An orgasm by definition…

 I have a few female patients who visit me because of their struggle to reach orgasm. Man, you’ve gotta feel for them. I don’t climax climbing stairs, but let’s just say that I’ve had close encounters with  dryers vibrating quickly, and western riding saddles among many, many other things. A daily occurance in my life, and considering I wrote a bestselling book on orgasms (in Canada if you sell 8,000 copies that puts you in the “best selling league” – so don’t be overly impressed), I should be able to articulate a decent description of the big O.  You would think. I however get a bit flummoxed when I was trying to explain to a man recently what vaginal G spot sensations actually feel like to me. A regular occurance that I am intimately familiar with, and even without the soul of a poet, I should be able to spit it out.  The trouble is my brain turns to goo during the process, and it’s foggy in remembering the joy. Hormonal soup, intense sensation, combined with a decent ab workout. In the afterglow, small words are a better choice, so writing it down when it’s happening and the experience is fresh in my head is difficult. My book was called “Quivering Jello” for a reason. I’m one of the lucky ones that consistently reach orgasms vaginally. I get there clitorally too, but they feel different.  Very different,  -at least to me. I don’t know which way I would go if I ever had to choose between them. I’m hopeful they will take me right into old age.
The clitoral explosions, take way more work from a partner, and come easily when I’m by myself. I can come clitorally when I’m on top, or being stimulated orally. Other than that or a good external vibe, they have never happened. They are the morning vibrator, or get-down-there-boy kind of climaxes. Clitoral orgasms feel to me more topical, sharp, and external. A feeling that I would described as kind of sunshine, candy and light.
The very different feeling G-spot vaginal ones feel deeper, wetter, more about sultry and smoke – and when they build they are almost out-of-body explosions.  I can climax vaginally with a partner with strong fingers, or the combination of stamina, pounding intercourse, and a great fit. Even with those damn gspot vibrators I can’t get enough leverage to get me off vaginally when I’m alone. But if you pay attention and find the spot, then I really do start speaking in tongues. The feeling of having someone inside you can range from intrusive to the most intimate thing ever imaginable. It’s the fit (not the size) that matters. When intercourse (or a guy with magic hands) is good, and I trust him, I start feeling like everything is focused on a building internal pressure somewhere behind my bellybutton, and then is released in a swell of fluid.  It feels like a wave inside. Tilt the hips up, and give me torque, and lots of it. It may not work for everyone, but I seem to find my happy place if you can do that.  It becomes the inside  dance,  that if it goes on long enough has me seeing colours, and feeling the preverbial earth move. When a serious tantric practitioner once described the build-up charge of sexual tension between two people that was his definition of tantra, it sounded like what I feel when I get the right pieces touching my G spot. Hallululah. A sensation all the way to my sternum, or anyplace from my hips up, the tightening, and “pop” of release. You know, that intense pleasure.  And the kick is better than any drug I’ve ever tried. Even, gasp, better than chocolate. If you want to do a one time session ($125) we can go through why you aren’t coming and how to get there. Promise.
So bring ’em on Sailor.