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Progress Report: G-Spot Orgasms (Take Three)

Kate Sloan

When I first wrote about my G-spot here, I had figured out how to make it feel good and swell up, but that was about as far as I’d gone. When I wrote an update a couple weeks later, I had given myself a seemingly “blended” orgasm by using a very intense G-spotting dildo in conjunction with a reliably excellent clit toy.

This time, I’m checking in to let you know that, for the first time I can remember, I managed to achieve a seriously intense, blended orgasm during intercourse with my boyfriend.

It started out innocently enough. At around 4AM, we dragged ourselves to bed, wanting sleep but also wanting to fit in a little “intimate time” before nodding off. We agreed that it would have to be slow and lazy sex, because neither of us had the energy for the hard ramming that is usually my preference.

Earlier that day, I’d been reading Deborah Sundahl’s book (yes, still – I’m a slow reader, okay?!) and she mentioned that it’s sometimes helpful for a man to concentrate on rubbing his coronal ridge over the G-spot with every thrust. I told this to my boyfriend and he accepted the challenge.

I was on my period, and feeling slightly self-conscious about my ladybits, so we skipped our usual foreplay and cut right to the chase. My man condom’ed and lubed his cock, I grabbed my Eroscillator (my clit’s best friend, and a perfect choice for those times when I’m too exhausted to rub myself during sex or just can’t be bothered), and we got down to business.

Normally my G-spot needs a good amount of prep and warm-up before it becomes sensitive enough to register pleasure, but as Ms. Sundahl predicted, my spot seems to gain sensitivity the more I use it and the more I focus on its sensations. So when my man slid into me, there was vaginal pleasure almost immediately.

Using a vibrating (or oscillating) toy during sex presents an advantage over using my hand, which is this: I don’t have to think when I’m Eroscillating my clit. I just have to turn it on and hold it there, and maybe increase the speed after a while. This makes it ideal for trying to induce internal orgasms because it allows me to focus all my attention on my G-spot.

And focus, I did. As the Eroscillator trembled faithfully against my clit, I directed all my awareness onto the feeling of my man’s cock sliding over my G-spot again and again (he is very, very good at locating my spot, and seems to only get better as time goes on). I was in another world; normally I’m mentally present enough to be aware of how I’m moving, the sounds I’m making, the way my boyfriend might be experiencing the interaction, but this time, the pleasure was so great and so deep that I didn’t notice any of that stuff. I probably looked like a total lunatic, but who cares?

After less than five minutes (very uncharacteristic for me when there’s no foreplay involved, and especially when I’m tired), I was suddenly hit with a super-strong, profound, internal, indescribable tidal wave of an orgasm. I let out a cry which my boyfriend later told me was loud enough to make him worry it’d wake the neighbors.

It was a different quality of orgasm than I’ve ever experienced before. Not only was it deeper and stronger, but it left me with a feeling of utter exhaustion and satisfaction that I only very rarely get from clitoral-only orgasms (after an hour-long cunnilingus session, for example). It was so all-consuming that I felt like I could barely move afterward. It was difficult to even sit up in bed for long enough to put my menstrual cup back in. And I fell asleep seemingly within seconds after lying back down.

We’re going to experiment more with this combination of techniques to see if it’s a reliable way to give me these splendiferous blended orgasms. I’m going to attempt to lower the amount of clitoral stimulation (for example, by keeping the Eroscillator on its lowest setting) so I’ll be forced to rely more and more on the G-spot stim to get off. I think this could be a very important step toward my eventual ability to get off with my G-spot alone. (And honestly, if that never fully happens, I won’t even care. Just let me have more of those glorious orgasms!)

Readers: If you can have G-spot orgasms, how did you first learn to do so? Any tips for a n00b like me? If you haven’t yet mastered your G-spot, what methods have you tried? What methods have you yet to try?

Story Time: My First Girlfriend

Kate Sloan

There’s nothing quite like being freshly out of the closet.

Once the smoke has cleared and you’re no longer dealing with a daily onslaught of reactions to your announcement, you can see the enormous horizons in front of you. You can see all the people who you now have permission to date and to fuck. And it’s a freeing, though incredibly terrifying, feeling.

I came out as bi when I was fifteen, after I realized that a raver chick who’d been flirting with me was actually pretty attractive. Not just in an “Oh hey, I like her outfit” kind of way, but in an “I wouldn’t mind if she pinned me against a wall and kissed me til my lips bruise” kind of way.

The raver girl got a boyfriend just before school let out for the summer. I remember being crushed when, on the last day of ninth grade, I stood by the front doors and watched her walk out, hand in hand with her new man (or should I say, boy). I had this sense that she was the only girl in possession of the key to my bisexuality, and I’d have to give up on girls forever now. It was silly, but it was how I felt.

But when we got back to school after the summer of my first Pride, I noticed a new girl. A charming, awkward, witty, intelligent girl who loved Edward Albee and potato latkes. Her gender presentation veered toward androgyny, and she proudly self-identified with the word “dyke,” but she was nowhere near butch. To this day, I still have a thing for girls who are boyish as hell but still very much girls (which I realize is hard to conceptualize and visualize – it’s more of a “vibe” thing, I suppose).

She wrote to me online to tell me she liked something I’d written, some story I’d read aloud in the English class we’d shared in the previous school year. We sent messages back and forth after that, rarely encountering each other at school but encountering each other multiple times a day in our online haunts. We talked about books and films and strange societal phenomena.

I remember standing at the sinks in the girls’ bathroom with my best friend at the time, and telling her, “I think I have a crush on that girl I’ve been talking to.” My friend said, “You should ask her out!” Like it was so simple. Like I was that brave. Like I was ready to take on my first relationship, period, let alone my first queer relationship.

It took me an entire month to build up a sense that The Girl actually liked me, in some way beyond just admiring my writing and my taste in horror flicks. But she did. I was almost certain of it. The way she looked up at me demurely when I walked by her group of friends at lunch, the way she snuck out of detention just to talk to me for a few short minutes, the way she kept mentioning her gayness and my biness as if to confirm the compatibility of the two. It seemed almost like an invitation.

Once, on the subway, I leaned forward to hug her just as the train was pulling into my stop, and it suddenly jerked, causing me to fall right into her. Body contact. Words caught somewhere in my esophagus. I gasped and giggled and rushed off the train, euphoric.

So it was finally time to do something about it.

I wrote her a letter, though “assembled” would probably be a better word, since it was actually just an annotated collection of excerpts from my journal. The excerpts explained that I really, really liked her, that I wanted to be with her and thought she was wonderful and thought about kissing her. Mushy crap that I figured she would like.

After shoving the letter nervously into her hands at the very end of a party, I said goodbye and rushed home. I didn’t want to be anywhere near her when she read that thing. I wanted to be far enough away that she could completely ignore me if she wanted to.

But she didn’t want to. My phone rang shortly after I arrived home.

“Hello?”
“Hi.” It was her.
“Hi.” I felt like I’d been dunked in ice.
“Hi. So… we should date.”

And so began the most gutwrenching and romantically titillating few weeks of my life thus far.

To be continued…?

Readers: Have any romantic stories from your youth to share? Did your first boyfriend/girlfriend live up to your expectations of relationships? How have you grown since then?

The Charm of Cunnilingus

Kate Sloan

Sometimes I ask myself why I’m so obsessed with cunnilingus. The word, the concept, the act, all loom large in my sexual fantasies and my sexual life. When I filled out compatibility questions for OkCupid, I made it mandatory that all potential matches “love performing oral sex.” That’s how into cunnilingus I am.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s a proclivity that developed due to the fact that my first sexual relationship consisted almost entirely of cunnilingus… but when I’m honest with myself, I know that the preoccupation dates back further than that. I remember writing oral-soaked fan fiction when I was a wee thing. I remember masturbating by rubbing my teddy bear’s face against my vulva. I remember imagining that the bath water cascading onto my clit was the tongue of an attentive lover.

Some time ago, I started a cunnilingus-themed blog, its aim to collect a whole bunch of images, text, and videos on the topic into one area, for fellow enthusiasts to enjoy. I was proud of the blog, and treasured the feeling that I was filling a void where there had been very little before. But as proud as I was, it was still difficult for me to tell my boyfriend (who, at the time, I’d only been dating for a month or two) about my blog, because I worried he’d think I was some kind of oral sex addict. I didn’t want to come off as sexually selfish.

After he started going down on me regularly, though, I felt like the taboo was lifted. He was clearly a fan of it too (hell, we’d met on OkCupid, which I’d set up to guarantee this for me) and I felt able to open up about my sexual obsession. I told him about my blog, and we discussed what made cunnilingus such a magical, beautiful thing.

Here’s my theory:

Penises want warm, wet things to surround them. That is their goal in life. So whether it be a pussy or a mouth or a well-lubed ass, that need is being met fairly regularly for the vast majority of men in sexual relationships.

The clitoris is analogous to the penis, so it stands to reason that it would crave the same warm, wet sensations – but it doesn’t get them in most typical forms of sex and masturbation. Doesn’t matter how intense the vibrator, how fast the fingers, or how well-angled the pubic bone – it’s not warm, it’s not wet, it’s not entirely fulfilling (at least in my case).

In that way, I feel that it would be 100% reasonable and expectable for a woman to consider cunnilingus mandatory in all of her sexual relationships. Naturally, not every woman likes receiving oral sex and not every partner is interested in giving it, but no woman should ever be shamed out of asking for oral if it’s what she wants. It’s every bit as valid, important, and wonderful as a blowjob could ever be.

I also feel that, as women, we are constantly being told that there’s something wrong with our genitals – clit too big, labia too long, pussy too loose, too tangy, too smelly, what have you – and so there’s something incredibly powerful about someone being willing, even wanting, to take all that into their mouth. True, there are also men who feel ashamed of their junk, but I don’t think it’s as systematic and pervasive as vagina-hate.

To this day, cunnilingus is still the fastest way to get me going. I would almost consider it a fetish (though, arguably, “standard” sexual acts can’t really be “fetishes,” since they aren’t exactly deviant or different) because I pretty much have to be either receiving it or thinking about it to be able to reach orgasm.

I’m lucky enough to have a lover who loves the whole concept of pussy-eating as much as I do. It’s a part of our experience almost every time we have sex, because it’s something we mutually enjoy very much. And it helps get me primed so I can come much easier during intercourse – always a plus, for both of us!

I wish I could go back in time and talk to my younger self. After giving her a loving lecture on the importance of self-acceptance and not giving a damn what anyone thinks, I’d add, “You know how you love the idea of someone going down on you? Yeah, that’s going to happen a lot when you’re older. Just wait it out.” I know she’d be totally stoked.

Readers: What’s your relationship with cunnilingus? What are your thoughts on how it’s depicted in porn and mainstream media? Got any recommendations of must-see videos, images, or text for a cunnilingus enthusiast?

I’m Dating a Demisexual!

Kate Sloan

Have you ever heard of demisexuality?

It’s okay if you haven’t. I hadn’t either, until I read a post on a friend’s blog, a response to a woman who had recently come out to her mother as being demisexual (i.e. she doesn’t experience sexual attractions to people unless she already has a strong emotional bond with them).

The argument against this woman (which I do not necessarily agree with – I’m still not entirely sure) was twofold:

1. You should not use LGBT terminology like “coming out” to apply to an identity that is not nearly as oppressed or disadvantaged as LGBT identities are.

2. You should not regard demisexuality as a legitimate identity, because it’s just a way to slut-shame women who don’t need to be emotionally connected to someone to have sex with them.

Initially, as a queer and sex-loving woman, I thought, “Yeah! Stop appropriating our terms and making other folks feel shitty for enjoying loveless sex!”

And then my boyfriend told me he believed himself to be demisexual.

Obviously, this required me to re-examine my beliefs about this orientation. And I realized what I always end up realizing when I initially reject someone’s self-professed labels: We each get to choose how we identify, and it’s no one else’s place to dispute that.

The thing is, there are people who genuinely aren’t sexually interested in folks until they know them a lot better (or, to quote Ewan McGregor’s character in the movie Down With Love, “all the way better”). It’s not intended to slut-shame on any level; it’s not a case of sexual elitism or puritanical ethics; it’s just the way their brains work. And if they feel like they want to use terminology like “coming out” to describe their experiences, we should allow them to do so… provided they are willing to accept the fact that they are (assuming they’re also straight) inherently privileged and not oppressed to nearly the same degree that LGBT people are.

Look, no one’s going to call you a freak for wanting to wait until you know someone better to have sex with them – no one, at least, who isn’t either totally stupid or totally joking. No one’s going to try to strip you of your basic human rights for being sexually choosy. So yeah, it’s probably going to piss some people off if you try to group yourself in with other non-standard sexual identities like gay or asexual or even kinky. That’s something you basically have to be willing to deal with if you want to proudly identify as demisexual.

As for the practicalities of dating someone who’s demisexual, here’s what I can tell you:

1. When we’re out and about together – walking down the street, getting drinks at a bar, whatever – I will occasionally see people that I find attractive. People who, if I were single, I might flirt with. People who seem cute and fuckable to me. By contrast, this never happens to my boyfriend. Literally never. If I point out some girl and say, “Wow, look at that foxy lady,” my man might acknowledge that said woman is pretty or is wearing a nice outfit, but he will express ambivalence on the topic of whether or not she is sexy or whether he would “do” her. I find this a bit vexing.

2. Recently I told my boyfriend that I sometimes wished our relationship was closer to “monogamish” than monogamous – that I would feel happier within our relationship if I were able to kiss and flirt with other people on occasion. While he was okay with this, and readily agreed to this “rule change” in our relationship, he could not fathom feeling how I felt. He could not identify with my need for the excitement of pursuing, and being pursued by, other people. I tried to explain it to him, but he couldn’t really get his head around it.

3. He is much more interested in emotionally-based sex than I am. I’m not sure if this is because he’s demisexual, or just because he’s a gentle, sensitive kind of guy (or maybe they’re related?), but it’s very noticeable. Sometimes I joke that, in some ways, he’s “the girl” in parts of our sexual union, because if he had it his way, I think we would always have slow sex in missionary position. I, on the other hand, would be happy to have hard, fast, doggie-style sex almost every time. We both enjoy having sex both ways (and other ways too), but it’s clear that we each have our favorite way, and they differ.

I believe strongly that the universe delivered me exactly the kind of lover that I was yearning for in the months before I met him. My previous boyfriend had exhibited signs of possibly being very bad at monogamy, and so I felt an acute desire to be with someone who had eyes only for me. So of course, I ended up with a demisexual – someone who can be hit on by a random hot person and have no interest in them whatsoever. I find it amazing how this worked out.

This is a huge topic, one I have a lot of interest in and haven’t yet formulated strong opinions on. So I have to ask you, readers: What’s your take on demisexuality? Do you think it’s a legitimate identity? Are you at all offended by it? Do you know any demisexuals? Tell me all about it!

10 Sexy Things I Appreciate About My Boyfriend

Kate Sloan

1. He uses toys on me, enthusiastically and often. He is also totally thrilled that I review sex toys now, because we have all these fun new things to play with all the time. Some of my best orgasms ever have occurred while he was licking my clit and thrusting a toy inside me (a particular favorite for this purpose is the Lelo Mona). Seriously, the man knows his way around a dildo.

2. I told him once, long ago, that before inserting a toy into me, he should lube it up, either with actual lube or just by sticking it in his mouth for a few seconds. Ever since then, he’s typically begun each toy-play session by basically giving it a blowjob in front of me. He’s completely straight, but he knows it delights me to see him do this – not only because it’s hot, but because it reminds me how happy I am to have a sex-positive and open-minded boyfriend – so he does it every time.

3. He’s uncut. Fuck yes. I don’t mean to be insulting to dudes with circumcised cocks, and it’s just a matter of personal preference, but damn, do I love me some foreskin. It’s easy to operate, and smooth, and fun to play with. A++, would jerk again.

4. He fucking loves cunnilingus. Like, probably as much as I do. We met on OkCupid and I made sure to mark the “do you enjoy giving oral sex?” question as “very important” for my matches; I do not regret this decision. Receiving impassioned oral from a dedicated lover is one of life’s greatest pleasures, methinks.

5. Not only does he love cunnilingus, but he understands its importance in the grander scheme of sex. He understands that I need to be well-lubricated and turned on for intercourse to feel good. He understands that I need warm-up if I’m going to be able to masturbate to orgasm while he’s inside me. And he understands that good, enthusiastic oral can make me feel more loved and appreciated than almost anything else I can think of.

6. He’s adventurous. We’ve attempted some kink, a bit of roleplaying, a few silly positions. We’ve experimented with weird toys, for me and for him. We’ve laughed at our fumbles and moved on to have progressively better and better sex as time has gone on. Sex is like a game – you have to keep moving, you have to try new strategies and tricks to achieve your goals.

7. He knows how to use his cock. When we first met, he hadn’t had much experience with straight-up intercourse, and was nervous about his abilities – but over the year we’ve been having sex, he’s learned. Oh boy, has he learned. He can hit my G-spot with stunning accuracy, and often at high speeds. He seems to know the exact angle and pressure I need from him to help me get off during PIV. It’s extremely impressive and I don’t commend him enough for it.

8. He communicates. I mean, he’s dating me, so of course he does – but he does it well, and without complaint. When we have a problem, sexual, romantic, or otherwise, we discuss it until a solution is found and the issue dissipates. We’re both good at asking for what we want, even in the middle of the action. We don’t have to use coy metaphors and embarrassed phrasings – we just say it, whatever it is. Communication is the cure for bad sex, which is why ours is so damn good.

9. He doesn’t see penetration as the be-all and end-all of sex. We frequently have “intimate times” that involve using only our hands and mouths on each other, and neither of us views that as a downgrade of any kind. When I want to be fucked, I know he can deliver, but I greatly appreciate the fact that he values hand and mouth sex as much as I do – as much as everyone should.

10. He’s really fucking handsome. His face, hair, hands, mouth, arms, ass, and cock are totally enticing. And he smells how I imagine George Clooney would smell after a day at the beach. Is there anything sexier than a smart man who smells good? I doubt it.