In this post, I talk about my first orgasm. It’s vulnerable and tender to reveal.
What if you get aroused, reading it? That’s ok. I’m allowed to talk about my own past, and you’re allowed to have a reaction.
If you beat off, imagining me having my first orgasm, good for you. I might beat off imagining you beating off, right? It’s ok. No one is getting hurt, and more understanding is shared–that’s what I’m going for.
Talking about what’s real and important, but that I don’t normally hear people talk about, is my joy. I love sex, my own life journey, my past. I want to help make a world where sex is easy to discuss and not hidden or shameful.
If you want privacy, that’s fine. But I want communication, sharing, clarity.
Thank you for caring about my experiences, sex, all ages of people, and building a better future with me.
Third and fourth grade, my teacher was a man. I must admit, I was staring at his pants, the dick area, as he stood in front of the room. He must have been uncomfortable.
I didn’t see a problem with doing this–I wasn’t sure he could tell I was looking there. Actually I remember him seeming uncomfortable, but I felt zero guilt.
I would sit at my desk, in that hard school chair, clenching my cunt muscles over and over. School was boredom, mostly. A lot of waiting, day dreaming, interspersed with trying to get As and please teacher. I could do anything I was asked, with my eyes closed and half my brain tied behind my back.
Not sure why I would clench my cunt muscles over and over. Some intuitive kegel exercises? But I didn’t hold for three to five seconds–I would do it fast. I guess I was feeling tension or sensation there, then trying to comfort myself with the squeezing, using the vulvic energy for some kind of movement.
My friends and I talked about periods. I was the second-fattest girl in my class. The fattest girl had her period already.
Fifth grade, I got my period. My hormones were extreme. I thought about sex, all day, every day, for the next ten years or so.
Around fifth grade is when I had my first orgasm. I was masturbating in bed one night and rubbed faster and harder, almost in a frenzy–then something changed, and I didn’t understand what had happened. The sensation was extremely confusing.
I didn’t know what an orgasm was. I thought I had to pee, and ran down the hallway to the bathroom and peed. What the heck was going on?
I felt scared, but very intrigued. Maybe I was doing something wrong? Well yes, I was doing something wrong by having a sexuality and touching myself. Felt unauthorized and shameful, but I couldn’t not touch myself–that was definitely not an option. I was extremely curious.
The next night, I tried it again. I rubbed my clitoris and was getting to that point again, where I knew something was going to happen. I got scared, the feeling like I might pee, and stubbornly kept rubbing.
Then my body went haywire, into a new unknown mode, with a feeling that I was losing control. Complete pleasure overwhelm–I was unprepared.
I was totally shocked by my cunt contracting over and over again, the most extreme pleasure I’d ever felt exploding in my body, for delicious long moments, as I thrashed around on my bed, trying to be quiet, around ten years old.
falling into the blissful sublime
I was falling into the blissful sublime, not knowing if I would drown there, not caring if I died.
It was like going into another world, a moment in the spirit world, something in another dimension. A temporary altered state, or extreme state. Thirty seconds of death, or transcendence.
I’d experienced ecstasy before, as God. I would go somewhere else at times, in church, experiencing something religious–sometimes in nature also, singing. Felt golden, and I related it to light, golden-white light filling me. This experience of rubbing myself and something new happening was definitely like that.
I felt like my cunt was a bull I was riding, the most powerful animal in the world, bucking and snorting between my legs, and all I could do was try to hold on. What was happening? I didn’t know, but there I was, experiencing it, staying with the feeling.
It was almost like being possessed, a force in my body beyond my control. Was this supposed to happen? Can you imagine me, little psychonaut, experimenting with myself. Being brave, learning about pleasure–for science.
It was the biggest feeling I’d ever felt. Didn’t even occur to me, to keep rubbing and go for another. An orgasm was the ultimate. I felt it was tearing me apart–was it killing me? Would I survive?
The next night I tried it again. Wow, yes, I could do this, survive, and every night could be this way. Suddenly I was living for night, coming every night. It felt easy.
I learned to masturbate in the bathtub also, letting the water flow onto my cunt until I came. So I would take baths also, coming, then soaking for a while, alone in the warm water.
I had fantasies, as I touched myself, about kids at school, wanting them–a particular boy I liked, imagining feeling loved and wanted by him.
I imagined a man finding and raping me–that seemed a very easy way to get the sexual contact I longed for, an experience of being penetrated and used, brutally and violently. Being raped would mean I would not be responsible for having sex–I believed I could avoid guilt that way.
I’d been masturbating my whole life, for as long as I could remember–masturbating was not new. It’s the orgasm part that was new.
Orgasm became something to live for. It felt so amazing, my night life, a way to rely on myself.
A few years later I started having sex with other people, and I would still masturbate, hoping that I would make better choices by tending to my own needs, so I would be less horny and more able to say no to teenage boys who were trying to do it with me.
And I liked it, alone in my room, a pleasurable thing to do. Masturbating was an important part of my life. I also read books, wrote letters, wrote poems, journaled. When it was time for bed, I just used a flashlight and did all that under the covers.
I also did rituals, prayed and sang songs to the moon, had elaborate daydreams about escape from my home. There was a bag I kept packed in case the characters in the books I read showed up to take me away to a better place. It was a painful time. Some things about my life were horror.
sex with others
I didn’t understand why people had one night stands. Didn’t masturbating feel this good for everyone? One night stands seemed way too dangerous, for no good reason. I thought everyone should just masturbate like me and be way safer.
I understood love, relationship, the draw of other people, and sexual pleasure, but I was mystified by people risking their lives, not to mention pregnancy and sexually transmitted whatever, to do it with another person meaninglessly. Had no idea the danger itself could be an appeal, and all the different motivations people can have–I understand a little better now.
What do you think? What was your first orgasm like? I’ve heard some people don’t have orgasms, and some people have smaller ones. I’ve heard if girls don’t masturbate and learn how to come by a certain age, they’re much less likely to learn how to come, as adults.
Someone told me, years ago, that orgasm isn’t supposed to be the point of sex. I was surprised by her declaration, as orgasm was always a goal for me, that release and ecstatic experience, feeling transported, elsewhere.