These Are Not the Orgasms I Wanted

I tried. I really, really tried. Twice in fact. A different (but favorite) vibrator each time. Different time of day, different mindset. But it was the same outcome both times.

The physical release of an orgasm with none of the build-up, none of the momentum of sensation in every nerve-ending, none of the climb as I reached heights of pleasure.

I now know what my most mechanical orgasms feels like when stimulation is applied to my clit.

Disappointing as fuck.

Maybe some people are fine with these passable, rote orgasms. The rinse and repeat of apply stimulation, achieve “release.” But I’ve been spoiled. My best orgasms, even my fourth and fifth best orgasms, have a spark to them. Sometimes the spark is so strong, it’s like lightning. Other times, it’s electricity streaking through my body.

I may have told myself (all those other times) that I was chasing the release of an orgasm. But I now think I chase that spark. Because when it’s missing, I’m not just disappointed. I’m not just annoyed. I’m fucking aggravated and don’t count the moment as orgasmic at all, and I certainly don’t count it as satisfying.

Which seems a bit odd. My body’s need for an orgasm was satisfied. Someone out there might think I should be happy with that.

Well I’m not.

My mind wasn’t engaged in the process. Nor did I lose all semblance of rational thought. There was no point where I forgot my name, the day, or anyone else around me. My body didn’t even take over the way it usually does — no uncontrolled screaming, gushing, spasming, clenching, nipple tightening. Nothing.

My cunt isn’t clenching around open air at the thought of some sexy human being touching me in sexy human being ways. (Which is both delicious and distracting…and will certainly propel me to whip out a vibrator quicker than anything. So…that’s good? I guess? I could call that “satisfaction”…but I don’t wanna.)

My skin isn’t sizzling just beneath the surface at the memory of said orgasm. I’m not turning it over and over in my mind, reliving the best parts. Curling toes. Rapidly rising pleasure. Uncontrollable body spams. A mind devoid of all rational thought. THAT’S the part of the orgasm I want. THAT’S what both sates my immediate need and makes me crave more.

In fact, I’m so annoyed I don’t want to think about it at all. Picturing those two “failed” efforts only serves to aggravate the hell out of me.

I didn’t get up from the moment relaxed. It certainly didn’t help me sleep better. My headache didn’t disappear. And I wasn’t sated or begging for more.

I know why it’s happening. The old libido is wonky. I’m not broken or broken-hearted, but I am cranky. I’d say I’m “horngry” as opposed to “hangry” but “horngry” implies I want to do it again. When my mind goes back to the past two attempts, I think, “Why bother?”

Those weren’t the orgasms I wanted or needed. I’d like to return them for a full refund, please and thank you.

Welcome to Masturbation Monday! I have nothing sexy or smutty to say because my two most recent attempts at masturbation only served to annoy the fuck out of me. I’ll try again in a few days. I’m not giving up, and I’m not woe-is-me about it. But really, with the way those two moments made me feel, I’d rather have done my taxes or gone to the grocery store. Yep, it was that lackluster.

For actual smut (and the last few days to enter the second Masturbation Month giveaway with Godemiche!), click below!