The story of one woman’s quest for the perfect climax
I’ve always found it really easy to come. Without fail, I come every time I masturbate – perhaps no surprise there. But I also come every time I am penetrated, including during my first time. In more pedestrian terms, I’ve come (unintentionally) during a tennis match, and regularly on the bus (when they stop at traffic lights and the engine starts really hammering). And several times I’ve come because the moment has been so damn erotic I just couldn’t stop myself – and my partner hasn’t so much as laid a finger on me.
I’m not a freak of nature. I believe every woman can have an orgasmic scorecard like mine. Read on and I’ll explain.
When I first started talking about sex with my girlfriends I was at university, all of us in our late teens, early twenties. We felt liberated to talk so intimately and in such loud and intricate detail about our vaginas, our outrageous indiscretions and, of course, the various sizes, styles and shortcomings of the men we’d come across in our – we admitted it – short-lived and inadequate sexual adventures.
Of course, over a few bottles of wine a few tall tales were told. I remember one girl who gloated enthusiastically about her exploits – she’d had loads of blokes and everyone looked up to her as though she was some kind of sexual sage. It was to me she confessed the truth. Fact was, although certainly not a virgin, she’d actually had few successful sexual experiences. Although she pulled plenty of guys, she only ever got them into bed for a cuddle and a fumble and only saw it though if she was drunk enough, in which case she had no memory of the sex anyway. Her reputation had been built on her own big mouth.
Personally, I didn’t brag. I didn’t feel the need.
So what about my first time? Not much to tell, first times are as overrated as foreplay in my mind. We were both seventeen, both drunk, both in a rush to get ‘it’ over and done with. I could describe it in more detail but I don’t think it would get you in the mood. To summarise: there was a cock that was just about hard enough, a brief lick of my virgin pussy to allow his cock to slide in (just about), followed by a little bit of wriggling. Bang. After a little time – I can’t really remember but it wasn’t long – I came. The wriggling was key, but more on this later.
I need to go back, not to the night I lost my virginity but further back, to the rather more memorable night I had my first orgasm. I was about thirteen or fourteen, home in bed watching a drama on TV about nuns. I don’t know how relevant the subject matter of the TV show was, but I rather absent-mindedly began stroking myself between my legs, parting my lips with my fingers and feeling the bud of my clit and how my inner lips began to grow more and more moist with each stroke of my fingertips. The warm feeling that was growing inside me was stirring my body to life and creating a rhythm that would, eventually, lead to an intense climax. And what a climax! It’s not the easiest thing in the world to describe as it’s so much more than a racing heartbeat and the tingling below. It’s probably the reason people use clichés about the earth moving and being scraped off the ceiling. But still, my first ever rapture was astonishing. It carried me somewhere else, away from my adolescent growing pains, away from my room, away to a place of bliss and peace.
I got greedy. I didn’t masturbate every single night, preferring to treat myself when the conditions were right. Instead my gluttony was to do with the number and intensity of my orgasms each session. I started having a minimum of six each time, anything less just didn’t sate me. I had also noticed that some were better than others and became positively academic in my study of how they were achieved. I came to know my vagina profoundly and to me she was a beautiful gift that I was to cherish and reward for the pleasure she gave me.
The introduction of men into my sex life at seventeen didn’t help my research into the understanding of my brilliant orgasms. On the contrary, my research took a back seat to my voracious sexual appetite. I positively consumed men and the happy by-product of this was a healthy orgasm quota. By the time I was 26 I’d had 87 sexual partners and yes, I’d come with every single one of them. Trying to work out how many orgasms I’ve had makes my brain hurt but a conservative estimate would be about 10,000.
It wasn’t until I had my first sexual encounter without an orgasm that I resumed my studies. In earnest and with a very great sense of urgency.
I’d been seeing Leo for a couple of months and I couldn’t fault our sex life. I would put it right up there in my top ten in fact. His cock was something I considered to be almost as beautiful as my beloved vagina and his appetite was on a par with mine – in itself a rare and wonderful thing.
One night, we stumbled home from a party, horny as hell as usual but exhausted, I more than him. Falling onto the bed fully clothed I opened my legs and he kneeled on the floor, putting his hands on each of my ankles before trailing his fingertips up my legs, over my calves to my knees where he met the hem of my skirt and pushed the fabric out of the way to reveal my panties which he deftly removed. At which point I expected to feel the head of his cock against my wet pussy – he knew I would be impatient to have him inside me – but instead I felt the tickle of his hair against my thighs and then the gentle probing of his tongue as he began to unwrap me.
I enjoyed oral sex of course and I had drenched Leo’s mouth in my juices many a time. He was a man who took great pride in varying his approach, a man who adored the rich scent of a woman, and had unerring stamina. More often than not I didn’t let him stay down for long, my head would quickly fill with the determined voice of my beloved c**t, demanding to be filled with his cock. But this night I had not the energy to speak for her and command him up, never mind throw him beneath me to ride him. So instead I relaxed, sinking deep into the feathery embrace of the duvet, and enjoyed the growing warmth as my pussy began to sing to me.
First he circled my lips with his tongue, then he would flick my clit musically, then I would feel a finger deep inside me, querying and coaxing whilst still he teased and kissed and sucked and… it went on for ages. I doubt Leo would have stopped and I was too stubborn to admit defeat at first. But then it began to slowly dawn on me. I wasn’t going to come. His touch was glorious and I loved every tender and urgent moment of it, but all he could do was grow a heat between my legs, he could not make me boil over.
As the certainty that I wouldn’t come dawned I became slightly agitated and, unable to accept a failed sexual encounter with him, I switched the focus to Leo. There was no chance I was going to fake it, I didn’t know how. Forcing myself to sit up I took his head between both my hands and pulled him away from me, then reached down to his cock and began to wank him off. The feel of his rigid cock in my hands made my pussy jump, clearly she was still in good working order, just in need of fine-tuning. He came quickly (lucky bastard), but I parked my envy and hauled him onto the bed for a pre-sleep embrace.
He fell into unconsciousness quickly while I stayed awake to ponder. I no longer felt deflated: I was now determined to get to the crux of things. My sexual history ran through my mind in flashback, from my first self-induced orgasm to the 10,000 others. I ran quickly through all the positions, postures, toys, tricks and kinks that had accompanied my many climaxes. There was no one thing I could find that was peculiar to my multi-orgasmic state. I came every which way and loose. So I turned my attention to this night. What was it about tonight that had made my dearest and most reliable friend abandon me?
I was no longer tired and my intense rumination on sex was re-awakening my ravenous pussy. I rolled onto my back, parted my legs a little to let her breathe and started to think about Leo licking me again, just as he had earlier. His wonderful technique was still a fresh and stimulating memory for me and before long the warmth returned and the tingling too. I began to pull air into my lungs quickly and deeply, connecting my mind to my c**t so they sung to each other in harmony and here came that ever so cherished and comforting feeling, a growing determination to be released from the tension, to feel the full force of my c**t’s wonderful presence.
I came. This time I came. And in that glorious instant of her first enunciation I got it, my epiphany; the culmination of my life’s work.
I slept soundly. A more satisfied and contented sleep I’d never had. And now the climax of my story. The answer you’ve all been waiting for. As the sun tickled my blinds at dawn I woke refreshed. Leo was still sleeping but his cock was awake and I was eager to test the truth of my revelation. I stood on the bed and put my feet either side of his head then lowered myself onto his face. As he roused and began to lap at me hungrily I hovered unmoving. The warmth returned, the tingling, but nothing more. Satisfied that I was now wet enough I dipped onto my knees and slid down his body so that I could feel his rigid cock against me, probing eagerly at my inner lips. I crouched over him then lowered myself onto him, guiding his cock inside me with one hand, using the other to gently tug at his balls.
Then I bounced, sliding up and down his cock, moving my hips in fluid circles, and varying my speed from slow to fast, taking him all the way deep inside me then teasing him so that just his tip would nestle me. I then sat down on him hard so that he filled me, moving my hips in circles again, then thrusting down so that I forced his already deeply embedded cock still further inside. I leaned forwards so that I could focus his shaft on just my clit and then the anticipation and urgency grew again. The intensity caused goosebumps and I panted and moaned and writhed and wriggled until with one ecstatic cry I was filled from head to toe with the rippling sensation of another magnificent orgasm.
Not just any orgasm but the first of the new, born from the certainty that I was the one that drove them, that I was the one who summoned them. My years of study and my unerring loyalty to my succulent and powerful friend had led her to unlock her most intimate secret.
I’m 26 and I’ve had more than 10,000 orgasms. I’ve worked hard for them. I deserved every one. And the many more to come.
