On the Hunt

After my nine month-long senior year high school relationship ended with zero orgasms to my name, I unofficially declared myself an Orgasm Hunter. I was determined to use my newfound freedom and confidence as a woman to find men with exceptional sexual prowess to finally release the sex goddess I’d always imagined was inside of me. Freshman year, I refused to have sex with anyone, but of all the guys I hooked up with only one managed to get me off, and that was with months of practice. I dated that guy, Adam, for all of sophomore year, and when we broke up, I was scared that it could be months or years before I found someone else who would be able to give me what I wanted again. Post break-up, my hookups were pretty frequent and consistent, but with the exception of one chemically enhanced fluke and more recently, my boyfriend Rob*, my only source of orgasms had been my vibrator.

This is not to say that most of the guys that I’ve hooked up with over the last three years are horrible in bed and don’t know what they’re doing. To be corny, an orgasm is not something that someone else gives to you — you have to, to a certain extent, take it for yourself. I firmly believe that I, like most women, will never have an orgasm purely through penetration; however, when it comes to cunnilingus, I now know that I’m not incapable. Just as a guy needs to have some basic technique or skills down in order to be “good” at giving head (or fingering, or having sex, or anything), none of it means anything if I’m not into it. During some of my first experiences with oral sex, I just closed my eyes tightly and hoped that it would work. I put so much pressure on myself; I would literally try to convince myself “this feels good, you should like this, ENJOY THIS, DAMNIT.” I soon discovered the power of fantasizing during oral sex, and it enhanced my experience considerably. (My favorite fantasy is an office scene; My employer can’t get any work done because he’s distracted by my inappropriate work dress, so he teaches me a lesson…) I’ve learned a lot about the things I like, the things I don’t like and how to explain what I want, but that doesn’t guarantee me an orgasm. After my breakup with Adam, I finally knew that I wasn’t a mutant, I knew it was possible, but it just wasn’t happening. The one time I came with Ethan* — a “revisit” from freshman year and jackass supreme — I was high and could literally feel my inhibitions melting away. I’d been thinking of sexual encounters like a science project with a natural progression: First came the kissing, then came the touching, then the shirt, then the bra and if he was lucky, off came the underwear. That night, I felt an urgency I’d never felt before, I found myself desperate to get naked and jump straight into things, but my sober brain said “no, it’s not time yet.” My altered state assured me that if I wanted to do something, I should do it, because it’s about pleasure. For the first time, instead of doing things they way I thought they should be done, I did things the way I felt they should be done, and it led to a fantastic orgasm. I hooked up with Ethan again days afterward, and once again, we were in the no cum zone. It wasn’t him and his technique, it was me and my ability (or inability) to let go with him.

What I’d learned about Rob through our quickly and intensely developed friendship very much encouraged my desire to become physical with him. Upon explaining to him that I’d met a guy who refuses to eat girls out, he simply replied, “that’s dumb.” When I explained to him how hard I was to please in bed, he assured me that his ex had been the same way and that it was just a matter of practice. When I asked him one cold December night what he was like in bed, he told me about how he likes to take his time, tease and be teased, and make sure that he makes his partner feel amazing. I literally pounced on him 30 minutes later, certain that I’d found the guy who was going to give me my next orgasm. That first night, we hooked up for eight (!) hours. It was almost 5 a.m. by the time his tongue found its way to my clit, and I could tell that he was exhausted. I just couldn’t enjoy myself knowing that, so I told him, “it’s okay, maybe some other time.” I didn’t have an orgasm that night but for the first time, I didn’t mind or care. It had still been the most sexual, sensual, pleasurable encounter I’d ever had up to that point. Months later I can still remember the way his hands felt on my waist, the electricity that coursed through my body as he teased me, and the sensation of his lips on my neck. Never had I felt so focused on what I was feeling, or so open to being pleasured for the sake of pleasure instead of reaching some distant goal. We hooked up again the next day, and I came in even less time than usual.

Sure, I was just looking for another orgasm when we started, but I ended up with much more. Besides the fact that we’ve been dating for months now, the experience made me realize that my problems were not physical, but emotional. I was having trouble having orgasms with men before simply because I didn’t feel safe or comfortable with them. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but now I firmly believe that that’s the real reason. Even after I’d learned to lay back and fantasize, I was still anxious about the men between my legs. Not only did I worry about whether I looked okay naked or if I tasted weird; I worried about whether they would become annoyed that I was taking so long to cum, that they saw oral sex as a chore, or that they may not be the nice guys I thought they were. I even worried about owing them something afterward, even if it wasn’t that great for me. With the men I felt little connection with, I couldn’t just sit back and enjoy. To be honest, I had always been only minimally physically attracted and severely emotionally disconnected from them. My lust never overcame my wandering thoughts.

I know this isn’t typical, and trust me, I’d love to be able to just have orgasms all over the place with anyone willing to offer them to me, but from my limited research it appears that I can only have orgasms with the guys with whom I end up in long term relationships. Perhaps my vagina has set up an intelligent internal selection process for me. Or maybe I just can’t let good cunnilingus go. In any case, it hasn’t steered me wrong yet. It’s taken me years to realize that despite my desire to be wild and play the field, random hookups just don’t work for me; perhaps with time and experience, that could change. I envy those girls who can cum at the drop of the hat with whomever whenever, but apparently (unfortunately?) that’s just not me.