Girl on the Net

“I just need you to know,” one guy told me, before we started fucking, “that I very rarely come during penetrative sex. In fact, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that’s happened.” It didn’t matter who he was fucking or where his dick happened to be, he had very rarely ever come inside. You’d hope that someone as body-positive and sex-knowledgeable as Girl on the fucking Net would instinctively have some bon mot at the ready to put him at ease and reassure him that delayed ejaculation (or an inability to ejaculate full-stop) is common, and nothing to be ashamed of. And I did but… Although my rational brain was more than happy to explain that I don’t actually need champagne fountains of jizz in order to be sexually satisfied depressingly – embarrassingly – my heart fluttered with something a little different. When he told me how few people had managed to get him to come inside them, something deep in my soul chimed in with: ‘I bet I can do it, though.’

It’s frustrating to stumble across my own faults, doubly so when they’re sexual ones. I’m meant to be good at this! I’m meant to be zen in my understanding that not everyone finds it easy to orgasm during sex, or with someone else in the room at all, for that matter. After all delayed ejaculation, as it’s sometimes known, happens to lots of people. I’m meant to be enlightened enough to know that sex doesn’t need to end in orgasm (and certainly not with a cis guy’s orgasm) in order to be valid or fun. The reason this dude explained that there’s a very short list of people who’ve made him come inside was to prevent me from focusing solely on his orgasm as the goal of any given fuck, and yet… my competitive inner cumslut chose to focus on earning my place on the list.

Annoying.

Just because I fetishise it doesn’t mean it’s vital

I love cum. Let’s not beat about the bush here: cum is great. The substance is delicious when shot into my mouth, hot as fuck when squirted on my body, and powerfully satisfying when dumped nice and deep in my cunt. I have a particular penchant for guys who pull out of my cunt then press the tip of their dick roughly against my ass, squirting it in dismissively like it’s trash they wish to dispose of. I fetishise cum, and the feeling of being ejaculated into, onto, or just generally in the vicinity of is something I will always, always love.

However. I am also not a fool. Many of the men I have banged – and more so as I (and therefore they) get older – have not been able to come during sex. I’ve struggled with it myself in the past when I was on SSRIs for anxiety. Anorgasmia (or ‘delayed ejaculation’ or just ‘shy orgasms when you’re with someone else’) is extremely common, and (sing it with me) nothing to be ashamed of. The only things to which we should attach shame are bad moral choices, never to bodily functions which are outside our control.

Often orgasm difficulty comes down to condoms, which can dampen your sensation and make ejaculation trickier. But it’s not always a condom issue. The sensation of a fuck – whether cunt, ass or mouth – is different to what you might be used to with your hand, so that’s often the reason you might struggle to get there. If you’re on SSRIs that can cause changes in your body too, likewise stress or anxiety or being too drunk or too high.

Ejaculating during penetration isn’t something that all people with dicks can do, and even those who can don’t always do it consistently. As with all physical things, what is ‘normal’ for you and your body might be radically different to what’s ‘normal’ for someone else. So if you notice any sudden changes in your ejaculation you might want to speak to a GP about possible underlying health issues. But fundamentally, if you find it hard to come during sex, I need you to know that you’re far from alone. That’s the main reason I’m writing this blog post.

I have no doubt that there’ll be men (it’s not all men but it is always men) who reply in the comments beneath this post or on social media to say ‘lol not a problem for me! I come like Mount Vesuvius each and every time!’ but they’re not representative, I promise. They might even be exaggerating, because the weight of societal expectation when it comes to sex (and, for men especially, the ‘performance’ aspect of it) is powerful. Trust me on this though: ejaculation doesn’t happen for everyone, every time. And that is A-OK.

If cum isn’t important in any sexual interaction, though, why do I fetishise it? I try to be sensitive to the knowledge that some people have insecurities about things like dick size, so unless I’m writing a (clearly-labelled) story about fetishising massive cocks, I try not to lay it on too thick when talking about… well… thickness. I do fetishise girthy dicks a bit, because there’s something deeply satisfying about being stretched and filled, but I try to temper that by explaining that it’s not the be-all and end-all so that people with smaller dicks don’t feel inferior – they are not. I’ve tended to treat cum differently in the past, though. I don’t tend to append ‘it’s OK if you can’t!’ to any blog I write about wallowing in spunk.

Back to this guy.

One

We’d almost got there so many times. Slow, gentle riding with me prompting him for specific feedback – pause here, squeeze there, angle like this…

So delighted was I with how well I nudged him for input, and how many times we got so fucking close, that I was fairly convinced I’d have this man spaffing inside me within a short while of us knowing each other.

It took a little longer than predicted in the end, but we did it. Mainly via a combination of slow, steady riding, and turning up my sensitivity dial to tap in to all the tiny bits of feedback he was giving me.

That angle, like this, just there. Slower. No, slower than that. Yes, that’s it. Keep going.

My thighs burned and my cunt ached and when it finally happened and I felt his cum pouring in, alongside the spunk itself I was flooded with a powerful sense of… yeah, sorry, I hate myself… victory.

A few minutes later, in the gleeful afterglow, he told me: “No one’s ever managed to do it twice.”

Can I not just enjoy all the rest of it?

This cognitive dissonance, where I simultaneously recognise that it’s completely normal for someone to not jizz during sex, while also desperately hoping I might be the one who can make it happen, gives me deeply uncomfortable feelings. I don’t want to feed into the harmful narrative that sex is only successful if there’s spunk.

But I do like cum, you see. And I like being the person who gets my partner off. I like seeing the look in their eyes, or feeling the tremble in their body, when they’re just about to really let go and hit climax.

Two

I did my best to not think about it, I really did. But what he’d said to me after that first time lingered in my mind: no one’s ever managed to do it twice. He would tease me sometimes about this, mocking me for my thirsty attempts to get him to come but… he actively encouraged it too. It was a strange space in which to exist, to be honest. I didn’t want to pressure him, and was proud of helping to gently usher him out of his shell and into a sexual comfort zone where he didn’t feel shamed for the fact that ejaculation was rare. In fact, we’d come up with more than one way for him to come outside of penetration that both of us found powerfully hot. But still. It was there. That nagging reminder that ‘no one’s ever managed to do it twice.’

I wanted to be the best at sex. The One Who Did. I was eager to stamp myself on his physical memory, as well as his heart, by achieving something that no one else ever had.

We hit two in much the same way as one, though this time with less overt pushing from me. I wanted him to feel relaxed and calm but I also recognised that one of the core reasons I wanted that calm relaxation was… so he might be able to let go enough to come good and hard inside me.

Sigh.

He did though – score! As we lay there afterwards, him panting and spent and me squirming with self-satisfied glee, two words went round and round in my mind. I couldn’t get them to leave me alone. Instead of just enjoying the fact that I’d been chill enough to make this thing happen twice, my competitive brain kept whispering: hat trick.

Go on, go for the hat trick.

Don’t think about a white bear

Challenging sexual scripts can sometimes feel like an exercise in inevitable failure. Like the old psychology bit where you tell people not to think of a white bear, nagging yourself to stop caring whether your partner comes can lead to you obsessing over that thing, often to the exclusion of other things that bring joy.

There were certainly times, while fucking this guy, when I got stuck deep in that zone. Especially if he went all silent and focused, the way he usually did when he was willing it to happen. I’d take on that focus myself, and allow every atom of my body to gear itself towards the things I knew might work: squeezing my cunt in a specific rhythm as I slid up his dick, whispering words that he’d responded well to before, kissing and breathing and biting in all the right places until I could barely feel any sensations myself, because the way I felt in my own body had become unimportant. The thrill in my cunt, the way his lips felt on mine, the responses he was giving (or not, as the case may be – he went very still before climax) – all that mattered to me in that moment was helping him to get there. My mind and body were entirely centred around one thing: his cock. And whether or not I could milk it for one more load of cum.

He played into it too, often telling me once we’d stopped: “I was almost there, like 9.8 out of 10 close,” or what have you. My eagerness to make him come was matched by him feeling like he had to try – whether mentally or physically or both – and his desire to do that fed back into my approach. We both rationally understood that the common goal to have a mutually lovely time without pressure. We both knew thoroughly and completely that our sex was valid and good without spunk.

And yet.

And

yet.

I still want to tell you – with pride and joy – that we did achieve the hat trick. Then a couple more times for good measure, before we parted ways.

I don’t want the moral of this story to be “keep trying, and eventually you too can achieve the sex that society tells you is ‘normal’, even though obviously we all know there is no such thing as ‘normal’.” But that’s where we’d be, if I let this end here. Instead, I’m going to tell you two important things:

1. I think one of the reasons this became easier later is because, once it had happened a couple of times, the stakes were lower. The ‘challenge’ of making him come took a back seat to other pleasure, and as a result the last few times happened more naturally.
2. In the course of trying for the hat trick, and examining in detail why my brain just couldn’t let go of this tedious sexual script, I think I learned a bit more about what I like in bed.

And actually, it really isn’t all about cum. It’s about something far more important: letting go.

Coming versus letting go

What’s the sexiest thing someone can do in the bedroom? I’d argue that it isn’t anything you can learn from an advice guide, or request when you’re discussing fantasies. It can’t be directed or taught. The sexiest thing anyone can do in the bedroom is drop all the performance, abandon tricks and tips, then just utterly and completely let go.

The hottest moments in my life tend to have this in common: abandon. Release. It might be a particular noise someone made, or something they blurted out in the heat of the moment. The way this person’s hands trembled, or an orgasm which took them so swiftly it came as a shock. A particular face a guy pulled when I sucked his cock just right, or this one time he screamed ‘PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE’ with no regard whatsoever to my neighbours. Allowed their face or their voice or their body to do the things which felt natural.

Not performing, just abandoning themselves to the moment.

It’s one thing to be calm and skilled and in control: that certainly has its appeal. Shagging someone dominant, who can tease and play with me without losing a grip on himself… that’s nice. But what’s even nicer is the moment when he tips over into true comfort in himself: when he stops fucking me with calm, gentle firmness and instead a flicker of impulsive need breaks through.

Let it go

Not everyone can ejaculate during sex, so fetishising cum and ejaculation is often going to lead to disappointment. More importantly, focusing exclusively on physical climax can put a lot of pressure on someone, and actively prevent them from doing the thing that is hottest: letting go. Abandoning oneself to the moment. Just absolutely losing your fucking mind with the sheer joy of what we’re doing together.

Ejaculation is hot because it’s a symbol of this exact thing. But there are other things that also work to show me that you’re lost in this horny adventure.

• grunting: you know those proper deep grunts in the back of your throat that make it sound like you’re a rutting animal? Those. Yes. OhMyGodYes.
• reaching out to grab me: impulsive, instinctive touches of the parts of my body you like most. Not playing with me to give me pleasure, but touching me purely for the joy that touching brings you. So hot.
• shuddering: I love to make a man shudder and feel him shake between my thighs.
• moaning into my mouth: specifically into my mouth, like you can’t wait for us to break this kiss apart before you let the sounds pour forth.
• saying something hot that’s unexpected: babbling like a fuckdrunk slag, giving very little care to the words that fall from your mouth. I don’t mean ‘dirty talk me’, though that’s always good (and here’s a guide on how to start dirty-talking, if you like). I mean properly letting go so that you don’t try to craft your words to my specific taste, you just say what you feel and run with it. Yeah. It’s good. It’s hot. So hot. Fuck yeah, more, harder, oh God you feel so good keep going don’t stop, I want to feel myself deep in your wet cunt while you come round my cock…  

Having you come inside me is fun, but the things which make my wank bank aren’t laser-focused on ejaculation specifically. The things above stand out because you’re giving me something interesting and different: an insight into your pleasure, at that exact moment. You’re opening yourself up and showing me something that’s infinitely more precious than a quick shot of jizz. With words, gestures and moans, you can allow yourself to be vulnerable. And that’s not just hot, it’s also a cornerstone of intimacy, in my opinion. Abandoning yourself is how intimacy manifests when you’re alone with someone you trust.

That’s why I was so frustrated with myself when I couldn’t get the ‘hat trick’ out of my mind.

If you’re the person wanting to be spunked in/on, there’s a lot of joy in diverting your focus away from the act of coming too. Putting your effort into noticing these other things instead. Give it a go: be curious. Let your gaze wander. Take note of every other little detail of your partner’s responses. You can learn a lot from a twitch or a moan, but more importantly you can feel a lot. Sometimes a tense grip of your arm in just the right moment, or an ‘ohhhhh pleeeease’ moaned softly but insistently into the crook of your shoulder, well… these things might not be the featured climax of as many porn films, but that doesn’t mean they cannot be climactically satisfying themselves. Give yourself a treat, next time you fuck. Turn your consciousness away from cum and let your gaze wander.

Delayed ejaculation isn’t a problem in itself, but obsessing over it can mean it takes longer to reach a place where one or both of you feels comfortable doing the hottest thing: letting go. Giving in to abandon.

No longer performing, just allowing yourself to be.