Me and My Clit 2 – Experiments in Pleasure

So, when we left off in this tale of self-discovery, my preteen self had finally managed to get properly acquainted with her clit and achieve her orgasmic goal.  The next several years were spent building on what I had learned, primarily through extremely frequent practice.

I experimented to see how quickly I could get off, or how long I could draw out the process.  I tried to see if I could have more than one orgasm in a 24 hours, in an evening, in an hour, in a single session.  I tried lying on my back, my side, my stomach, sitting down and even standing up.  I kept notes on some of my endeavors, a cryptic series of letters, numbers and dates on the inside cover of my journal.  Those primitive jottings were probably the roots of my evolution into a sex blogger.

In the beginning, I confined my experiments to times when my parents were out, or when I could blast music to cover any inadvertent noises.   As I got to know my body better, I taught myself to be reliably quiet and orgasms became a bedtime ritual.   I learned that masturbation was a far more effective treatment for insomnia than endlessly repeating Hail Marys as my mother suggested.  Night time also meant no interruptions, time for extended and elaborate fantasies to develop and play out in my head.

At thirteen I got my first “sex toy” of sorts, a cheap battery powered foot massager given to me by my best friend.  That added a new dimension to my solo sex life…when I wasn’t too scared that someone would hear the buzzing.  When I was fourteen, my parents replaced the old bathroom shower head with a hand-held model.  Angels sang and our water bill mysteriously rose, despite the alleged conservation features of the new model.

Clit post shower

My new best friend

By fifteen, my fantasy portfolio had expanded exponentially.  I’d moved from exclusively imagining sexy scenes involving others to frequently pondering what it would be like to have someone else touch me.  Coincidentally, this was also when I got together my first “serious” boyfriend, Dave 1.  I decided it was time to introduce a new variable into my experimentation: a partner.

Like most of the couples in our nerdy social group, we were closely supervised and chances for more than a quick kiss or two were limited.  But we were both smart, both opportunists, and as time went on we got creative.  We began to notice blind spots and gaps in surveillance.  Parents tended not to scrutinize as much when there was a large group hanging out as when there was only a couple or two.  Outdoor events were also far less carefully supervised than indoor gatherings.  And on the evening of this tale, there were a dozen or so of us hanging out around the fire pit in my friend Shannon’s back yard.

Such a romantic venue...

Such a romantic venue…

In the beginning, there were “tickle fights”, a convenient excuse to grope each other (and to test how closely Shannon’s parents were watching).  As the sun went down, the shadows and a cleverly procured blanket provided enough cover for some cautious over-clothing exploration.  By the time the sky faded to black, we were feeling adventurous.  We slipped behind the shed for a few precious minutes of what passed for privacy.  We kissed like the world might end at any moment.  My bra was unceremoniously pushed aside when the clasp proved uncooperative.    I was grinding hard against Dave’s thigh when I felt his hands stray downward to the button of my jeans.  My heart pounded in anticipation of his touch, I wanted this with every fiber of my being.

Now you might think that having a clit that doesn’t need direct and precise stimulation would be an advantage in this situation.  Teenage boys tend to have a limited understanding of their partner’s anatomy, to say the least.  Sadly, cruel fate had seen fit to pair me with a boy who not only knew exactly where my clit was but attacked it with single-minded and unrelenting laser focus.

Bullseye darts

What are the odds?

I found myself abruptly crashing from arousal to discomfort.  I tried pulling away a little to see if he’d get the message.  NOPE.  I shifted, I wriggled, and finally jumped away, gasping in pain.

“Wow…” he whispered in awe. “That was quick!”

It took me an incredulous moment to register that overly enthusiastic Dave had mistaken my escape attempt for an orgasm.

“Wait…what?  No!  I mean…that wasn’t what you thought it was!”

My outburst left him looking very confused and somewhat dejected.

“But you were moving all around and then you twitched like that…”

He looked so lost that I almost felt bad for setting him straight.  Almost.  But I knew I couldn’t possibly stand another second of him mauling my clit.  I was going to have to speak up.

“That was…um, a little too much, I think.”  Possibly the understatement of the year right there.

Then I froze.  If I got specific about explaining what I liked, he would guess how I figured it out.  He knew I’d never had a serious boyfriend before, that this was all new to me.  While guys masturbating was considered an inevitable and humorous fact of teen life, there was a vast, echoing silence on the subject girls getting themselves off.  I couldn’t imagine telling a boy that I’d done…that.  So we resumed making out, and I attempted to coach Dave using nothing but moans, position changes and occasional vague verbal guidance.

As you probably guessed, that didn’t work out so well.  My inability to express my needs and fear of our extended disappearance being noticed meant no orgasm for me that night.  Or quite a few nights thereafter.  This was all the more frustrating because Dave had no such issues.  Time limitations and my lack of penis-wrangling experience presented no problem whatsoever.  I did manage to gradually coax him into being gentler, but he still defaulted to direct clitoral contact and quickly drove me from the beginnings of pleasure to sensory overload.

Looking back, it’s strange that I expected someone else to instinctively know what I wanted when it took me so long to sort it out for myself.  He was slightly more experienced, so I assumed that he would know what he was doing.  It didn’t occur to me that the way I like to be touched might be different from his past girlfriends…and it obviously didn’t cross his mind either.  I assumed every clit owner in the world was as sensitive as I am, and therefore needed the same kind of stimulation.  That assumption, combined with fear of revealing my solo experimentation efforts, kept me silent and frustrated for months.

I’d love to tell you that my first partnered orgasm eventually happened because I found the courage to express myself.   That would be an inspirational story indeed…but it would also be a load of bullshit.  The truth is that it was a happy accident, an indirect consequence of our expanding sexual repertoire.  You see, with a finger or two inside of me, Dave couldn’t launch an all-out assault on my clit.  Instead of a constant clitoral onslaught, I got softer and less targeted incidental contact.  And it didn’t hurt that my G-spot was far more receptive to Dave’s persistent prodding than my clit had been.  The combination was brilliant, despite being unintentional.

Thankfully, once Dave saw the effect of this new approach, he quickly abandoned his old tactics.   And in time, I figured out how to use my words to help him improve upon that inadvertent discovery.  By the time we parted ways, I was better prepared to communicate my needs and desires to partners in college and beyond.   But that’s a topic for another post…maybe even two or three.

 

 

 

 

  1.  Which is, of course, not his real name.
4 Comments
  • Sophie Rose
    July 27, 2016

    I love reading your posts because your experiences and explanations mirror so many of my own. I think we are approximately the same age, in a similar familial set up, and prefer many of the same things. Keep doing what you’re doing because it is appreciated.

    • Lunabelle
      July 27, 2016

      Thanks! It’s always funny to hear how many people had similar experiences when at the time I thought I was the only one!

  • Tiffy Kink
    September 29, 2016

    I absolutely love this post. When i first started masturbating, I didn’t even know what was. And as i discovered what I liked, I found it hard as a teenager to tell my boyfriends what I liked. I did find however, that when I had an open conversation about masturbation with them (at least the ones willing to have it), that it was easier to tell them what I wanted. Great Post!

    • Lunabelle
      October 5, 2016

      Thanks! It definitely seems like this topic struck a chord with many people.

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