A Few Thoughts On the Orgasm and Men

I've never been turned on by pornography.  I know plenty of women say they like it, but I have never seen porn that didn't embarrass me.  And more than one man has tried to share his love of the porn with me, believing that if he found just the right film, it would change my mind.  But no, all pornography does for me is make me dislike the men in the films and the man who wants me to watch that crap.  What turns me on happens between my ears, and I'm not speaking of the mouth orifice or throat.  If my brain is not engaged or is repulsed by the content of something I'm supposed to be watching, my clit will be repulsed too.

It's also a problem for me if too much is going on at one time in the actual in the flesh (not porn) sex department. For instance I'm not a fan of cunnilingus and especially not a fan of 69 though I should be since the numbers typed like that resemble my astrological sign, but it's too much stimulation for me and has never ever brought me to orgasm.  I could never come home from a stressful day and decompress with a little hot steamy 69 or really any sex.  I couldn't get my mind to shut off that fast and distraction is the enemy of the female orgasm or at least this female's orgasm.

This is not to say I haven't tried damn near everything that came my way, sexually speaking.  I've had so many lovers over this long life span that I can't count them.  Hell, I can't even remember half of them; that's how significant they were.  Nameless, faceless young or older men moved through my life in a way that left me unmoved and incapable of either remembering or sometimes preferring not to remember.  That's not to say there weren't some astounding standouts I'll never forget. Tom was such a man.  But his taste for porn turned me off and he isn't really a relationship guy.  In 1965 there was Nino Cerruti.  He was my favorite Italian lover.  God was he wonderful.  He was so wonderful I refused to continue seeing him.  That's how much love scares me.  But I'm not talking about love.  I'm talking about sex.  Not to say they're mutually exclusive; to the contrary, love might be the only way for some women to feel secure enough to relax enough for orgasm to happen.  I'm not one of those women.  I was sexually objectified too young, for too long, to put sex and love on equal footing.  Love had very little to do with it. But orgasmic sex with little effort on my part has always been my preferred way to go.  Too much need or too many expectations or too much fear and orgasm is impossible for me.

And then I gave up on men.  I was through with men.  Men tend to want to control me.  Men seem want to tell me what to do.  I'd rather they just do it and pay for it and not bother me with the details.  For a brief while I had an affair with a Salt Lake doctor who despite the fact that I not only found him repulsive and rather stupid, made the claim that if I'd just look him in the eyes as we were having sex he could guarantee the worlds best orgasm.  I know, I laughed too.  But I'm a wee bit evil and a good sport, so I let him have this test of his powers.  What I proved was that I can look a man in the eyes during sex and convincingly fake an orgasm.  And I'm not nice enough not to tell him afterwards.

There was a Sculptor in Costa Rica who made quite a nice gallant civilized effort to get me in his bed.  I knew he'd be wonderful in bed.  I found him sexually attractive in the extreme.  I spent the night at his house.  But I would not have sex with him and I would not sleep in his bed.  I knew I could fall in love with him.  I didn't want to fall in love with anyone.  Sometimes sex means a great deal.  Sometimes it means nothing or next to nothing.

It's been four years since I had the slightest interest in a man.  The last man to turn me on at all walked into my backyard to give me an estimate on a new roof for the little house.  I didn't really notice him all that much until he started calling me at night.  Then there were months of cheeky email chats.  He wanted to show me his house.  But it wasn't really his house he wanted to show me.  I stayed home and gave him shit about hitting on a woman a year older than his own mother.  This didn't seem to cool his ardor much until a real estate woman with lots of tats and piercings started hitting on him.  I was relieved.  I did find him very appealing.  But he was forty something and had his twelve year old daughter and twenty something son staying with him.  And I didn't want any complications or distractions in my life.  So I turned myself off.

Readers of my blog will remember my blooming romance with Cal and how badly it turned out. There was the idea of the very young Peggy and the very young Cal.  That memory was lovely until I invited him over for dinner. And the very old Peggy was not only not sexually attracted to the very old Cal she was mean to him, and told every little detail on the blog.   It was then I decided to stop thinking I'd ever have a sex life again.  I'm not looking for a companion.  I never want to live with a man again. That's never worked out well for me.  So I turned the sex spiggot off.  My clit might as well have dried up and blown away.  I even forgot where I'd put my vibrator.  I thought I might have thrown it away, that's how serious I was about not having an interest in sex anymore.  And then a man I don't know at all said something interesting to me on twitter and now I've found my vibrator and have used it enough to make the muscles of my inner thighs and my butt sore.  Don't let anybody tell you the female orgasm isn't good exercise.  It may not burn many calories but it sure can tone muscle.