I’ve always had a complicated relationship with sex. I don’t have a terrible past or even a horrible experience I can pin this on. It’s just that it has taken me a LONG time to get to a place where I am able to orgasm. Or even derive any pleasure from sex at all.
I was late in “losing my virginity”. Yes, I put that in quotation marks, because I think it’s such a ridiculous notion. Virginity is a social construct. So let me rephrase that. I didn’t have sex with a partner until I was in my twenties. I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of. I was curious about sex—sure—but the right person never came along and then it became such a big deal in my head, so I kept putting it off. I tried masturbation—you can’t really go through university without experimenting at least a little bit—but despite it feeling good, it didn’t feel as amazing as my friends all made it out to be. I even tried sex toys but to no avail. Maybe I existed too much in my own head, or maybe I just needed that special someone.
I met Mike when I had started my first job. He was sweet and gentle and very patient with me. I think he was a bit intimidated that he was my first one. Although why that would be, I can’t understand. I didn’t have anything to compare his exploits to, so he should have been totally confident. We had sex a couple of times and I loved the intimacy of it. I loved feeling his hard cock deep inside me, the weight of his body pinning me down on the bed. I loved his hot kisses on my neck, my breasts. But despite his best efforts, I didn’t come even close to an orgasm. It just didn’t happen for me. I was fine with that, but Mike didn’t stop obsessing over what he had done wrong. It had become a matter of honour for him to try to make me come. So much so that it became an issue in our relationship. I liked Mike, but I didn’t like that he made me feel broken. He kept talking about all the other women he had successfully satisfied, all the orgasms he had dispensed as if a woman’s orgasm was somehow within his control.
Needless to say, we broke up. I didn’t want to feel broken. I wasn’t broken. Not being able to have an orgasm frustrated me, sure, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy sex. I learned my lesson from that experience, though, and during the sexual encounters that followed—with lots of different men—I pretended to be ecstatic with their endeavours. I watched a lot of porn—studied it really—to make sure I was able to fake my pleasure convincingly. And I pulled it off. All the men I slept with loved how vocal I was, how much I loved their dicks, and how much pleasure they gave me. It wasn’t all fake, though. I did love sex. I did love their dicks, I just didn’t orgasm. And that was fine with me. Sexual encounters shouldn’t be defined by how big the orgasm was at the end. For me, an orgasm was never the goal.
That’s not to say that I wasn’t interested in experiencing the pleasure all my friends kept talking about. I started watching female focussed porn, looking at the faces of women when they came for real. I could see their bodies stiffen and their legs shake as the tidal wave of pleasure became too much and nearly drowned them. The more I watched, the more I longed to experience the same feelings. I slowly started becoming as obsessed with finding that pleasure as Mike had been with giving it to me. I read descriptions of orgasms: twitching cunts, puckered nipples, the gush of ejaculation (for the few that were lucky enough to be able to squirt). I read about the electric effects of having one’s clit stimulated, the spongy texture of an engorged G-spot. My fingers tried their best, but to no avail. My clit remained uncaring, my G-spot elusive. Maybe it was just not in the cards for me.
I had all but given up when I met Sofia. Sofia is the most passionate woman I’ve ever known. And not just in a sexual way. She loves life. She treasures the rain as much as she treasures the sun. She loves long walks on the beach, but can equally be happy sitting indoors reading a book. We met when she became my neighbour. I had brought her some flowers as a housewarming gift and she invited me in. From that day we often spent the evenings together: two single women sharing a meal and a few drinks. We talked until deep in the night. I don’t know why she was so keen on hanging out with me: I wasn’t exactly riveting company. But she invited me time and again, saying she loved chatting with me. The feeling was mutual: I loved hearing her stories of adventures she had been on.
As these things often go, we started talking about relationships and from that it’s a small step to sex. Not surprisingly, Sofia had quite a few lovers. She said she loved sex and openly talked about her masturbation habits. I won’t lie: I felt intimidated. I didn’t want to admit to her that I had never had an orgasm, or that I was incapable even of feeling intense pleasure during sex. I didn’t want her to think I was a freak.
One night, after a few glasses of wine, the truth came out. Rather than laugh at me, or express incredulity at my confession, she knitted together her eyebrows and puckered her lips.
“Do you trust me?” she asked.
I nodded. Sofia and I had been neighbours for a few months by that point and I had come to think of her more as a friend than a neighbour.
“Lie down and close your eyes.”
I raised my eyebrows but did as she asked.
“I don’t want you to do anything.” Her voice was soft and reassuring. “I just want you to listen to my voice. That’s all. Concentrate on my words and don’t think of anything else.”
I wasn’t sure how this would help me have pleasure during sex, but I was willing to give anything a try.
“Are you comfortable?”
I nodded. I was suddenly nervous and looked over at Sofia, who smiled encouragingly.
“I’m going to sit over here,” she said and took place in the armchair across the room. “I’m going to stay here and I won’t touch you. So just close your eyes and relax.”
“You’re not going to try and hypnotise me, are you?” I asked, suddenly wary. I had heard about that and wanted no part in something that could mess with my mind.
Sofia laughed. “No, nothing like that. I am going to tell you a story, that’s all. And afterwards, we can have a few drinks or you can go home. If it’s not for you, fine, but I want to try this.”
“A story?” I asked. I could hear how sceptical I sounded, but I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t a child anymore who needed a bedtime tale.
Sofia smiled. “Just a story. Now lie back and relax.”
I lay down but relaxing was easier said than done. What kind of story was Sofia going to tell me and how would that help my sex life?
I closed my eyes and exhaled. I could hear Sofia make herself comfortable in the armchair.
“I have a fantasy,” she started. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. I stopped fidgeting so I could hear her better.
“In this fantasy I’m in the woods. It’s a hot day; very, very hot. I’ve been for a hike, but I’m all sweaty and sticky. The air is still and oppressive. I would kill for a breeze, but the trees are quieter than I have ever heard them. Not a leaf rustles. I can feel the sweat trickle down my chest, between my breasts. My bra is digging into me and my shirt is starting to stick.”
Her voice was soothing, transporting me to the woods. I could feel the heat and I could have sworn I started sweating.
“I’m dying for relief,” Sofia’s voice continues, “but the woods are silent and seemingly endless. Then finally, I spot water up ahead. It’s a river!”
I sighed with happiness and I could feel my body react to the prospect of cooling down. I tried not to think about the effect the story was having on me. I wanted to stay in the fantasy.
“I run to the water and strip off my clothes. I don’t care who sees me, I want to feel the cold water on my skin. I step into the river. It’s deep enough so I can submerge myself completely. I give myself over to the coolness of the water, allowing the current to carry me downstream a little. I open my legs so the water can soothe my hot sex.”
I shifted on the couch, worried at the turn this story is taking. Worried, but also intrigued.
“I finally swim back to where my clothes are, but when I emerge from the water, I see someone there. It’s a man. He watches me get out of the river. I don’t make any attempt to conceal my nakedness. I want him to see me, to feast his eyes on my full breasts, on the drops of water that cling to the triangle of hair between my thighs. He doesn’t say anything as I walk towards him and bend over to pick up my shirt, using it to wipe the water from my face. We both know what will happen next, but I want to take my time. I stretch and the motion lifts my breasts. He needs no further prompting and steps closer to me. I smile and close the gap between us. His hands cup my breasts, his fingers pinching my nipples. Hot pleasure shoots to my cunt and I tilt my hips towards him.”
Sofia’s voice was still soft, but I felt as if she was shouting. An ache had started between my legs, an unfamiliar sensation that was both uncomfortable and welcome. I realised with a start that my nipples had hardened. I didn’t want to open my eyes, didn’t want to get away from the story. I wanted Sofia to continue. Her voice captivated me and pulled me along.
Sofia paused for a moment and then continued. “The man grabs my hips and pulls me even closer. I can feel his erection against my mound. I don’t waste any time. I fumble with his zipper and then I drag his trousers down. His cock is big and rock hard. He steps out of his trousers and leads me to a rock near the river. He lifts me up and sets me on the rock. I willingly spread my legs for him. My cunt is dripping with desire. He takes his place between my inviting thighs and I wrap my legs around him. His cock finds my entrance and he buries himself deep inside me. I can’t help but gasp as he fills me completely. I rock my hips against him, urging him to take me hard and fast. He gets the message and lifts me slightly so he can penetrate me even deeper. Pleasure fills every fibre of my being as he pounds into me. He tilts his hips so my clit grinds against his pelvic bone. I don’t care who hears me: I scream and moan and beg for him to make me come. He bends his head and sucks my nipples in turn, in a steady pattern that drives me over the edge. I cling to him as I come hard around his cock. He grunts as he pumps his seed deep inside me.
And then it is over. He slides out of me, leaving me sticky and sweaty and achingly empty. Without saying a word, he puts his trousers back on and leaves.”
Sofia stopped talking and I could barely breathe. The ache between my legs was hot and urgent and I wanted to leave. I was embarrassed about my reaction to this story, embarrassed but also excited. I had never felt like this before.
“Open your eyes,” Sofia told me.
I opened them and blinked. I sat up, feeling shaky.
“Do you want to go home?” Sofia asked gently. There was no judgement on her face.
“I do.” My voice was hoarse.
Sofia nodded. I got up from the sofa and grabbed my bag. Suddenly I felt in a rush to be alone, to deal with this ache.
“Speaking out your fantasy aloud can be very powerful,” Sofia said.
I noticed her eyes shone brighter than before and I wondered if she was as turned on as I was. “That was very sexy,” I said. I felt the need to address it somehow.
Sofia nodded. “You should try it yourself sometime. Tell your fantasy, even if it’s just to yourself. Tell the story aloud, and don’t rush it. You need the build-up before the release. Sometimes it takes a long story, which is fine. Enjoy the telling of the fantasy and the rest will follow.”
I kissed her cheek. “Thank you for that.”
Back at home, some of the urgency had left my pussy, but that was all right. I undressed slowly and made myself comfortable on my armchair wearing only my jumper and my panties which were quite damp. I felt a bit silly being alone and being very turned on. At the same time, I wanted to explore this idea further without rushing it.
Not wanting my horniness to leave, I grabbed a book, trying to focus on the story without rushing into anything. I was too afraid that I wouldn’t be able to make myself come, even though I felt different than I had ever felt before.
Unable to concentrate on my book any longer, I put it aside. I got up, a little restless and still very aroused. I sat down again, on a stool this time. Then I took Sofia’s advice. I started telling myself a story. A fantasy I had had but had never given voice to.
“I stand in the kitchen,” I whispered. “A man stands behind me and starts stroking my neck.” I stroked my neck, briefly closing my eyes and imagining it is the man from my fantasy.
The ache in my cunt returned. I stopped feeling silly about whispering to myself and continued my fantasy. I caressed my body, rubbing the soft fabric of my jumper over my breasts. My nipples reacted to the stimulation and I took time exploring how they felt while being rubbed. I kept whispering my fantasy as heat gathered between my legs. I wanted to reach down and rub my pussy, but I was afraid all this was going to be in vain again. I concentrated on the story, listening to my own whispered words. I could feel the man’s cock against me as I caressed myself. I released one breast from my jumper and pinched the nipple. I gasped as pleasure shot through me. My cunt was practically screaming to be touched, so I let my hand wander downwards. My fingers skimmed over the soft fabric of my panties. I gasped at how swollen my sex felt. As I whispered my story, I pulled my panties aside. My cunt was dripping with desire.
I touched my sodden sex, my fingers sliding easily through my slit. When they connected with my clit I couldn’t help but moan. Oh god, that felt so amazing! I finally knew what everyone had been talking about. Sparks of electricity ran from my clit throughout my body.
Take it easy, Sofia had said, so I did. My whispered words made me wetter than I ever could have imagined being. My clit grew under my strumming fingers. I moaned and gasped around my words as wave after wave of the most intense feeling imaginable crashed over me. I slipped a finger inside me. My cunt was tight, hot and wet. I could feel the spongy texture of my G-spot and almost cry with relief. I caressed my cunt, alternating between rubbing my G-spot and my clitoris.
My juices made it easy to slide my fingers over and into my throbbing sex. Tension built inside me—not the tension that comes from the frustration of not getting satisfaction, but another, delicious type of tension. I felt like a dam in which water builds and builds until it can’t withstand the pressure any longer.
I struggled to focus on my story, but I forced myself to continue speaking the words. My story had to end before the dam broke. I slowed my hand, turning my rubs into caresses. Even the gentlest sliding of my fingers increased the pleasure coursing through my body. I settled into a pattern while I whispered the last words of my story: a caress of my clit followed by pressure on my G-spot.
When my orgasm hit me, I was unprepared. Contractions started deep inside me, making my cunt convulse around my fingers. My legs started shaking and a heaviness descended on my limbs. My skin tingled and I felt more relaxed than I ever had in my life. I slumped on the stool, unable to sit upright any longer and gave myself over to the tidal wave of pure ecstasy. Hot liquid gushed over my fingers, soaking the stool beneath me.
When I had finally regained my breath I dragged myself to the sofa. I covered myself with a blanket. I was so happy I had opened up to Sofia about not being able to get an orgasm. The way she had shown me how to seduce myself with my voice had changed my life and I would be forever in her debt.
Before I drifted off to sleep I resolved to spend the next days—weeks—seducing myself by whispering different sexual fantasies I had had. It was going to be fun!
