If advice columns, porn, and our own insecurities have taught us anything, it’s that orgasms are the objective of partnered sex. Our sexual lexicon is replete with references to the primacy of orgasm: climax, peak, money shot, Big O, release, satisfaction, etcetera. Despite the efforts of friends and writers to espouse the importance of foreplay and mood, it’s hard to mentally divorce sex from orgasm.
This orgasm-centric mindset applied to sex is great for media that conforms to the three-act structure of storytelling. Porn, erotica, and even our fantasies like to envision a goal analogous to a ‘climax’. We know that idealized fantasies don’t always reflect reality in other spheres, so why shouldn’t it apply here? Unfortunately, the pro-orgasm mindset isn’t so great for people though. People like those of us who can’t realistically expect an orgasm during sex. And our partners who are losing their minds over it.
Five years of being completely fine
I haven’t had an orgasm due to a partner’s ministrations for five years. I don’t keep a scorecard, but it comes to mind whenever I have sex with someone new. When I meet a new partner, we always share the enthusiasm and excitement of sleeping with someone new and hot. The energy is palpably real. I temper that fresh energy with a clutch of important discussions about boundaries and expectations. A recent addition to those conversations is the topic of how little I orgasm and how little it matters to me.
Orgasms never came (hah) easily to me. After learning about masturbation in my teens, I promptly gave myself the customary death grip syndrome that so many other teens get. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my rapidly developing expertise in giving myself orgasms was salting the earth for my future partners. My first, fumbling forays into sex were marked by many disappointments, chief of which was the total lack of orgasms. For everyone involved. I took a direct lesson about the profound lack of educational value in the porn I consumed.
Through practice with many supportive partners, I resolved a lot of these difficulties. For a few years, orgasms in partnered sex were a regular occurrence for me and my lovers. This came to a gentle end when I transitioned and shuffled testosterone out in favor of its feminine counterpart. For the endocrinologically unfamiliar, a whole-body dose of estrogen is not ideal for erectile function. In my body, this included reaching that elusive O.
That’s how I joined the ranks of people who need to explain to new partners that they don’t orgasm much. It wasn’t some kind of great tragedy, either. Mine was a side effect of hormonal medication. I’m not the first woman to feel a drastic change in sexual sensation because of medication. A gradual decrease (or gain!) in orgasms isn’t uncommon. It’s frequently age or hormone-related. For some people, it’s the result of changing anatomy or psychology. I came to terms with mine quickly, probably because I was getting so much other joy from the estrogen that this was a footnote to me.
Some explanations are still due
Sadly, my partners don’t always share my comfort with this situation. Whether they’re used to lovers who orgasm easily or, worse, they’ve attached some ego to their ability to ‘please’ a partner, the topic usually evokes more discomfort in others than myself. That small disappointment is usually preferable to the wounded pride and expectations that would result later when I’m on the receiving end of the dreaded ‘are you getting close?’ treatment.
Just as I’ve gotten better about how I approach this topic with new people, I’ve also learned to work with my partners. The desire to bring me to a proverbial climax is positive and well-intentioned. I’ve just had to redirect that energy into more attainable goals. Guiding their willing hands and lips to parts of my body in greater need. Bringing my lovers along for the process, not the conclusion.
While writing this, I’ve met a new conclusion with pride: I’m so unconcerned with the prospect of my orgasm that I’m more interested in allaying my partners’ fears about it than looking for something I know isn’t there. I’m confident that if I went searching for this elusive thing, the stress of the search will only lead it further away. It’s better to enjoy what I do have.
