A few weeks ago I wrote about orgasm edging, and I ruffled some feathers, especially for those lovely readers who are anorgasmic. I am very sorry! This was not my intention.
When I wrote that aside from bonding, “the point of sex is achieving orgasm,” I didn't mean to negate all of the other gushy-good feelings that come without orgasming.
I felt especially bad about this oversight because I myself have some major issues when it comes to coming. This is why I play with edging in the first place! Later in the edging piece, I also wrote “When I first started having orgasms, I was just so excited to be coming at all that I was never really concerned with quality. Since then, I have become a smidge more sexually entitled.”
I spent a very very long time unable to orgasm. And once I did start getting there, it was few and far in between. THIS is why I got into edging in the first place. If it's hard for me to come, then when I do get there, I want it to be the best fucking orgasm, ever.
I have never divulged this much personal information in the Internet, and I'm kind of nervous, guys! So, here we go: Out of the fistfuls of people I have slept with, only a select few have given me an orgasm. I don't like to count my bones, but I do know that it is a very scant percent. Probably about 5 percent. I still write a select few holiday cards signed "with love, Zoe's vagina."
While I would like to blame this shortage of orgasms on the ineptitude of the people I have slept with, that is not the culprit. Sure, some of them have been sexually self-centered but most have genuinely tried to reciprocate. Unfortunately, I have orgasm anxiety.
It all started at 13 when my first real finger-banger boyfriend and I would go at it in someone's basement until I would feel this extreme pressure build up. At that moment I would freak out, shove him off me, exclaim "I HAVE TO PEE," and run out of the room. Every.Fucking.Time.
Over the background noise of "Saving Private Ryan," Finger-Banger boy would try and tell me I didn't really have to pee. He knew what was up, but I didn't believe him. I would freak out every time. Once he even tried to lay all of his body weight on top of me to prevent me from running away as he continued to spin tracks on my lady bits.
This humorous albeit mildly traumatizing situation kickstarted my orgasm anxiety, and the neurosis was furthered by a handful of insensitive partners who would complain about the fact that I never orgasmed, or about having to labor over me fruitlessly.
Add to this the time a boyfriend drunkenly fell asleep while servicing me, and the time another boyfriend got a bloody nose face-down in my vagina, and voila! Full blown orgasm anxiety.
But what does this mean? It means that whenever I am doing any sort of sex act that isn't stimulating me AND my partner, I am so anxious that I can't come. Basically, when I am pillow princessing, I am convinced my partner is secretly resenting me and my needy vagina.
I am anxious that they are bored and wishing I would hurry up and come already. And of course, in angsting over how long it is taking me to come, it takes me even longer -- or prevents me from getting there at all.
After my basement freakouts, I was “sexually active” for a solid 7 years before I landed my first O, which, mind you, felt NOTHING like peeing. I'm not sure what was going on in my 13-year-old brain, but am guessing it was because I had even less of a handle on my body then than I do now.
When I was younger, I faked a ton of orgasms. Mostly, this was because my partners would become increasingly frustrated at my inability to have one. Even though I was having a great time sans orgasm, most of them felt pressure to get me there, and this pressure leaked all over me, making me even more riddled with anxiety, and then I faked a zillion orgasms which only took me further from the real deal.
Some people call this inability to orgasm “preorgasmic,” but I like to call it “anorgasmic,” because preorgasmic makes it seem like eventually, you must come, and this may not be the case for all.
So how did I finally get there? I came clean. I was dating someone new, and I confessed that I had never had an orgasm, and I didn't know if I ever would. Once that was out there, the pressure to come was diminished. He was really attentive and wonderful and made me feel safe. As our relationship progressed, and I began to feel more and more comfortable with him, my anxiety began to waver.
Eventually, I had my first O, and after that, I started masturbating on the regular to get myself more comfortable with it. I know, I know! I probably should have taken up masturbation like 7 years earlier. I can assure you I am making up for lost time.
I am completely aware that this is an absurd anxiety. I like to get my partners off, even if there is nothing in it for me other than a sticky face and a smile. So I should assume the feeling is mutual. If I am in the moment, happily slurping a D or whatever, I am never wishing they would hurry up and get off. I am mostly trying to do the best job I can. Employee of the month, right here.
I know that I should assume that my partner is just as into what they're doing. If they voluntarily agreed to get up in me, then they are probably enjoying it. They are rubbing my vagina, not doing my taxes. I should assume they are excited about the task at hand.
BUT I CAN'T. From the minute someone starts going down on me, or attending to my needs in any way that doesn't also serve them, I am convinced they are hating their lives. It's ridiculous, but I can't shake it. As soon as I start to feel real good, my brain goes on some self-hating, orgasm-thwarting monologue about how my partner is probably bored out of their mind.
In order to calm down enough to come, I need to feel extremely safe and secure. I have even asked partners to verbally affirm that they are happy with what they're doing: “I want to make you feel good. I want to make you come.” I give myself sexually entitled pep talks all the time: “You deserve to come.” I have come a long way.
This is why I love edging. Once I get in the head space where I can come, I want to make the best of it. It is also why, when single, I rarely ever have one night stands. I'd rather go home with myself. At least I am a sure thing...
I am pretty insecure about revealing all of this on the Internet, so if you could please share your sexual anxieties in the comments, it would make me feel much better about myself. Also, tell me funny sex stories. Oh, and follow me on Twitter for more sexual neurosis.