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  • Writer's pictureSarah Foley

TSS - 028 ~ ORGASM

Updated: Mar 4

content warning: mention of sexual trauma


Oh my gosh welcome to the first celebratory sexystory post maybe ever?!? Caps lock are in order for this one considering the state of my excitement so please prepare for intermittent bold language and lots of exclamation marks!!! January was GOOD to me!! It's taken me the last few weeks of writing/thinking/obsessing to fully sink into the reality that what I thought was happening, is happening. And now that I know what I think was happening is happening, I cannot stop making it happen. I have been desperate to share this with you, and went a little too hard writing about it, so there will be a second part to this post with more details, more overthinking, and far more pleasure. I mean, there's no point being mysterious here, you've seen the title of this post, so yes, I've had a fucking orgasm!! (MULTIPLE!)  

 

I'm going to give you more detail than you probably need because if I was reading about someone's first orgasm(s), I'd want to know the literal ins and outs of it. So you're getting details. Here we fucking go. As you'll know from many previous posts, my relationship with masturbation has ranged from literally hating it, to nonchalance, forcing myself to do it, slowly coming around to the idea, and finally obsession. For the first eight or so years of trying it, masturbating was just boring. I begrudgingly tried it as a teenager, felt nothing, would loftily return to it with fresh hope that that time would be different, before eventually giving up again. My nonchalance with the act of masturbation was tied up in the inevitability that it lead to disappointment and numbness because there was no orgasm in reach. I was always searching for a trace of something celestial, and left with something I can only describe as ordinary. The concept of an orgasm felt typical for most and mythical for me. I couldn't capture a reality that included it for me. I shuffled between accepting its impossibility and phases of hope that future Sarah would find a cure to her anorgasmic ailment. I saw myself perpetually existing on the cusp of both divine sensation and nothingness. I thought my sexuality to be complex, unnatural, stunted, and underwhelming. The lens through which I analysed myself only heightened my disconnect, and subsequently took years to unravel. I have been shedding layers of grief, shame, trauma, fear, and disconnect that coated my ideas of self-touch for the years I had intermittently been trying it. 

 

In the last few years working with my sexologist, Clarke, I have completely altered the way I see pleasure and sexuality. I'm perhaps still too close to truly be able to reflect on the changes that led to my orgasm, but the crux of my ascent feels obviously related to unlearning shame and disconnect. As I wrote in my last post, the integration of pleasure into my body that has happened in this last year has revolved around beginning to see myself as an innately and effortlessly pleasurable person. I had for years envisioned my sexual organs as caked in layers of cement choking my colourless, unresponsive veins despite an intellectual obsession with it. Beginning to contemplate streams of pleasure radiating ardently through my body coincided with such a rise in sexual sensation it cannot be unrelated. They spurred each other on without doubt: when I began to notice my capacity for heat rising in this last year, in turn I began to see myself as more capable of pleasure. It began to seem ludicrous that I had ever thought there was no hope of orgasm when my heights of pleasure were increasing rapidly. As my sensation grew, so did my willingness to see pleasure expansively and with possibility.  


The game changer for me, in collaboration with my attitude to pleasure broadening, was buying the internal vibrator/external clit suction womanizer (I'll link them both at the bottom!). It reinvigorated my drive to masturbate after having not done so for the extent of the months I was overseas last year (I'm never travelling without a vibrator again!!). If you have a vulva, I implore you to buy the womanizer!! It will change.your.life. A few years ago when I saw a pelvic physiotherapist, she told me that she could see the impact of my sexual trauma on my receptiveness to touch. She said that the blood flow to my clitoris was restricted by my body having thoughtfully removed nerve endings (the science of this is probably not quite right) around the site of where I was touched, so my ability to feel pleasure was both psychologically and physiologically limited. She explained that sex toys that bring blood flow to your vulva are crucial in rebuilding nerve endings and receptivity to touch. The design of the womanizer does precisely this. The first time I used it I experienced a wave of the most pleasurable heat in my body that I had ever felt and have been chasing ever since.  

 

Simultaneously, I've been observing my body's sexual responsiveness signals change in the last six months or so: wetness increasing, penetration offering new levels of stimulation, a throwback obsession with making out. What has changed though, is me, not necessarily the people I am sleeping with. I am careful in this narrative of orgasming to hold the power within myself instead of rapidly discarding it as I have done in the past. After my breakup, I had a recurring panic that I would only ever be able to experience that level of pleasure in his specific combination of love, safety, attraction. But I can see now, that no one is responsible for my pleasure except me. Holding the power of my body has in turn produced power within my body. 



One unremarkable day in January, as I envisioned pleasure oozing like honey from my body, dripping into my vulva, pulsating against my hand, I used the womanizer until I felt the newly addictive rays of heat rising in and around my clitoris. Edging the suctioning head over my clitoris and gently pressing it lower and higher, with a combination of the right amount of being turned on and sensitive, I reached a particular unnamed nexus of tissue that offered such a point of sensation I cannot yet describe in its entirety. It simultaneously feels mechanical in the physical vibration, and like echoing divine intervention in my body. My appreciation for people with vulvas has only increased in my own growing pleasure: how wondrous that our bodies have the ability to offer such a beam of goodness for no reason other than pleasure. I wish I  could tell you the exact moment I knew it had escalated beyond what I had felt before. When you have never felt something before, it's hard to know what you're looking for, especially if you aren't expecting it. Everyone had always told me I would know when I orgasmed, but I don't think that's necessarily true. In my first few orgasms, the monumental peak was not monumental. It was over in a second or two, and I didn't feel it rage around my body in the way I do now.  Within a few days of experiencing these addictive gentle and brief peaks, it was increasing: doubling, tripling, coinciding with an uncontrollable shudder and echoing muscle spasms. As randomly as you can imagine, while lying in bed after one of these moments of magnetic heat, the knowledge entered my body that what I was feeling, was different. It was an orgasm. It felt like I was literally airdropped the information: one minute I existed without the concept and the next it had synced with my memories, calibrating the information as if it was always there. I had orgasmed. I HAD ORGASMED. My whole face smiled, my eyes crinkling with such natural delight. I wrapped my arms around myself and blissfully, lovingly held the body that had orgasmed. I curled the idea around my toes, and laced it through my hair. I let it drop into the base of my stomach, and flitter around my brain. I said it out loud to see how the words felt in my mouth. I crawled out of bed to see how the knowledge looked in the mirror. I did feel different, quite instantly. I felt powerful. I felt victory. I had orgasmed. Nobody else, me. My body had, in a moment I had nearly missed, stopped being a frightful stranger and transitioned into a familiar, receptive companion. I had softened my trauma, shame, and fear into something vulnerable, spiritual, and tangible. I had fucking orgasmed.  

 

When I had envisioned what I would do if I ever orgasmed over the last ten years, I had always thought that I would throw a party. And send an immediate group text. And tell every person I met for the next week. But I didn't do any of these things. I unintentionally and intentionally held that information just for me. I wasn't hiding it as such, but I needed time to merge the experience of orgasming with the person I had been prior to this. It was a precisely un-Sarah reaction. I needed silence and reflection, to deliberate on my own. Did you experience this feeling when you orgasmed for the first time? For years I had placed a nearly impossible pressure on the concept of orgasming and came to it at the cusp of 27 years old with a full knowledge of myself as a complex and three dimensional being. I wonder how it would have been to grow into myself as someone for whom orgasming happened with ease. I can't ever know that, but I do know that I have felt traces of all ages of Sarah influencing the immersion of this new knowledge. Little Sarah has been soothed (she was always going to be okay), teenage Sarah has been cradled (she was never broken), and adult Sarah is alive with the knowledge that all the work has been leading somewhere amorous and ethereal. I cannot express the radical and unexpected shift of becoming orgasmic. The disconnect that I had marked my body with, is no longer so. My brain and body have quite literally merged. The impossible is deeply, truthfully possible.  



And so, on a 35 degree Saturday a little while later, after lining up for far too long to get into the Northcote pool, I reclined perched on my towel with my darling friend and told her that I had orgasmed. And a week later, on the couch watching tv with my best friend, I told her that I had orgasmed. And over coffee with another best friend, I told her that I had orgasmed. And over negronis, with another dear love. Saying the words out loud, the reactions I received were as affirmative and loving as I could have ever imagined. The women that have cradled me in my yearning, lifted me further into a space of pride than I could have felt on my own. Their celebration exemplified the sanctity of love between friends, and the gratitude I have for the years of support I have had from women seeking their own pleasure.  

 

In the last month, the experience of orgasming has been developing and deepening in a way that is now so clearly orgasmic. I am almost overwhelmed at the knowledge that it happens every single time I masturbate now. How can I have gone from it being an impossibility to a given? One day it just happened, and hasn't stopped happening since then. Sometimes it takes longer than other times, but it always happens. How is it possible to go from never experiencing something to constantly experiencing something? I literally cannot stop. I've had to force myself to have a day off here and there because I have masturbated in a frenzy to the point of such wild sensitivity I'm worried I'll maim myself and never orgasm again. One day I masturbated three times over the day and felt so nauseatingly dizzy by the third orgasm that the bed was spinning underneath me like a playground rotating plate. I hadn't intended to keep going but was completely distracted from sleep by what I can only describe as orgasm after-shocks. Do you experience this wildness? In the minutes and sometimes hours after orgasming, my clitoris pulses with a tiny version of orgasmic sensation, drawing blood back to the area and absorbing me in a reminder of what I would feel in a more expansive way if I were to masturbate again, and so inevitably I do. It's as if in the moments after orgasming my body can't bear the thought of another eight hours passing before I enter the sunken heat once again, so it quakes with the remainder of pleasure swirling around my body: a reminder, a celebration, a craving.  

 

The way my body experiences orgasming has altered rapidly even in this first month. What was initially a gentle, fleeting moment of heaven, has deepened and diversified with reverence and chaos. The build-up to orgasm is slower now, but more pleasurable. Searching for the precise spot and moment in which orgasm is inevitable is euphoric. My legs convulse, shaking involuntarily both in the build-up and orgasm. I cry freely, tears escaping my eyes with such speed I am routinely shocked by their sudden presence. My body arcs in a crescendo that feels too stereotypical to be natural and yet it is. In the actual moment of orgasm my head is pulled backwards with an invisible force in perhaps both an attempt to expand even further the spread through my lengthening body and pull away from the intensity of those moments. The actual orgasm, still relatively brief, is silent. This has been one of the most shocking moments for me, a perpetually loud person. During sex, I find it impossible not to make noise. My breath escapes my body in a way that spaces the sensation in the areas in and around my body when it is too great to hold within. But when I am masturbating, there is no noise escaping my body. In part, I am holding my breath as I notice the moments I now know precede orgasm. I have wondered if I am so focused on not losing the cherished sensation, that I cannot make a noise in fear of scaring it off, or distracting myself. While I have come to see my orgasm as inevitable in masturbation (can we take a moment even just for that sentence!), I am still acutely and passionately mesmerised by the experience in a way that I hope remains. I hope I always see the preciousness of my body. Something that had seemed so ordinary in witnessing so many other people orgasm, now feels extraordinary. Do you feel this way about your orgasm?  



I exist in a honey pot sensual world at the moment. I've been experiencing momentary delightful escapes into this world my whole life, without feeling like it is my world, the one I wake and sleep to. The joyful spike of my libido this last year and interactions with myself through the lens of frenzy have uprooted my sorrow into a space where both pain and connection can co-exist because my body is mine, my brain is safe to inhabit, and my sexuality is innate. In this world, the movement of my body as I walk between spaces has meaning. The way I lift my torso from the cocoon of my bed, and my hair flutters heavily around my shoulders has meaning. The specific way the sun brushes my cheeks and draws my eyes upwards has meaning. Perhaps I'm writing too close to the awakening, but orgasming has changed my identity and drawn this world closer to my everyday existence. I was always someone who couldn't orgasm. I curated a whole sexual persona around this: an unhelpful and dissociative giving up of myself to ensure the pleasing of another. And while I don't assume that orgasming will necessarily change the way I have sex, I wonder if my motivation will be different. My pleasure is now both intellectual, and physical. The merging of my worlds feels quasi spiritual and yet happened with such sudden ease that the years of disconnect suddenly make no sense to me.  


I have surely thought every possible thought about orgasming for the last fifteen years of obsessing over the idea. I could never have imagined the reality of it. There is truthfully no feeling like it, nothing to compare it to, and so the unknown remained unknown until it was instantly known. The wave of feeling intrinsic to orgasming is fucking insane. After all the words I have written, thought and spoken, the result of my words is wordlessness. I am relieved and consciously welcoming of a momentary de-intellectualisation of my orgasm after an endless intellectualisation of my sexual body. As it enters and floods my body, orgasming renders me completely silent and connected exclusively to physical notions of pleasure. My brain thoroughly takes a back seat and offers me such unbelievable freedom I didn't think I was capable of. After years of storing the concept of an orgasm tightly inside my brain, it has finally entered the body I've been learning about so lovingly. How extraordinarily delightful.  

 

On the topic of delights, I'm going to pause this narrative here. I hope that you are somewhere warm and safe, and are imagining your own orgasm. I hope you're invigorated to appreciate the magic of your pleasure. How would you put into words the experience of your own body? Is it so effortless you have never felt inclined to analyse it in depth? Or perhaps not yet a reality of your body? Whatever your relationship with pleasure is, I hope you're approaching it with kindness, tenderness and deep love for yourself. I am here, as always, hoping for greater pleasure for us all. Orgasm or no orgasm, pleasure is a monumental gift, one we are born deserving of. It is absolutely not simple, but it is undeniably wondrous.  

 

<3 <3 <3  


Ps. All the gorg photos (except the dripping honey) are by the incredible Maki Levine (@maki.levine)


 

 

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