SimplySxy

Author: B. Averial

  • When I Squirted for the First Time

    When I Squirted for the First Time

    When I was 11 years old, I read in one of those “What to Expect from Puberty” books that a woman could ejaculate enough to soak through seven towels. Seven.

    That number stuck with me my whole life, and I spent my pubescent years in terror of orgasming and soaking up the bed. Even before my first time, I would sit and play out scenarios of how to prepare for that situation. Would I ask for seven towels to be lain under me before sex? Or eight? That seemed like it would pile me pretty high; would sex be possible in that position?

    Then came the times in high school when I would wake up with my pajama pants and blankets soaked, confused because it just didn’t seem like pee. I was sure it would be me; I would definitely be the woman who ejaculated enough to soak through seven towels, and I would shrivel up and die of embarrassment and dehydration right after.

    Then I actually started having sex. Awkward, quick, adolescent sex that felt kind of weird and left me feeling sore and unsure of whether I had any business of actually doing it. Needless to say, I did not ejaculate enough to soak through seven towels, and my mind was at ease.

    Now all this while, in my teen years, I considered myself something of a sexual revolutionist (as much as one can be when one’s mom still does one’s laundry). I was open about the fact that I masturbated; I owned a vibrator (purchased from Spencer Gifts with money that I made working at Old Navy). I carried around books titled Slut! right along with my history and math books, for everyone in the halls of my high school to see.

    I wanted to be sexually free. I worked at my sexuality, chipping at liberation piece by piece. I sensed that there was something just over the tide, that if I could just let myself be carried over the waves of pleasure that came to me when I was in my bed alone, that something enormous would be waiting for me on the other side.

    But I always stopped myself. I just couldn’t surrender myself to that pleasurable feeling because as much as I wanted it, I was also afraid of what it might do to me.

    Through all of my encounters with sex in my teen years, I never came enough to soak through seven towels, but I was right to assume it would happen to me. When I was 20, I was in my first long-term relationship with a guy who only had three things going for him: great weed, great art (he was unreal with a tablet and a vector program), and great sex.

    Although we already had great sex, we were young and wanted to take more risks. I had just moved out of my mom’s house, and she was letting me use her commuter car while mine was in the shop. One night, the (now) ex and I found ourselves in that car, in my mom’s neighborhood. We had parked in front of someone’s expensive suburban home and began to go at it inside the car—one of my rebellious fantasies. It was a summer night and it was soon way too hot to continue in the car, so we got out. He turned me around so that I was facing the passenger side of the car and got behind me, then he pushed me up against the car door and we started having sex again. Like before, I approached the point of no return, but this time I couldn’t stop myself from riding over that wave’s crest and as I splashed down into the pleasure, something wet began to pour out of me.

    Now, half-delirious with the strength of the orgasm I’d just experienced, I crouched behind the car, mortified that I was peeing on myself in front of him (I thought it was pee at the time and spent the next few years of my life working to convince myself that “female ejaculate” and “pee” were not the same thing). But it was high tide and each wave of pleasure caused a new spasm of liquid to literally squirt out of me, and so I stayed crouched, naked from the waist down, dripping liquid until it was done.

    I expected him to be as disgusted as anyone would be when someone just peed on them in the middle of sex, but instead he was delighted. Although I didn’t understand what squirting was in that situation, he did, and his ego basked in the fact that he had made his girlfriend bust her first nut.

    So I was right, even at 11, to assume that I would be the one who came enough to soak through seven towels. But I was wrong to assume it was a bad thing.

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  • Getaway Sex

    Getaway Sex

    It’s 1 a.m. I lay beside a sleeping man, my boyfriend. He’s sprawled out on his back, deep in slumber.

    I’m horny.

    Now maybe normally, if we were at home, I’d just make myself go to sleep. We’d both have long days to face ahead of us—him, with his work running a hostel and me with mine of teaching English to elementary kids. We’d need our energy, which means we’d need our sleep.

    But this isn’t normally. We’re on day two of a four-day holiday, and that means we can use our energy and how we choose to. Either tomorrow … or tonight.

    So I start to give him head.

    I remember years ago, a boyfriend I had asked me why I never woke him up for sex. The thought had genuinely never occurred to me before, and while I could see where he was coming from, I didn’t see its appeal.

    “I wouldn’t want him waking me up for sex,” I thought. So I just did what I do in those situations and agreed with him while simultaneously shoving that in the “things I’ll never do” mental file.

    But tonight, some nine years later, I pick up that thought and move it to my “good ideas” file. Yes, this is excellent. And I can tell by the way he’s moving under me that he agrees.

    I haven’t had a lot of serious boyfriends in my life and over the years, I’ve become really stingy with how I spend my time. I often make it a priority to share any special moments (like holidays, birthdays, or trips), with friends and not guys I’m seeing so that later, those memories are about times I spent with friends—not about how Johnny X came/didn’t come through.

    So this is the first time in years and years that I’m spending a getaway with a boyfriend. I was apprehensive at first—I know travelling with a significant other can sometimes result in Richter-scale level fights, and I just assumed those fights would find me and him.

    But this trip has been nothing like that. Instead, getting away and getting out of the context of our normal lives has shown me how well we reinforce each other. He’s been like my backbone and mind reader this trip. We travelled to Samcheok, a beach in Korea 3 hours east of Seoul, with 2 other couples, and he and I have never been more in tune. When someone suggests something we’re not into, we only need to look at each other—and then he speaks up.

    These are my friends, so he’s agreed to take the loss and be the disagreeable one so I can keep the group harmony (and I didn’t even have to ask).

    And we spend the entire day with him whispering in my ear “I want to fuck you right now,” which means that the sex on our trip has been some of the best sex we’ve had since we first got together.

    Going on a mini-vacation together showed me that I picked a partner who is well-suited to me and we flow well as a couple. It not only spiced up our sex, but also reinforced our mental and emotional connection. For couples who are considering traveling together or experiencing a little bit of a lag, I definitely recommend a mini-vacation as a way to spice things up/see your relationship more clearly.

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  • Une Femme POV on Pornography

    Une Femme POV on Pornography

    Watching Pornography from a Personal as well as a Woman’s Point of View

    “Wow, you seem really cranky,” my friend Kristina told me.

    We were in the middle of the workday, working as full-time tellers at a bank that has now been taken over by a larger bank.

    Kristina handed me a slip of paper. www.redtube.com was written on it.

    “When you get home, go to this website. Make sure you’re alone.”

    The other tellers burst into laughter and chimed in with their agreement that after visiting this website, I wouldn’t feel so cranky.

    They wouldn’t tell me what was so funny.

    I didn’t get the chance to check the site for a few days. It was summer then, and I was crashing on my mom’s couch while I was home from college, so I didn’t exactly have regular moments alone.

    Meanwhile Kristina asked me about the site every day—while always cautioning me to make sure to check it while I was alone.

    Finally, my mom and her boyfriend were out, and my brother, his girlfriend, and their son were out. It was just me, so I booted up my laptop and typed in the site.

    Porn.

    I laughed. “This will put you in a better mood,” she had told me.

    Of course it was porn.

    This was about five years ago.

    I saved that site, clicking through it periodically when I needed a visual to accompany my vibrator. I know they say men are the visual creatures, but I always came much harder and faster when watching porn.

    Although red tube wasn’t necessarily to my specific taste—I tend to prefer the soft-core, HBO and Cinemax late-night style of soft-lighting, moaning, and mild nudity — it got the job done, and it gave me an outlet to explore other aspects of my sexuality.

    Now I live in Korea, where porn is generally blocked, and a lesbian friend of mine here told me that I am one of the straightest women she knows.  I have had my experiences of kissing women, but she’s right in that I’ve never had sex with a woman or taken any of the kissing past the make-out stage.

    I do, however, think the female body is attractive as hell and when I watch porn, I get to explore that attraction in a way that I feel is safe and comfortable for me.

    I’ve been watching porn on-and-off since my brother and I first found a pornographic video that our parents accidentally left in the VCR. We popped it in, turned it on, and surprise surprise: it was a woman getting f**ked from behind while sucking her own nipple.

    For years after this tape had been re-hidden, then taken away altogether, I measured my breast growth not by cup-size—but by whether they were big enough to reach my own mouth. I rejoiced when they finally were.

    After that video disappeared, I began to watch late night soft-core porn like Real Sex. As an adolescent with no experience, I found these shows to be intensely erotic, stimulating a sexual desire in me that was almost painful.

    Although I was young when watching these videos, I was not so impressionable that they made me want to actually go through with having sex.  Instead, they answered questions for me that I couldn’t ask my parents—or articulate at all.  They helped me to understand the roots of where my more strange feelings were coming from and they taught me how to masturbate better.

    I’m not going to say that if I had a young adolescent daughter I’d be pleased with her watching porn, but I definitely think moderate porn-watching is a healthy, normal thing.

    That is, until I see a close-up of an actress’s vagina and she doesn’t look wet — and then I feel like I’m actively participating in the subjugation of some poor woman who is maybe unwillingly acting as a sex worker.

    My feelings toward porn are somewhat conflicted.

    When I used to go to church, the pastor would regularly name “watching pornography” in his list of modern-day sins a man (nearly always a man) could find himself caught up in.

    I never understood this. I’ve never thought there was any harm in watching a little porn—rather, I’ve always viewed it as a healthy and private way to explore one’s sexuality, fantasies, and boundaries—knowledge of which is necessary in order to have truly satisfying sex.

    Oh the other hand, though, when watching some of the cheaper, pirated porn sites, I begin to wonder how many of the women in these flicks are victims of sex trafficking, especially when they look too young or don’t seem to be enjoying the sex.

    Then I turn it off and am turned off as I ponder whether I have a moral responsibility beyond simply not consuming these questionable products.

    That’s why I’m happy now to hear about more instances of independent porn made by women for women.  I am excited to support pornography that focuses on showing the actresses experiencing intense pleasure and climaxing, and takes sexuality outside of the realm of male-dominated fantasy.  For a woman like me, this is probably the healthiest and most satisfying pornography of all.

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