the repair!

It came from an unlikely place. And maybe it only happened because I'd given up on it. But let's say, I am now confident that I'm no longer broken.

As some of you might (or might not remember), I've had a problem in that for the past year, I haven't been able to climax with a partner. It wasn't due to any partner's lack of trying or lack of skill, and so I was left with nothing to conclude but that it was something wrong with me. I wrote about it here. Recently, I'd given up entirely, thinking perhaps it just wasn't going to happen again. Which I felt was unfortunate, because I used to be one of those women who could have three or four orgasms in a given encounter, where each one was better than the last. It was one of the primary reasons I enjoyed sex so much. But I was trying to teach myself how to enjoy sex again without it, trying to convince myself that orgasm-centric sex is actually terribly heteronormative and maybe even a little chauvinist. I was succeeding for the most part.

And then I bit the bullet and went to go see an old friend... Who I was angry at for a long time because he stood me up, meaning I drove 120 miles for absolutely no good reason. Anyways... I called him, and very simply said "convince me to come see you tonight. go." And he started rambling but I wasn't really listening because my mind was already made up. I ran home to pick up condoms and put gas in the car, and took off. At 11:30 p.m.

In a little less than an hour, I was there, and he was climbing into my car. We didn't bother exchanging pleasantries. His hands were all over me, obviously annoyed at the amount of clothing I was wearing. Nevermind that it was just a short skirt and a tank top with an open back. I pulled him off me just long enough to take a breath and ask where I should be driving us to. He directed me to a campsite off a main road. I laughed to myself, because when we had talked, he'd always said he wanted to take me into the woods. And I laughed because I was in 4" heels. Nevertheless, I drove on.

We didn't make it out of the car. Before I knew what had happened, I was on top of him, panting as he bit my neck and shoulder and pulled my shirt over my head. There was something very adolescent about having sex in the back seat of a car on a side road buried in the woods. Somehow, though, I couldn't manage to give a damn.

He never once said he was going to get me off. He didn't make a big deal of it. He was obviously devoted to the task at hand, but we were both enjoying ourselves and there was a shockingly small amount of pressure. I forgot how skilled he was with his tongue ring (and yes, I know that's cliche, but in this case, it was true), and he was just as good with his hands. But neither of those did it. Which was fine with me.

I climbed on top of him, and he grabbed my hips to set a pace. I matched it. He started sighing, moaning, and I started breathing harder. I felt my pace quickening, and that numb-hypersensitivity sensation building at the base of my spine. I didn't give it much thought, but did start grinding into him harder. Subconsciously, really. That feeling started moving up my spine, each thrust sending another ripple of sensation through my body. I was breathing heavy, panting, whimpering, frantically biting at his neck and collarbone as by nails dug into the seatback behind him that I was using for leverage. Then, suddenly, and without his hands anywhere near my clit, I came. HARD. I felt it through my entire body - this familiar (and yet at the same time all too foreign) feeling of every muscle simultaneously tightening and releasing in the most glorious of pains where I had no control over my body, what I was saying, and all that mattered was this sensation ripping through me.

As the feeling subsided, I sat back to try and catch my breath. He was beaming in a disgustingly arrogant way. I wished I hadn't told him how long it had been since I'd gotten off, because now I knew he'd be gloating for the next year. But somehow I didn't care. I was still feeling tiny aftershocks, which resonated through my body and his.

Then it happened twice more.

Yes, my first orgasm in a year came as three. By the end, I was absolutely intoxicated. He thought it was funny. And true to form, his commentary on the entire situation (aside from the obligatory "i TOLD you so"), was "wow, you're so much less of a bitch now."

I reminded him that he was just as much of an ass as he's always been, and told him if he'd like to see me again, he can drive himself to me. Then I drove home.






(Nevertheless, it's good to know that I'm not broken, and the release of knowing that it's still possible has renewed my excitement about having sex. I'm especially looking forward to it with A, who I actually have feelings for. It's going to be a good summer. And on the upside, at least now I know I CAN be non-orgasm-centric. Which is good, too.)