I discovered I was a squirter the first time I had a full blown orgasm during penetrative sex. Not only was I surprised I’d finally come, I was even more shocked to find a small puddle in the middle of the bed.

To be honest, I was fucking mortified.

I was in the first few weeks of a brand new relationship, you know, the time when you’re trying to put the best version of yourself forward by making sure you’ve washed your hair every time you see your new squeeze, and holding in farts on dates.

We started having sex regularly, and I wasn’t able to come. Despite my attempts to assure her I was having a great time, and she wasn’t doing anything wrong, this badly wounded her ego and became a huge problem. Every time we’d go down to funky town I stressed out that I wasn’t going to get there, which of course meant I didn’t.

I felt awful that she felt inadequate, but not climaxing wasn’t unusual for me at this point of my life. I had never had an orgasm with someone else, hell, I’d only recently begun having them solo!

I had been prescribed the anti-depressant Zoloft when I was 15, and took it throughout my sexually formative years. This led to me having anorgasmia. By my early twenties I’d worked out how to get myself off, but couldn’t relax enough when having sex with someone else for it to happen.

To deflect attention away from me, during sex I always focused on the other person, hoping they wouldn’t notice whether or not I’d come. If I thought they might  indeed notice my lack of climax, I would sometimes fake it. (Although the majority of sex I had when I was in my twenties was drunk sex with twats that didn’t care so much about my enjoyment.)

On the few occasions where I had thought I might be getting close to coming, I had also felt this pressure build up, like the feeling you get when you need to pee. I had therefore switched off as I thought I might wee on myself or the person I was having sex with.

By my mid twenties, I more or less thought that I was an anti-climactic freak, and orgasms were something that happened to men and a few lucky women who’d have won the clitoral lottery.

Then It Happened…

The first time I ejaculated, I was incredibly relaxed and slightly drunk. For the first time during sex, I wasn’t thinking about reaching that elusive climactic goal.

My ex was fucking me with her fingers, and on this occasion, she curled them around and upwards slightly, (sort of like a “come hither” motion). As she pumped me up and down, they stimulated the front side of my pussy. (I’d later realise that this was the exact location of my G-spot.) As she was drunk, she was slightly stronger with her thrusts than she had the previous times we’d had sex.

I started feeling that pressure build up where I thought felt as though I was about to pee, but on this occasion I had switched off mentally and this time I was so relaxed I didn’t care. I just let go and I came hard.

I knew what I was experiencing was an orgasm; I felt as though I’d lost control of my body, and then a wave of bliss and release ran all the way through me. What coincided with this was a slightly milky excretion, that jetted out of my pussy and slid down my butt crack. I felt extremely wet, far wetter than I had ever been from general arousal or lube, and I become conscious of a damp spot in the bed.

Through my drunken haze I felt sprung, and I hoped that she hadn’t realised what had happened, and I stayed lying in the patch all night to cover it up. I figured it would dry by morning, and she’d be none the wiser.

The Next Day

The following morning, I woke up on a dried whitish patch on coloured sheets.

After several years of having sex and never being able to come, I’d finally had an orgasm during sex but I felt like my vagina had let me down.

My ex’s response was a mixture of surprise and repulsion. She thought I had peed myself and wet the bed. I tried to explain I didn’t think that was the case – it didn’t smell like pee, and it wasn’t yellow. I didn’t have anything to compare it to; I felt incredibly self conscious and kind of disgusted with myself.

She thought i was weird, so, I thought I was weird.

Our sex life quickly dried up. She didn’t want to have sex with me, as she was scared I would make a mess and wet the bed. I felt abnormal and incredibly ashamed.

In the years that followed I had sex with other people, and it continued to happen. but in different ways. I’ve written a post outlining the different ways I’ve ejaculated and squirted.

I spent many wasted years trying to stop myself from squirting. The only way I’ve ever been able to stop myself from squirting, was to stop myself from orgasming. That might almost be passable once or twice, but by the third time it’s only ever going to make you feel resentful and frustrated.

I’m so glad that in the many years that have passed, I’ve slept with people who’ve accepted and loved the fact that my sexual enjoyment is so evident. My partner loves it, and thinks it’s the hottest thing ever. She loves it so much she’s even written a post from her perspective.

I wish I could go back and have a chat with my 25 year old self. I’d tell her she should never ever have felt ashamed, or been made to feel insecure about a perfectly normal sexual response. Especially one that is experienced in a moment of physical bliss and release.

If you are an ejaculative lady and your lover doesn’t like it, please get the unenlightened fuckwit away from you and your vagina. They don’t deserve to be between your sheets or your legs.

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