.’ve never been one to talk openly about sex. Not because I grew up thinking it was shameful or wrong, but because it was never a topic that came up with my parents, or even my older sister. I’m also by nature a pretty private person, and sex always felt like the most private thing about a person’s life. Which could explain why, when I started having sex regularly for the first time in my life, I didn’t really investigate what was—or rather, wasn’t—happening.
By that, I mean orgasms. In my early college days, I was dating a guy who I really cared about but wasn’t all that attracted to. When we slept together, the sex was okay, but we didn’t have the most amazing physical connection—I never felt like I needed him in that way. Part of the problem could have been my meh sex drive‚ perhaps a side effect of my hypothyroidism, birth control, or you know, lack of attraction.
Regardless, throughout our six-year relationship, I never was able to orgasm. I didn’t hate having sex…but it felt more like a chore than anything, something I had to do to keep our relationship alive. Because of this, I had no real interest in masturbating. I didn’t feel like I was missing anything, and anytime I tried, even with a vibrator that my then-boyfriend bought me, it didn’t really do much for me. If anything, I was turned off by the idea, since it had become such a futile, frustrating task.
Fast-forward to two years ago, when I met my current boyfriend. We started off as friends, but when my ex and I broke up, it turned physical…fast. He opened my eyes to what sex could and should be like. Right off the bat, he knew what he was doing (not sure if this is a good or bad thing, ha!), and the connection was so strong, we literally couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I always wanted him—and still do—in a way I’d never experienced before.
Still, even though sex with him was so intense and passionate, every time we’d finish, I’d internally question my pleasure: Did I orgasm? There were times when what he was doing felt so good, I thought maybe I had. So I often forced myself to fake it, not wanting to hurt his feelings, and wondering if maybe my orgasms were just more subtle or subdued than everyone else’s. But deep down, from everything I’d heard and read, I knew that I’d definitely know if I had one.
Of course, being a private person, I kept all of this to myself. That is, until about a year later, when I found myself talking about sex with two of my closest (and very open) friends. When I shared my secret—that after seven years of fairly regular sex, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever experienced an orgasm—they encouraged me to get a vibrator again. I told my boyfriend I wanted to buy one to try out together, something new to add to our bedroom fun. He was totally cool with it, as I expected, but I didn’t want him to realize I had no idea what to do with it. So I played around with it myself a couple of times before bringing it to bed—and that’s when it happened.
.
With a tiny bullet vibrator, at 27 years old, I had my very first orgasm. It was so obvious when it happened—the sensation ran through my entire body and felt like an uncontrollable, euphoric explosion of sorts. In that moment, I immediately knew what I had been missing. It was a strange feeling. I almost felt dirty, as if I’d suddenly crossed into territory that, until now, had been off-limits.
The biggest issue was figuring out how to tell my boyfriend. Telling him meant admitting that I’d faked it for quite a long time, and I knew he would take it at least somewhat personally (because, hi, men). But I also really wanted to come clean, because I wanted us to experience this new frontier together.
After a few weeks of stewing on how to broach the topic, it finally spilled out one night during a casual post-coital conversation. He was responsive and understanding and very kind, but things felt different for a while after that. We didn’t have sex nearly as often, and when we did, things felt…off. I hated the feeling, like I’d done something wrong. It wasn’t the orgasm itself, I think, but the fact that not being able to make me come destroyed his confidence. I explained to him that I still thoroughly enjoyed having sex with him, but at that point, I knew we just needed time to get out of our own heads so things could bounce back to normal.
A few slightly awkward but necessary talks later, we gave the vibrator a shot together. I didn’t orgasm the first time with it, because we were still figuring out what worked best, but I did the very next time. We don’t use the vibrator too often—neither one of us wants to become reliant on it—but we do every now and then. Either way, our sex life is back to how it was pre-orgasm convo, and I’m beyond relieved. The emotional connection I have with him matters to me so much more.
I still use the vibrator on my own sometimes, and I’ve learned a lot about what feels the best for me. I can orgasm much more quickly and intensely than before, which helps when I’m in bed with my boyfriend, too. We’re still working on my reaching orgasm during sex sans vibrator, but I’m confident we’ll get there.
Finally knowing how incredible an orgasm feels, I wish I’d worked on experiencing one sooner in life. But I’m so grateful that my relationship prompted me to get more in touch with my own body and sexual needs. Sex and orgasms are amazing and intimate and all, but there’s nothing like being with a person who breaks you out of your very private shell…and opens your world in a whole new way.
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