown-ups did, that involved playing with their "privates"), so I stored this bit or information away for future reference.

I think that a lot of people are convinced when they are young that masturbation is wrong - which is part of why it can be embarrassing to be caught.

Little kids (even babies) touch themselves all the time, at least until mommy (or daddy) catches them and says "Stop! That's wrong! Don't do THAT!" The message that it is wrong to touch those "naughty bits" is internalized and pushed into the subconscious - ready to spring out and heap guilt upon a young masturbator years later.

I was lucky enough to have parents who taught me that touching "there" was okay, but not acceptable around other people - it was a "private time" thing to do. I think that this is a very important message for parents to deliver to their children – not that pleasure (and sex) and penises and vaginas are bad or dirty or wrong, but that it's not always polite to rub or touch or "scratch" there in public.

So, even before really finding out what masturbation IS, I knew that people shouldn't feel guilty about it... Yet, years later, when I finally discovered masturbation for myself, I still couldn't help but feel a bit guilty.

Maybe because that first orgasm was so unexpected, it just swirled up inside me out of nowhere as I was playing "down there" one night (when I was supposed to be asleep), rubbing my clit against the palm of my hand. Maybe it was because the fantasy I had been having was about sex in a van (I know) with a fictitious older man, it seemed a little venturesome to me at the time. "Was that an orgasm? Is this allowed?" I worried.

Then came the twinge of guilt from wanting to do it more. Sometimes I would feel the urge while doing some math homework, a little tingly urge between my thighs. I tried to squeeze my legs together to hold it in, but that only made things worse.

"Okay, after these ten questions I'll go do it", "okay after these next three", "okay after this one!" - Until I ended up running off to "do it quick" and finishing my homework afterwards instead. "Am I out of control?" I fretted.

I didn't think other girls were like this. They just seemed to care about clothes and school and trying to go on dates with boys. Meanwhile, I was sitting through classes fantasizing (luckily I was a strong student to begin with) – thinking about other things that would be more fun to do with boys (and sometimes girls). I did try to cut back on the fantasies though, especially after the time one of my classmates asked me why I was so flushed in class and if I was feeling okay.

"Oh, very okay," I wanted to tell her, but I didn't and I still wondered why it seemed that I was the only one like this. Let's not even talk about those nights before I learned how to keep my bed from squeaking while I did it. I masturbated in fear of the words shouted from my parents' room: "Are you okay? Are you having trouble sleeping?" I'm sure (or at least I hope) that my mom thought I couldn't sleep and was tossing and turning in bed. Truth be told, I kind of liked the sound of the bed squeaking, but I made sure to only indulge in that when no one else was home.It wasn't too long (as I'm sure you can tell) until I no longer felt guilty about masturbating.

But still, when a group of friends and acquaintances were sitting around talking or rather, giggling, about masturbation, I would deny that I had ever tried it - "What! Me? I wouldn't even know how to do it!"

It wasn't until much later, when I realized that guys actually thought it was sexy and when I found out a lot of girls masturbate too, that I gave up denying my secret pleasure.

White Night

2006-03-16T21:56:00.000-08:00

Arielle wrote at http://arielle.lustjournal.com/ until April of 2005. Fortunately, her lusty memories remain posted for us to enjoy.

I did not sleep last night. I had just completed another story I plan to post some other date. It brought back a lot of sweet memories and aroused me in a very special way.

Before I tell you more, promise me you won’t laugh. Please… Oh well, I’m sure you will anyway.
I had been writing down my account of my very first orgasms, from more than eight years ago. The first one I had reached through humping a pillow all night. It is one of the best memories I have, no matter how naive it was. Long before I was finished writing that story, I was already highly aroused. Before the end, I was grinding my pussy against my seat, hardly realizing what I was doing. I was completely immersed into my childhood memories. In a sudden burst of nostalgia, I wanted to repeat the experience. The rule was to get myself off only through humping and grinding, and without accessories except a pillow.

See? I told you you would laugh. To be honest, I found this a bit funny myself. For a few hours I became the little girl I used to be and laughed all the time, before, during and after. I had so much fun.

On to the details. I turned off the computer and got changed, wearing only a t-shirt and silk panties (no bra). Then I jumped on my queen size bed, threw the curtains on the floor and rolled to the right side of the mattress (I sleep on the left side and jill on the right side; you figure out why). I took a pillow and put it between my legs, while my head rested on the other. First I tried to grind it only through squeezing my tights. Then I got on my knees and started to hump the pillow for real, bursting out in laughs. That form of stimulation is not intense, but nonetheless pleasurable. I didn’t grind the pillow too hard at first, barely teasing my pussy. Then I rode it harder and faster, leaning forward, supporting myself with my hands. It felt real good. I wasn’t nearly coming yet, but it didn’t matter. It felt just as sensual as a body massage.

At some point I wanted more. I turned around and lied on my stomach, facing the mattress, still grinding the pillow between my legs, putting my face into the other pillow. Then I ground my whole body against the mattress, focusing on my chest and my pussy, rocking the bed. Now that was more like it. I pressed myself against the mattress harder and harder as minutes passed. I was having so much fun I couldn’t stop laughing, except of course for a moan once in a while. But whenever I reached that step I slowed down a bit. I wanted to cultivate that orgasm for as long as possible, remembering how long it took the first time and how good it was. I kept doing this for minutes, then hours. Naturally, after three to four hours of this, even slowing down doesn’t help much and I felt my first orgasm building up inside. This compelled me to grind the mattress even harder, to the point I felt like I was penetrating into it, molding it to the shape of my body. I was moving at an incredible pace even though I was getting quite tired after all this time. Who cares, I was flying.

I moaned and groaned into the pillow just like I had done in the past, adding to my ecstasy. I usually don’t fantasize during masturbation, but this time I was really into it, trying to recreate that exact same experience, only better, and this game was driving me wild. The feeling in my crotch was intensifying. It was only the second time in my life I had built an orgasm for that long and I could no longer wait to learn how good it would be. My breathing quickened, the frequency of my moans rose like a power peak, and so did my pleasure. I was rocking the bed so hard it was moving toward the center of the room. I couldn’t help putting maximum pressure on my tingling, throbbing clit which begged for a release, and so did I, screaming as I sensed it closing fast. That’s it, I was coming, I was coming… and I came, so hard that I lost my cadence, moving anarchically. I released a long, long scream that even the pillow couldn’t absorb. Powerful spasms shocked my entire body, to the point that I had a hard time keeping my grasp on the mattress. Oh yeah, that felt good. Oh yeah…

It wasn’t over yet. I kept going, begging for more. I had regained my control, so I could start building the next orgasm in line. My pussy was still feeling very high, even though it was just as worn out as I was. But I had to keep going, if only not to let the last few hours go to waste. I knew I could get multiple orgasms with just a little more effort. My lower back was aching, but I didn’t care either. All I cared about was pleasure as I kept laughing and groaning, then moaning loudly, breathing deeply, then rapidly, moving faster, pressing harder. The second orgasm took less than two minutes to build up and it was even stronger than the first, so powerful that it made me pull out the sheets. By the time it faded, I had slip off the bed starting from the waist. I kneeled on the floor, then humped the pillow from there, still grinding the mattress from the waist up. It didn’t work out very well so I resigned myself to just riding the pillow on the floor, not even willing to stop long enough to get back on the bed. It was a bit harder that way so I had to use both hands to press the pillow against myself, but it ended up working just fine. I felt the third one coming already. I moved even faster than earlier and moaned even more, then screamed as a third explosion of pleasure between my legs made me arch my back and bend my head backward, then forward as my eyes wouldn’t move away from the source of my satisfaction. I was jubilating, won over by the fever of ecstasy and euphoria, shivering of joyfulness.

I kept at it for about another hour, during which I came no less than eight times. Then I laid there on the floor, completely worn out, covered with sweat, unable to catch my breath, my heart racing. I had masturbated for about five hours and climaxed a total of eleven times in less than 90 minutes. I laid there for quite a while after that. Even once I found the strength to get back on my feet, sleeping on the bed was out of question; I had thrown everything on the floor and felt way too lazy to put everything back into place. I rather dragged myself on the couch in the living room. But in the end, I couldn’t manage to fall asleep after this and then dragged myself under the shower, where I didn’t even bother to wash myself but just let the water run on my skin, arms crossed on my chest. There I came back on what happened, as whenever I masturbate to exhaustion (quite often lately), feeling both satisfaction and shame, regardless of what my rational self come up with. I just can’t help being ashamed of getting off on childhood (childish) memories all night when I must get up to work first thing in the morning.
And there I am typing these words before going back on the couch and try to sleep a bit. To Hell with work today… I’m sick. Good day.

i'm not... it's not broken

2006-03-13T20:00:00.000-08:00

rose is a mid 40's woman who felt her life had been derailed by a diagnosis of cervical cancer. the resulting treatment made her feel as if her sex life was over. thankfully, she reclaimed her sexuality and has been on a path of sexual awakening for the last year plus. her path of discovery can be found at http://www.aliferestarted.blogspot.com.

when i was diagnosed with cervical cancer, my first reaction was the realization that I had cancer. that I could die. after listening to the doctors, treatment options, what might happen, my second reaction was that my sex life was over.

i was in my early 40’s… to contemplate never having sex again was horrible. i loved to have sex… the intimacy, the total abandon i feel, the playfulness, the cumming, getting my lover to cum, finding ways to surprise my lover. I didn’t want to contemplate my life without sex.

looking back, i’m not sure what caused me more emotional pain… the fear of the cancer or the fear of losing my sexuality.

on 3 september 2003, i walked into my gynecologist’s office for a routine exam, including a pap smear. we discussed some issues that had been bothering me. i’d been spotting between periods, sometimes having periods 2 weeks apart, some unexplained discharge. my question was whether i was heading into perimenopause. dr. dabney put me on a low dose birth control pill to see if that would eliminate the symptoms.

two weeks later i had, what turned out to be, my last date for 15 months and my last orgasm for 6 months. the date was with a some time playmate who made me laugh. we also had the greatest conversations, mostly political in nature. and the sex, while all too infrequent, was always hot.

this particular night there was no sex planned. i’d already been called by my gynecologist to schedule my first biopsy. she wanted to check if the abnormal cells from the pap were actually cancerous. judah wanted to get me out, get my mind off the upcoming biopsy.

his choice for the evening was live music at his favorite classic rock joint, “the back fence” down in the village. sounded perfect. the atmosphere of the bar was early terrible, but the music was great. i don’t think there was a song we didn’t know. the drinks were cheap, the conversation great.

we sang along, we talked, held hands and kissed. neither of us mentioned the upcoming biopsy. i was there to forget and judah made sure i did. we left around 1 am, found a cab and headed back to the west side.

outside, under the scaffolding across the street from my building, we stood kissing goodnight. this led to hands wandering… which led to me undoing his pants and sucking his cock… which led to him pushing up my skirt, pushing aside my thong and fucking me, in the shadows of the scaffolding. he came and fingered my clit until i came.

we could’ve gone upstairs and been comfortable.

yeah, but this happened so fast… why spoil the mood. besides it was kind of fun to be sneaky and “bad”…

we laughed as an unmarked squad car pulled down the street. by this time, our clothes were rearranged and we were sitting chatting on the curb.

that was the last truly fun, carefree time i remember for the next several months.

from the end of September through my surgery in december, there were a never-ending series of tests, another biopsy, pre-op appointments and growing fears.

my suggested course of treatment was a radical hysterectomy that included removing my uterus, cervix, the very top of the vagina, the parametrium and lateral lymph nodes. it would affect my sex life in that my vagina would be a little shorter. intercourse may hurt. however, if i had regular intercourse following surgery (after the prescribed waiting period), that would keep the vagina supple, stretched and keep intercourse from hurting.

i turned off the sexual part of me. it was easy in the beginning. my focus was on dealing with the spectre of cancer hanging over me. with all the poking and prodding going on, i felt more like some sort of science experiment than a sexual person. in fact, i’d never felt so un-sexual in my entire life.

the several weeks following surgery were focused on healing from the radical surgery. every thing hurt, part of my left thigh was numb, i couldn’t even open a window. however, i did manage to fly to wisconsin for christmas with my family.

my brother has a shower with a removable showerhead. one morning, i decided to use it to see if i could cum. it was 3 weeks after surgery. i couldn’t put anything in my pussy, but the doc said nothing about orgasms. however, when faced with the showerhead, I couldn’t even try. i was terrified that they’d taken my ability to orgasm along with my uterus. standing in the shower, I cried until there were no more tears.

that’s it for me, i thought. my sex life was in the past. talk about depressed!

one day in late February, after my third visit with my oncologist to check my healing progress i was roaming around the internet. ending up in an adult toyshop site, i started perusing the vibrators. after much comparison-shopping, i bought a rabbit.

my thought was that it would kill two birds: i could experiment with penetration and stimulate my clit at the same time. I knew my body well and having my clit stimulated was the only way i could cum (so i thought at the time), i also wanted to work on keeping my vagina supple and able to handle a cock (just in case…). maybe, just maybe i could find my sexuality again… at least by myself.

three days later, my little package arrived. excited and terrified i raced up to my apartment, inserted the batteries, removed my clothes and hopped into bed. truth be told, i actually left on my panties… i was nervous. what if this didn’t work?

laying there trying to relax, i turned on the clit vibe part of the rabbit. rubbing it gingerly over my panty-covered clit, i focused on the feelings. that familiar feeling of arousal returned. for me, it starts as a sort of tickly feeling that’s a combination of pain and pleasure that swells to orgasm.

i remember biting my lower lip, praying the feeling wouldn’t disappear. it didn’t. i put down my new toy to remove my panties. i wanted to try more… it was feeling good, so why not take the plunge, so to speak. nobody would know but me if my little experiment failed, and the doc had cleared me for intercourse.

rubbing the head of my toy against my slit, i noticed i was actually wet. a good sign. slowly, agonizingly slowly i began pushing the shaft of my rabbit into my pussy. deeper and deeper i pushed and felt no pain. yippee!!

rabbit cock now imbedded in my pussy, clit stimulator sitting over my clit, i take a deep breath and turn on the vibrator and the swirling cock… no pain! in fact, it felt great! i sigh from pure relief and allow my mind to drift into a well-used fantasy about my favorite actor, liam neeson.

my mind wandered through my fantasy as one hand moved the vibe and one hand played with my nipples, rolling them between my fingers, squeezing them. it all felt good, really good.

soon my body began to tense, that familiar feeling of being on the edge of cumming was there: heat moving through my body, nipples growing harder, my clit aching for more pressure. i was afraid it would disappear. focusing on my breath, trying to relax and just give into the sensations my hips seemed to rock and buck on their own.

and there it was, a body shuddering, pussy tightening orgasm! breathing in short pants, i let myself surrender to the feelings, laughing and crying at the same time. i was ecstatic… everything still worked! they hadn’t stolen my sexuality (at least for me in private).

resting for a few minutes, i decided to try again. maybe the first time was a fluke. the second try was easier, because the fear of inserting anything in my pussy was gone. pussy full, clit stimulated, i came again. better this time, more intense.

i felt like a teenager just discovering the joys of sex! the relief was overwhelming. i laughed, i cried… then i picked up the phone.

hey blair, guess what?!?

that rabbit was my best boyfriend for an entire year. he died (of overuse) just as I decided to return to dating. he’s since been replaced by other toys and a man (or two). but I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for my post-op, finding my orgasm again rabbit.

well hung

2006-03-08T19:53:00.000-08:00

I found el_scorpion's story on his alt.com. As I'm not a member, I don't have access to email or comments. However, I encourage all of you to drop him an appreciative line for this sincere piece.

Warning: the title link is *NOT* work safe

"I can last longer than anybody." I said to myself. My brother and my two male cousins were around me. It was my turn. I knew I could out last them for sure. So, my eight years old ass got ready, ready to hang in the air. I jumped and grabbed a tree branch, and I hanged while my cousin "G" timed me with a stop watch. We were playing "hang like a monkey." The game was simple, you hanged from a tree branch for as long as you could. The winner had bragging rights, that's it.

Well, I was hanging for a longer than anyone else had lasted. It was 10 minutes for sure, maybe a bit more. I could feel my hands going numb, my fingers wanting to let go, and the branch began buring the skin under my hand. Then all of a sudden, I felt a hot sensation running from my abdominal muscles to my groin, then to my penis. I loved the burning sensation traveling inside my body. It felt like I was flying. Then booooommmmmm, I felt it! A shower of liquid existing my penis head. It was the most wonderful feeling I had ever felt. Even better than the pleasure burning sensation I felt minutes before. I loved it! My brother and cousin never noticed anything other than I was tired from hanging for so long.

For days, months and years, I continued to pleasure myself in this manner. I would hang for 10 to 15 minutes at a time until that buring sensation began then traveled down to my penis. This was my first orgasm and my discovery of self pleasure. An unconventional method to some, but this was all I knew, and it worked! It gave me pleasure. I came that summer so many times, and for years I continued this method. Until I discovered......

My First Work Orgasm

2006-03-05T21:58:00.000-08:00

Tara Burns is a sex worker, child advocate, dog trainer, and psychology student. She is becoming a writer, a healer, and a fully engaged participant of the universe.

I used to be a straight-laced stripper. It was all a fantasy; you know, acting. Of course I didn’t like any of the customers or get anything sexual out of my job. That would make me a slut, and of course I wasn’t one of those girls. Somehow I clung to that veneer of respectability through several years of grinding my clothed cunt against the clothed penises of hundreds, no thousands, of men. I was young, my orgasms were muscle twitches, and I was pretty sure that sex was overrated.

Soon after discovering orgasms with a capital O (and becoming friendly with my pulsating shower head) I found myself running late for work, horny with no pulsating shower head on the horizon for at least eight hours. In the dressing room I hurried through my make up, trying to ignore my wet panties and tingling clit.

I decided to distract myself by focusing on making money that night. I walked out of the dressing room one huge ball of sexual frustration focused on selling a champagne room to the first customer who crossed my path. It didn’t take long, and soon I found myself straddling a customer on a fancy leather couch. On autopilot, I rubbed myself against him slowly, tossed my hair, and moaned into his ear. I did these little things every time; they increased the odds of him buying another champagne room. But this time it was feeling good! How unprofessional!

I couldn’t have that, so I turned around and leaned back, grinding against him with my ass. To keep him interested, I leaned back and breathed heavily against his neck. For some reason the throbbing in my clitoris wouldn’t go away. It kept building, throbbing, needing. “Turn around” the man underneath me asked, “like you were before?”

“Sure, baby,” I smiled at him and licked my lips as I turned, total super stripper. I settled back into his lap, centering myself on his hard penis and giving him smoldering sexy eyes as I rocked back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth, and soon my outer lips were hugging his penis, my clit grinding against it. I buried my face in his neck and gave in to the sensation that was spreading between my legs. Suddenly my clitoris was everything. My legs and arms were shaking as I moved it very slowly up and down, pushing against him, and then I was coming. My breath stopped, my body twitched, and I slumped down into his lap, a puddle of post orgasmic bliss.

When I opened my eyes, he spoke, “wow, I’ve never had a lap dance like that before!”

I’ve been one of those girls ever since.

more first orgasm resources

2006-03-04T11:55:00.000-08:00

Personal Stories
An archive of men’s answers to the question, “What was your first orgasm like?” http://male101.com/faqs/pn/archives/fo01.html

Diary of my first orgasm – Wonderful first-person narrative of a woman’s first orgasm and her mother’s support http://www.very-koi.net/eroticfiction/stories/erotic234.htm

“How to” Guides
How to Have an Orgasm – Claire Cavanaugh of Babeland provides professional advice http://www.babeland.com/sexinfo/howto/haveanorgasm

Tips for the preorgasmic – San Francisco Sex Information answers the questions “How do I have an orgasm?” http://www.sfsi.org/answers/preorgasmic.html

“Are you ready, Ladies?” – Clitical.com offers the steps to dance around your bits http://www.clitical.com/female-masturbation/masturbation-basics.php

Information for Pre-orgasmic Ladies – The-Clitoris offers an excellent in-depth guide to orgasm http://www.the-clitoris.com/n_html/n_tips.htm

Seven Techniques for Achieving Orgasm – Betty Dodson, the mother of masturbation, shares her know-how http://bettydodson.com/7techniq.htm

Question and Answer
VaginaPagina – a community dedicated to answering questions of a cunt-centric nature
http://www.vaginapagina.com

Ask Rachel and Claire – the founders of Babeland respond to pleasurable questions http://www.babeland.com/sexinfo/askrachelandclaire/

Ask Carol Queen – for more advanced sex ed, Carol is the Queen of Hearts http://www.carolqueen.com/pages/advice.htm

Sex Edvice – Ellen Friedrichs answers with compassion and know-how http://sexedvice.com/

Scarleteen – Answers questions for young adults and the rest of us http://www.scarleteen.com/sexuality/advice_orgasm.html

Toy Stores
Babeland – New York, LA, and Seattle http://babeland.com/

Good Vibrations – San Francisco http://www.goodvibes.com/

Blowfish – mail order http://blowfish.com/

Come As You Are – Toronto http://www.comeasyouare.com/

Smitten Kitten – Minneapolis http://www.smittenkittenonline.com/

Veg Sex Shop – Vegan mail order http://vegsexshop.com

Eve’s Garden – New York http://evesgarden.com/

Honeysuckle Shop – Chicago http://www.honeysuckleshop.com/

Early to Bed – Chicago http://early2bed.com

sugasm #24

2006-03-04T11:53:00.000-08:00

The best of the blogs by the bloggers who blog them, this week starting with the letter H:
Hickeys on Display (seska4lovers.com…)
HNT - On Display (sabrinainstockings.com…)
Holding the Reins, Part One (mouthybitch.blogspot.com…)
Housewife 1 on 1 Review (internetisforporn.com…)
How it All Started (tinastrangeworld.blogspot.com…)
How to find someone’s clitoris (if you don’t already know) (realadultsex.com…)
I Feel Excited… (darkdaughta.blogspot.com…)
I Love My Buttplug (suburbansexpot.blogs.com…)
I’m Kinky; You’re Just Sick (adelehaze.com…)
Is This a Sexy Post? (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com…)
I Want You (theholidaylife.blogspot.com…)
Letter #F9 to Her (anawtymouz.blogspot.com…)
The Liberator (sin.typepad.com…)
A Little More on Teamwork (shaysotherspot.blogspot.com…)
Meeting M (v-boat.blogspot.com…)
Michelle Medina (eroticandy.blogspot.com…)
Mind Blowing (whatsexmaycome.blogspot.com…)
Monogamania 2: In a Chemical World…Or, Where Did the Lust Go? (sexeteria.blogspot.com…)
My Fantasy (sexinga.blogspot.com…)
Are You as Tall as Your Penis? (sugarbank.com…)
More Sugasm…Join the Sugasm
My First Time… Pt 1 (secretsofadirtygirl.blogspot.com…)
My First Woman, a Fantasy… (aliferestarted.blogspot.com…)
Need to Feed (hornynurse.livejournal.com…)
Nightclubbing (gentlygently.blogspot.com…
Parking. Not Just for Teenagers. (domequeen.blogspot.com…)
A Quick Tease (4dirtylaundry.blogspot.com…)
Realistic Virtual Tifa Finally Created (sugarjoy.com…)
Sex Ed 101 (sexyukgirl.blogspot.com…)
Sex Trick #9 - Lip Service (creamonpants.com…)
Slurpee King (radicalvixen.com…)
Snatch (chaosnoir.blogspot.com…)
Sorry I’m Not a Virgin, Sorry I’m Not a Slut… (redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com…)
Thank God Reality TV has Asian Sluts too… (hawaiianwhores.blogspot.com…)
Theirs is a Perfect Relationship (janeluvsdick.com…)
Tie Me Up (destinedgreatness.blogspot.com…)
The Vixxen Chronicles - Walking Funny, Pt 1 (unfetteredcravings.blogspot.com…)
What DH Thought (barbiebaby09.livejournal.com…)
You Have Probably Been in a Porn Film (sugarpit.com…)
Airborne and Evil… Part II (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com…)
Anal Sex (hotcouple.co.uk)
Approaching an Internet Porn Star (seskuality.com…)
Choose a Cock to Doodle (sexblo.gs)
Coed Dorm Tales: Secret Girl’s First Orgasm with a Woman (omyfirstorgasm.blogspot.com…)
The Cock Interviews: A Secret Brain Special Report (secretbrain.blogspot.com…)
Confession #4 (easilyaroused.co.uk)
Creative Spanked Wife (Review) (sugarclick.com…)
Dirty Show Cowgirls (tirepaddle.com…)
Do You Trust Me? (damnjezebel.com…)
Gushing and More Gushing (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com…)
Erotica Verite (jundercovers.blogspot.com…)
Fat Bottomed Girl (deltaofvenus.blogspot.com…)
Female Genitalia: Dirty Entymology (barelace.blogspot.com…)
First Time - Part One (masterenigma.blogspot.com…)

Coed Dorm Tales

2006-03-02T04:39:00.000-08:00

Secret Girl’s First Orgasm with a Woman

Secret Girl is a "normal" 30 something year old woman. You see her in line at the grocery store, in church, at ballet class. You see her with her husband in restaurants and community events. She loves her family - her husband and her children - BUT she has a secret. There's a side of her they will never see. There's a side of her that keeps her sane. That side is spontaneous and daring and very, very sexual. She blogs at http://secretsofadirtygirl.blogspot.com.

When I was a freshman in college I lived in a coed dorm. Sounds fun huh? Oh yeah. Unfortunately though, I got engaged shortly after starting to school and did not date while I was there. As a side note, I knew even then I was marrying the wrong man, but that's another story. I became friends with the resident assistant on another floor, Scott, and one night when my roommate locked me out I knocked on his door and asked for help. He offered his bed (how nice) and he slept on the couch. Really.

Sometime during the night we began talking and I confessed to him that I knew I was getting married for all the wrong reasons. I even told him that I wasn't sexually attracted to my fiancé and how much I missed sex. He offered to help. That night he pleasured me in the most amazing ways, but refused to let me so much as touch him. He said as long as I wore another man's diamond that I couldn't completely have him. Pretty strange huh? That night he made me cum over and over again with his hands and his tongue and finally jerked himself off as the morning came. Our relationship continued for several weeks. In addition to the wonderful releases he gave me, we became great friends.

As the weeks passed, I felt more and more guilty. I wanted so badly to make him feel as good as he made me feel and told him over and over again. He continued to refuse, but after a few months he offered me an opportunity to clear the slate.

Scott was also friends with a girl, Heather, that lived in the same dorm. Heather was openly a lesbian. She was beautiful. She had long blonde hair and a great body. The guys on campus always talked about what a waste it was. Mean, I know. We'd met on several occasions and she had confided in him how attracted she was to me. And so the story begins...Scott asked me to be with Heather and let him watch. It was his ultimate fantasy.

The night we met I was really nervous. I had no idea what to expect. I'd never even seen girl/girl porn and found myself wanting to back out. We met in Scott's room and had several drinks, turned on music and tried to relax. Finally, Scott gave Heather a knowing look and took a seat on the couch. Heather took me by the hand and led me to the bed. My heart was racing.

She leaned over close to me and whispered in my ear, "Don't do anything you aren't comfortable with and tell me if you want to stop. Relax and we'll take this really slow. Try to forget he's even here." That was all I needed. Suddenly any reservation I had was gone. (The beer probably helped too.)

So, I sat on the bed and she sat behind me. She began by just rubbing my shoulders and running her hands through my hair. I tried to put Scott out of my mind, but I couldn’t help but look up at him from time to time. I wanted to see his reaction. I wanted to see his pleasure.

She was so calm and purposeful with her touches and words. I remember thinking that it was the first time a woman had ever told me I was sexy and I believed her. When she pulled my shirt over my head and unhooked my bra it seemed very natural and when I felt her bare skin press against my back, aware of her hard nipples it intrigued me. Again, I was experiencing something I never had before.

She first cupped my breasts and started to gently roll my nipples with her fingers. It was so soft, almost like my own touch. Her lips on the back of my neck were also soft - not that a man’s lips are rough. It was just different. When I finally turned around I was definitely into the moment. It was so very sexy. I found myself wanting to kiss her, wanting to know what her mouth would feel like, wanting to taste her.

The kiss was sensual. It was long and deep. I couldn’t get enough of it. And I was so into it that I don’t even remember how the rest of my clothes, or hers came off. I just know that it wasn’t long before I felt her hands dancing on the inside of my thighs. When her fingers finally found my pussy I couldn’t wait for her to touch me. Her touch was so different from a man. It was like touching myself only without the knowledge of where it would go. It was like she knew instinctively just what I wanted and when. She quickly found my clit and circled and flicked and teased it until I was so close to cumming. She put one finger in my pussy and played with my ass. Everything felt so wonderful. Each time I was right at that point of no return she would stop and let me build up again.

At some point, we stopped kissing and she stopped fingering me to whisper in my ear again. “I want to taste your pussy. Can I?” Oh Yes! That was when my eyes flew wide open and I saw Scott again. I’d almost forgotten he was in the room. He was so silent. He never said a word, but the look on his face and massive erection were all I needed to see to know that he was getting just what he wanted.

Heather moved down the bed and spread my legs far apart. She prompted me to turn my hips so that Scott could have the best view of what was about to happen. She slowly kissed the inside of my thighs until she reached my pussy. I was already so wet. I think as soon as her tongue touched my slit I started to cum and by the time she found my clit I was over the edge. I came so hard it was like a wave of pleasure that kept rolling over and over me. My legs were shaking and my whole body tingled. Heather stayed between my legs and gently blew warm air on my pussy. It was amazing. When the shaking stopped she moved up my body and laid her head on my stomach. I was spent and I hadn’t done a thing. It was feeling I’d never felt before and haven’t felt since. With her head on my stomach she found her own pussy and quickly brought herself the same release. I know at some point Scott had done the same, but I didn’t see him as it happened.

Afterwards we all fell asleep in bed together (me in the middle) and the next morning I got up and went back to my room, showered and went to class. Scott and I continued to see each other after that, but we were never intimate again. He wanted a real relationship and I just couldn’t give it to him. I saw Heather a few times and always felt really awkward, but she would just smile and go on.

like that

2006-02-27T09:21:00.000-08:00

iseegreenbutyoudont is a New York-based theatre guru who should write more. When not jet setting off to exotic locales, she plays guitar on porch steps and laughs like a worm. Although she lacks a blog, she can be contacted at iseegreenbutyoudont@hotmail.com.

Like the first time I flew over, around and around Manhattan waiting, waiting…then landing amidst all the lights and splendor…knew I had arrived

Like my first memories of inconsolable sadness…weeping in the dark in my tree house with total abandonment…

Like the first time I got my nose pierced and a few tears snuck out of the corners of my eyes and ran down my cheeks…but I wasn’t really crying…

Like a near death experience…almost drowning then pushed up to the surface sucking in huge gulps of air…limbs tingling…trying to ground myself in the watery sheets…

Like the first time I ran a 7 minute mile…dragged my whipped ass over the line and doubled over in relief, exhaustion and exhilaration…

Like the first time I lost myself tripping and couldn’t feel anything but a bubble of heat sliding from my pelvis through my center to my brain stem and back down…totally unleveled…

Like the first time I blocked a shot, stole the ball, raced down the court, laid it up and swaggered back to defense knowing I fucking got that one right!

The other day I overheard a groups of kids in conversation…’nonsense’ silly kid talk about their peers and what time they had to be home for dinner…I realized that strive as I might to recapture my ‘inner kid’…I’ve physically crossed a line…become a woman…smile…

like that…

Dr. Susan Block writes of Dr. Betty Dodson, My First Orgasm, Cindy Sheehan, and Mohammed

2006-02-23T10:44:00.000-08:00

Part philosopher, part sex symbol, part humorist, part social commentator and part-time horny housewife, Dr. Susan Block is a world-renowned sex educator, therapist, best-selling author, cable TV host and star of HBO's #1 Nielsen-rated Radio Sex TV. A familiar face on HBO's late-night programming, Dr. Block is the woman whom Sheila Nevins, Senior VP of Original and Late-Night Programming on HBO, credits with "showing me that sex education can be sexy television."

*editor’s note – This is an excerpt of a piece originally published at http://www.drsusanblock.com/blog/blog.asp on February 2, 2006.

Dr. Betty Dodson, My First Orgasm, Cindy Sheehan and Mohammed

Confession: My special guest at our sexuality salon this coming Saturday gave me my first orgasm.

Well, not personally. Actually, it was her first book that gave it to me. I was 19 years old, and I'd never had an orgasm. Oh, I'd had sex a few times, mainly with my high school boyfriend, and he'd had plenty of orgasms. I'd masturbated since before I could walk, but not yet to *completion.* I did have involuntary climaxes occasionally when I rode a horse or did kip-ups in gymnastics. But no full-fledged voluntary orgasms until my first semester of my sophomore year at Yale. That was when I read a book that was most definitely not required reading for any of my classes: Betty Dodson’s Liberating Masturbation.

No I didn’t date any Skull & Boners during my sojourn at Yale, but I was seeing a gorgeous young math genius on the crew team named Steven, tall and sensuously lean, with long flowing blonde hair and eyes the color of an unspoiled lake. The only problem was that Steven was very shy, and since I was fairly shy too, our evenings tended to be pretty dull. But I was infatuated with his golden athletic beauty and dazzling numerical brilliance. And one night, when I let him stay over in my tiny little dorm room in my tiny little single bed, we had sex. I don't remember much about the sex. I think it wasn't bad, but I know it wasn't orgasmic.

When Steven left for his early morning math class, I remember lingering in bed. Lazily, I started to touch myself, picking up where Steven had left off. But I didn't know what to do. Not exactly. So, being a bookish girl, I reached for a book. We were reading Antony and Cleopatra in Shakespeare class. Though I found the play to be quite erotic, I knew old A&C wouldn’t tell me what I needed to know at that critical moment. Nor would my psych or philosophy textbooks or even my French Fleurs du Mal. So I pushed them all aside for a little illustrated pamphlet I’d picked up from one of the women’s consciousness raising groups so popular back then.

This was Liberating Masturbation. I perused a few paragraphs as I continued to touch myself. Within less than a dozen pages, I’d received a lesson in female anatomy like I’d never been given before. In a smart, friendly, no-nonsense style, Betty told me exactly what and where my clitoris was (nobody else ever had!), and how to touch it to make it feel wonderful. She told me to relax and breathe deep, something I’d never thought of doing with sex, despite my years of yoga. So, I relaxed and breathed deeply, as I stroked and played with myself like I'd played since I was a baby, but this time I followed Betty’s instructions, pushing myself farther. I inhaled and exhaled deeper and deeper, and rubbed and tickled and poked and pulled, licking my fingers and feeling the power, checking back with the book for ideas, breathing more and more deeply, rubbing faster and slower and then faster again, until lo and behold, the proverbial dam burst, the bed shook, the dorm room spun, and I bounced off the cliff into orgasm. My first full-fledged, voluntary orgasm.

I remember feeling awed and amazed, like I'd gone through a personal revolution right there in my tiny, overprotected, little dorm room bed. I knew I had passed through a "rite of passage" that none of my anthropology books dared describe. I felt blessed, or maybe just lucky, like I'd been given a gift from God, or the Goddess, or Nature, a pure pleasure that I didn't have to work for, didn't cost any money, didn't have any calories and didn't require *faith* in myths or suppositions. I marveled that something so easy could be so explosive, yet so gentle. And I remember realizing I was hooked, that at that point, after 19 years of life on earth, I had become orgasmic. I knew, right then and there, that no matter what happened, the rest of my life would include these exquisite explosions of pleasure, that pretty much whenever I wanted, I could enjoy a little piece of heaven on Earth. It was all just as close as my fingertips.

I remember drifting blissfully in that tiny little dorm room bed, as if I were Cleopatra floating down the Nile on her perfumed barge toward Antony, her erotic destiny. Then I remember glancing at the clock and realizing that if I didn't get out of bed that minute, I'd miss that Shakespeare class! So I threw on my clothes, picked up my books and left--a New Orgasmic Woman--then, now, and forever, a proud citizen of Betty Dodson’s Masturbation Nation, joining her "on the barricades" against sexual ignorance and repression.

Betty’s Liberating Masturbation was eventually revamped and renamed Sex for One. It became a classic. Over the decades, it has helped millions of women like me to have their first orgasms. And it has eased the guilt and opened the minds of many others, male and female. Like another bestseller of its time, The Joy of Sex, it carried the sexology research of Dr. Alfred Kinsey, along with the pioneering efforts of Victoria Woodhull, Emma Goldman and Margaret Sanger, into the burgeoning self-help arena. It reached the masses, grabbed them (gently) by the cajones, and stoked the Sexual Revolution.

As the title indicates, Sex for One is the quintessential self-help manual (pun intended). Its message is self-revolutionary: If you can help yourself to the greatest sexual pleasure, you really don’t need to kow-tow to the demands of an unreasonable husband, or wife, or religion, or government. No wonder masturbation is still so taboo.

Betty hit a bullseye with that first manifesto. But, unlike so many “sexperts,” she didn’t cranked out a library of sexual self-help books. After decades of doing her world-famous workshops, videos, lectures, articles and photo collections, she finally wrote a "sequel*: Orgasms for Two, which you can read about here.

Josh Cohen's First Bad Orgasm

2006-02-20T20:36:00.000-08:00

Josh Cohen is a traffic reporter and writer. He regularly blogs on Multiple Mentality(http://www.multiplementality.com), and lives near Atlanta, GA, with his wife and four cats.

I used to spend a lot of time on AOL -- in the chat rooms and on the newsgroups and boards -- back in the pre-unlimited-hours days, back when it was x dollars per hour. I met some interesting people, including the girl who is the subject of my 1000-mile booty call story. But I also met a girl we'll call C.

I chatted with C for a couple of weeks before deciding that it might be interesting to go out with her. Just to see what she was like in person. After all, she lived only about 10 minutes from my college (where I was living in the dorms). My roommate was already gone for the winter break, and my dad (who was coming to town to pick me up and take me home for break) wasn't coming into town until two days later.

What the hell, right? I could get laid, or I could have a fun time, or nothing could happen. Worse comes to worst, I spend $20 (C and I were going to play pool), then come home, shower, read, and go to bed.

I picked C up at her house. She was, to put it mildly, not what I expected. She was a little less than average in terms of attractiveness, and had misrepresented her weight. And in person, she was far less witty and engaging, which was much worse (in my eyes) than any problems I might have with her appearance.

But I was already there, and I'm not the kind of person to show up and then drive off. So we went out to the pool hall, played a few frames, and then she decided she wanted to see the dorms.

What the hell, right? I took her back to my dorm. We talked for a couple of hours, growing physically closer each time one or the other of us got up from the bed (where we were sitting -- the chairs provided by the school were uncomfortable at best).

Sitting turned to touching turned to kissing turned to putting the light out and making out, and eventually I asked her if she wanted to have sex. We hadn't done very much foreplay (I'd tried, but she was pretty stiff and unresponsive; she hadn't tried anything on me), but I was getting to the point where I wanted this to end.

She said yes, so I put on a condom and we had sex.

Never before and never since have I actually tried to come quickly. She didn't moan; she didn't move; she didn't respond; she didn't come (and believe me, I tried to get her off); she didn't writhe; she didn't clutch; she didn't arch. She just laid there and took it.

I gave up on trying to make her come and just finished as quickly as I could. I think by that point we both knew it wasn't working. I came, I pulled out, I disposed of the condom, and in the dark we both got dressed. I saw her to the dorm room door, and she left.

That was the last time I saw C. I didn't talk to her after that. She didn't try to talk to me. No e-mails or IMs were exchanged.

One week later, I had a very satisfying (and very brief) relationship with another woman I met on AOL. She was everything that C was not, in terms of intelligence, wit, and sexual response. I quickly forgot about C, and have thought of her very infrequently since that night, the night of my first and only bad orgasm. The sexual experience I'd most like to forget.

sugasm #22

2006-02-18T21:31:00.000-08:00

The best of the blogs by the bloggers who blog them, this week starting with the letter “Q”. Queens and Holy Bitches (deltaofvenus.blogspot.com…)
Removal Procedures (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com…)
The Seduction (barelace.blogspot.com…)
Sex in Libraries: An Introduction (lumpesse.com…)
Shopping Trip (mnsss.blogspot.com…)
Slave For A Day (talkingdirty.blogspot.com…)
Smells Like Vanilla (sabrinainstockings.com…)
“St (Censored) Day…” (chaosnoir.blogspot.com…)
The Ten Commandments (theholidaylife.blogspot.com…)
“This bed is on fire with passionate love.” - Part 1 (eternalapprentice.blogsome.com…)
What Turns You On - Part 1 (seskuality.com…)
You Own Me (secretsofadirtygirl.blogspot.com…)
Another Canceled Race (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com…)
Chocolate Ecstasy (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com…)
Coach T… Chapter 5 (whatsexmaycome.blogspot.com…)
Confessions of a Valentine’s Day Virgin (sexeteria.blogspot.com…)
Domme Visit Part I (nycbdsm.blogspot.com…)
Don’t… (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com…)
Ex Libris Eroticis (sexblo.gs)
How To Work With Eastern European Models (sugarbank.com…)

orgasmic resources

2006-02-16T20:31:00.000-08:00

In the fall of 2003, I wrote a 15 page, 12 pt, 1.5 spaced term paper: Coming to Pleasure – Contemporary Resources for Women with Orgasmic Difficulties. If anyone would like a copy, email me and I’ll mail you a hard copy (the electronic file has tragically been lost). Here’s a summary of some of the resources I managed to dig up. Please chime in with suggestions of things I've missed.

People

Betty Dodson – The Mother of Masturbation has been teaching women and men sexual empowerment through selflove since the early 1970s. In addition to her classic text, Sex for One (originally titled Liberating Masturbation) and the more recent Orgasms for Two, Betty has produced several videos including Selfloving: Portrait of a Woman’s Sexuality Seminar and Celibrating Orgasm: Women’s Private Selfloving Sessions. http://www.bettydodson.com/

Ducky Doolittle – As a sex educator, writer, and spoken word artist, Ducky’s workshops, performances, writings, and website provide valuable information and liberation in a sex-positive, kink-friendly, humor-filled atmosphere. http://www.drducky.com/

Ellen Freidrichs of Sex Edvice – http://sexedvice.com/

Places

Eve’s Garden – The first woman-centered sex boutique in New York, Eve’s Garden has been open since 1974. Located discreetly on the twelth floor of a midtown office building, Eve’s caters to the mature heterosexual woman who wouldn’t be caught dead on 6th Avenue or the former stores of Times Square. The selection is substantially smaller than Toys in Babeland but could be less intimidating in its intimacy. http://www.evesgarden.com

Babeland (formerly Toys in Babeland) – A woman-oriented, male-welcoming, queer-positive, kink-friendly, all around happy friendly non-threatening place to purchase sexuality products including books, magazines, vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, fetish gear, videos, lubricants, and safer sex supplies. It is also a wonderful place to seek advice from skilled employees or at one of their frequent workshops. http://babeland.com

Good Vibrations – http://www.goodvibes.com/

Blowfish – http://www.blowfish.com/

Come As You Are - http://www.comeasyouare.com/

Books and Films

Sex For One – The Joy of Selfloving – Betty Dodson’s revolutionary text was the first to liberate female masturbation. Although not a how-to-orgasm guide, such as some other resources, Dodson provides a context for orgasm, masturbation, and pleasure through her lovely illustrations and insightful anectdotes. She believes that masturbation holds the key for women who believe they are “frigid.”

For Yourself – The Fulfillment of Female Sexuality – Lonnie Barbach’s text is a program for preorgasmic women to increase sexual pleasure and achieve orgasm. It was recommended as a valuable text for women with limited experience with masturbation and sexual self-exploration. Barbach, like Dodson, conducted group workshops and individual therapy about women’s sexuality. Her text is geared towards the married or partnered heterosexual woman.

The Clitoral Truth – The Secret World at Your Fingertips – Rebecca Chalker’s contemporary text draws from Dodson and Barbahc, as well as thirty years of feminist and sexual revolution. Not focused specifically on orgasm, Chalker provides valuable information on female sexual anatomy and functioning. She dispels many myths and discusses the effects of power and beliefs (both personal and societal) upon sexual pleasure and experience. This book is the most queer-inclusive text I found. The illustrations are wonderful displaying different body types, ethnicities, ages, couples, and singles. For a woman who desires a more general approach to exploring her sexuality, this is a wonderful place to start.

Becoming Orgasmic – A Sexual and Personal Growth Program for Women… And the Men who Love Them – This DVD, based on the popular text, is produced by the Sinclair intimacy Institute. It is an educational film geared towards helping heterosexual married women (and their spouses) reach orgasm. The video follows Elaine and Mike as she pursues her first orgasm.

Please Don’t Stop – Lesbian Tips for Givin’ and Gettin’ It – This film, produced by Good Vibrations’ Good Vibes Sex Positive Crew and Homosexual Chocolate, was recommended by the Toys in Babeland staff as a queer-friendly film for women with orgasmic difficulties. However, it does not specifically address orgasm or orgasmic difficulties. Rather it explores and demonstrates ways to enjoy sexual pleasure alone and with your partner.

the joys of sex toys

2006-02-13T14:24:00.000-08:00

My first exposure to a sex toy was in john irving’s the son of the circus. I was reading it in my algebra class (I had finished a quiz early) and I started the chapter entitled “the dildo”. “ewww!” corey dunmead shrieked. “what kind of a book are you reading?!?”

“it’s a good book!” I defended, not understanding his objection, as I had no idea what a dildo was. But by the end of the chapter, I had figured it out. The dildo in this particular irving novel was rather large and hard plastic and used to smuggle drugs. But it was clearly a sexual tool.

After this chapter, I began experimenting with makeshift penetrative objects. Vegetables (I broke my hymen with a banana on the bathroom floor at three am on a school night), flashlights, candles, writing utensils, bottles (teachable moment: never insert an open bottle into a bodily orifice like a rectum or vagina. The open mouth can lead to a suction that is rather hard to detach, at times resulting in injury and/or embarrassing trips to emergency rooms. This one is not a personal experience, but rather a friend’s.), and anything else vaguely phallic.

I was trying to understand why something up there was supposed to feel good. Although the psychological thrill was a rush (between the guilt and the shame and the risk of being caught), the penetration itself was not particularly exciting.

At this time, I was also hitting the point of the “everything but” where my sexual experience would plateau for the next five years. I liked making out and giving blowjobs. Fingering was great and fun, as were handjobs. But I did not like guys (cause of course there were only guys at this point) going down on me. Too much pressure to perform. The first time a guy went down on me (in the movie theatre during Contact) I had a lovely time, but then he asked me if a “came”. I said sure. Up until that point, I thought only guys could “cum”. So now there was something else wrong with me. I couldn’t come. But I took solace in the fact that orgasm would obviously come when I finally “had sex” (cause none of the above was sex. When I started attending sex conferences and researchers were sitting around with their cocktails discussing how contemporary adolescents do not consider oral sex to be sex, quite a few were shocked when I admitted that until I started studying and teaching sex, neither did I.)

Anyways, when the time came, in that cheap super eight off of highway six after I got off my shift at ihop and he had a five am physical to join the coast guard reserves in the morning, I didn’t come. I didn’t come the second time. Or the third. Or with the second guy. Or the third. Or the fourth. The fifth was nonconsensual, so an entirely different realm of sensations, orgasm not being among them.

After that particular moment, I swore off sex. A more comprehensive definition this time. I dated a wonderful woman, the first I had fallen in love with back in high school, but could not sleep with her. I dated an eccentric musician from Washington Square Park who didn’t believe in sex (not premarital, all sex. Even masturbation. The guy had issues. And he was dating me).

When new year’s came around, I made a resolution to heal and celebrate my sexuality, for myself. The first step was to have an orgasm already. I had seen Betty Dodson and Tristan Taormino speak (not to mention Leslie Feinberg). I had decided to be a sex educator. I was about to start leading workshops on sexual pleasure, and I still couldn’t pleasure myself. I felt like a total fraud.

But a fraud with a mission. I wanted to buy a vibrator. I had tried to buy one the previous spring. I tore an ad from the village voice for $10 pocket rockets. A male friend escorted me down to the sixth avenue sex shop. We walked in and were confronted with humongous black and tan jelly cocks. They were huge and they were everywhere. By the time we found the vibrators to discover the pocket rockets had sold out, my hair had braided itself into pigtails and I was ready to sprint. Not exactly a positive experience.

The second time, I was going to do it right. I researched online a www.babeland.com and www.blowfish.com . The customer and staff reviews at babeland were particularly helpful. I knew penetration wasn’t what I needed (I had had plenty and look where it had gotten me), so I focused on the clitoral vibes. I wanted something small and non-threatening but strong and adjustable. And reasonably priced. I settled on the honey bear. I recruited my roommate, who still isn’t exactly sex positive but has made steps, to escort me to Toys in Babeland on rivington between orchard and Ludlow. She hugged the wall by the books while I shyly ventured around the center table of vibrators. A staff person approached and asked if she could help out. I pulled out my notes and said I was looking for the honey bear. She found it right away, his arms raised like a clit hugging ballerina. She also pointed out the honey dog, which looked more like an anteater to me, with two dainty vibrating tongues. The honey bear fit discreetly in the palm on my hand. The remote was also palm length, the two connected by a white cord. I bought him without exploring the rest of the store. I took him home and named him Albert.

I had read enough Betty Dodson at this point not to pressure myself too much. For our first date, Albert and I got to know each other. I could feel something building stronger and stronger, as he gripped my clit, his body hugged by my labia. At the last minute I turned him off. I thought I was going to pee the bed or scream or something to let the building know what I was doing.

On our second date, both of my roommates were out. I took a bath (cause I’m in to super cheesy sexual firsts, just look at my virginity loss above) and dried off with my best fluffy towel. First I played with Albert on my breasts, pinching each nibble. I licked my left middle finger and started to stroke my clit. Then I moved Albert down. I settled him into place with the vibrations turned off. I stroked Albert as he pinched my clit, his body stimulating the legs of my clitoris and rubbing against my urethra.

I then turned him on low. I made sure to breath, watching my diaphragm rise and fall like theatre vocal warm-ups. I started having little shivers and jumps. I turned him up higher. I was breathing fairly hard at this point. I remembered Betty Dodson talking about kegel exercises. I clenched my vaginal muscles, tight, tight, tight, in time with my quick gasps of inhalations. I could feel it building again. My right hand raking my thigh started moving towards the controls to turn it down. I moved it to my breast and squeezed full palmed (in the same rough awkward grasp of so many jr high and high school conquests).

When I came I stopped breathing for two minutes. My body shook and my neck froze, head thrust back like a seizure victim. My toes curled and my fingers locked in their double jointed akimbo. Albert purred. I had made a new friend.

Since that first orgasm, I have been an advocate of sex toys. I took the next boy I slept with down to toys in babeland for a vibrating buttplug after our first night together. We later invested in a nexus and harness (named them henry and june). When we broke up he kept henry and I kept june, so I bought her a new cock. And I haven’t stopped collecting.

What I have learned in my three years of orgasms and sex toys. I like hard toys. Hard plastic and stainless steel and pyrex (and glass if I could afford it) are my friends. I like vibration outside and pressure inside (except in my ass where I like both). The double headed toys like the rabbit and the koi fish (kicks the rabbit’s ass) with a clit tickler and rotating shaft with pearls and such can easily be outdone by a slimline and a nubby-g. the rotating shaft does nothing for me vaginally, but I love rotating toys in my butt. Silicone is the best material ever made because it conducts heat and vibration and you can boil it and it comes in so many pretty pretty colors (but is not cheap). The most expensive toys are not the best toys. The best toys are rarely cheap.

In terms of first toys, start with the clit or something small with a wide rim if its for the ass. focus on sensation first, orgasm second, penetration third (for boys and girls). i love the honeybear and the bullet toys (make sure the toy is adjustable, i like scrolling speeds as opposed to low/medium/high or, even worse, on/off). slim lines are very versatile for girls, but under no circumstances are allowed up the ass. don't pay $80 for your first sex toy. start cheap and work your way up once you know what you like. always use condoms on your toys. again, wrap up your toys.

If you are interested in purchasing or exploring sex toys, I highly suggest blowfish and babeland.com, as well as good vibrations. If you are in the new york area, my second favorite sex toy shop (toys in babeland being my primary store) is fantasy world on 13th and 7th (24 hours and they sell sliquid h2o lube, my fave). Have fun and happy orgasms.

Jane Vincent is a freelance sex educator, smut writer, certified sex coach, former sex worker, and blue haired waitress who holds a BS in human sexuality. As the educated slut, she takes it to the streets and the sheets and lives to blog the tale at educatedslut.blogspot.com. She currently practices her unique blend of sexual activism in Houston, TX.

Call for Submissions

2006-02-13T09:20:00.000-08:00

Among the existing “first time” anthologies there remains a void – discussion of first orgasm. First orgasm is unique in its diversity as a common experience.

In my quest for orgasm, I researched heavily. I read instructional guides, watched films, and attended lectures. Sadly, most of what I found was geared towards forty-something married women with attentive partners. As a young single woman, I felt alienated. What little I could find that I related to seemed to focus on the mythical shower head. I would look up at my wall-mounted shower and wonder, “How the heck am I supposed to get my vagina up there?”

Now that my little sister is beginning her search for orgasm, I am hoping to provide her (and the rest of us) with a new resource – a collection of explicit personal essays on first orgasm.

I was hoping you would be interested in contributing to this collection of personal essays on first orgasm. Currently, the collection is being posted to O, my first orgasm at omyfirstorgasm.blogspot.com. I hope to create an anthology proposal out of the submissions. Please indicate in your reply if you would be interested in participating in the anthology, as well as the website.

Previously published works as well as brand spanking new pieces are welcome. We can not provide monetary remuneration at this time but are happy to link to your website. If the project makes the jump to print media, remuneration will be available.

Your piece can be as long or as short as it needs. Please creatively interpret the theme of first orgasm. For example, first orgasm could mean first in a certain circumstance, first alone, first with a partner, first in public, first with a group, first in front of a camera, first after an event, first with medication, first on Viagra, first with a vibrator, first female/male ejaculation, first with a woman, first with a man, first time faking (or not faking), first post transition, or first ever.

Although we are now accepting stories that occur before the age of 18, essays involving minors must be limited to solo sex scenes (no partners). If you were fortunate enough to experience your first orgasm with a partner before 18, please write about a different orgasm.

Please feel free to circulate this call for submissions.

Submissions should be emailed to omyfirstorgasm@yahoo.com.