I’m learning that there are different levels and types of release.
Frustrating for me, the most common one involves very little come. My pussy opens, flowers, craving something to fill it, but there’s very little ejaculate. I hate that one – even though my hips buck wildly, even though my clit screams and lights explode behind my eyes. I want proof of my ecstasy, damn it.
Then there is the thick, hot come. It never comes in abundance, but it’s sticky and coats my fingers, leaving a lingering, thick scent in the air. It’s usually the result of a gentler, softer release. I don’t mind it so much because it’s a little less messy.
The one that requires that I relax completely while I stroke my clit, finger my pussy, and caress my body doesn’t occur as often as I would like. When the come covers my hand and drips down my lips into my ass, I fall asleep with a smile on my face. If I flip over, get to my knees, and masturbate, I gush over my hand and create a wonderful wet spot in the bed. Coming like this doesn’t happen often, but it fills me with a sense of satisfaction that has very little do with the release. I’m proud of my work in that moment – just look at my wet spot!
I don’t know what it will take to squirt. Somehow I doubt I’ll ever do it to myself. It’s almost a goal. Come so hard and so quickly that I spray ejaculate across you, me, and the bed. What would it take to make me squirt? That is the question.