My Different Types Of Orgasm
Sex blogging really does make me think more deeply about my intimate workings than I ever would otherwise. This post is a perfect example. For so long, I didn’t really think about how I was orgasming – beyond whether it was with my fingers, their tongue, one of my sex toys, etc – I just… orgasmed or didn’t, as the case may be. Whew, there’s another orgasm out of my system, and boy did that feel great, kinda thing. It’s only relatively recently that I’ve spent some time thinking about my different types of orgasm.
More often than not, it’s during and after masturbation that I can identify exactly what type of orgasm I’m having, or had, rather than during sex with my partner. During partnered sex, I’m usually just so bloody amazed and thankful I’ve been able to orgasm at all, considering my annoying habit for self-consciousness and being too concerned with what they’re doing and thinking and feeling.
However, there are a couple of types that are specific to intimate times with my partner -as you’ll find out reading through the list below.
May is Masturbation Month, so it seemed the perfect time to share with you all the different types of orgasm I’ve identified during and after my solo (and yes, sometimes shared) pleasure sessions.
10 Types Of Orgasm I’ve Identified (So Far)
The One Which Feels Like I’ve Been Dipped In Deep Heat
My Deep Heat orgasm suffuses me in warmth. The usual sudden rush of sensation, but, along with the nerve-tingling pleasure, there’s an overwhelming heat from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. Instant furnace. Whether I’m under the covers, or my partner is atop me, I have to immediately free myself from any tangles and extra insulation.
The sweat is a slick layer down my back, and myriad beads form between my breasts to roll down my body, and between my legs the heat, lube and pussy juice combine into a post-orgasmic, slippery gushing pool.
The One Which Doesn’t Stop At The Station
Some orgasms are a plotted journey from unaroused, through seduction and arousal, culminating in a definite, orgasmic destination. And relax. And some, like the one I’m focusing on here, don’t treat orgasm as a destination. I view the orgasm through the window on an unstoppable train. Looks nice, what I can make of it.
I briefly wonder if I even had an orgasm at all; but I know I definitely did. There was the suffusion of heat, the spine-tingling chills as my body hurtled towards climax, and the point of climax where starbursts explode in my brain. But as soon as it happens, my body whips me from that point and back down to Definitely-Not-Orgasmville again. I’m still breathless, hot, aroused –but the orgasm was over so quickly that it was like a peck on a cheek from a 100m sprinter going for a new world record.
The One Where I’m Sure I’m Damaging My Brain
These orgasms feel similar to when I’m running flat out on the treadmill; but instead of my heart feeling like it’s definitely just about to pop, it’s my brain. Once the orgasm strikes, the sensation seems like it’s too much for my brain to cope with -and, along with the sheer pleasure of the tsunami, I have a rising concern because of the throbbing in my head.
Is this the orgasm that finally does me in? Can an orgasm be too powerful for one mind? Will I survive intact, or will I end up laying here post-orgasm with my brain leaking out of my ears and my eyeballs bulged out of their sockets?
Luckily, I’ve always survived these brain-exploding orgasms –so far, at least. Ever the worrier.
The One Where I Feel Incredibly Guilty
Guilt, guilt, guilt. It seems such an intrinsic part of life for me, and (dare I say it) for many other women too. Yeah we know we shouldn’t feel guilty, but does that stop us? Does it hell.
Career guilt. Mum guilt. Booze guilt. One night stand guilt. Shopping guilt. Me-time guilt.
Show me a woman without an ounce of guilt and… I’ll show you someone I definitely haven’t met yet (but would love to, please do introduce us sometime).
Unsurprising, then, that one of the types of orgasm I regularly enjoy (experience? endure?) is where I feel incredibly guilty throughout. Luckily I’m the kinky type, so I can often pervert the guilt to get off on that aspect instead of letting it ruin the occasion.
Guilty over what, you ask? What is there to feel guilty about when you’re fucking yourself to the land of bliss? Well I should probably be spending my time doing something more productive, for a start. Is anyone going to be looking for me? And look, here I am, wanking again. Oh god, if they’re looking for me, they’re going to find me like this.
And wait, what’s that image popping into my mind, that’s just taken my arousal from first to fifth gear? Ugh, oh, yuk… oh my god, that’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. And you love the thought of that. You filthy, horrible, perverted beast. Oh god that’s so sexy. Fuck, I’m coming. To that image? Damn right you are. Ugh, repulsive. Hot. No. Oh god, yes. *guilt*
The One Where I’m Screaming, But Only In My Mind
I hadn’t focussed on sounds during my orgasms before. Thinking about it, some are silent and some are most definitely not. I’m not talking about external noise in the room, which could be anything from nothing at all, to background noise of chatter/people in the house or the radio/TV on full blast to disguise vibrator sounds. I mean the noise level inside my head.
Most of my self-made orgasms are built by that inner voice pulling out my most filthy turn-ons and fantasies and blending them with the external stimulation from a sex toy and/or partner to guide me to climax.
And sometimes, there’s only screaming.
It’s the closest way I can describe it. Not one, single, high-pitched scream; more an ongoing, overwhelming, excluding-all-else ROAR of noise. The kind of internal roaring scream which has me questioning, in the brief lucid moments, whether it really is just in my mind or whether I’m full-on screaming my way to orgasm in what I thought was complete, silent privacy. Yes, it can be rather disturbing.
The One Where I’m Just Getting It Out Of My System
Quick wanks, basically. The self-made quickie. You ever do that? Get that urge, and it can be on a Tuesday afternoon, a completely inconvenient time for partnered sex or a long self-seduction session, but the orgasm just won’t wait. Often, nothing even triggers it. I get a tingle, and that’s it –I know it’s time to blast a climax out of my system so I can get on with work, or whatever else I’m doing at the time. I won’t be able to knuckle down to anything until I sort myself out.
These orgasms are brought on fast, and they’re a quick relief -but hardly fully satisfying. A service station sandwich, rather than a fulfilling sit-down meal. A self-pleasure snack, snatched from the buffet cart of life.
I grab the closest reliable sex toy, hope to fuck it’s charged enough, slip away to the bathroom and buzz out a lubeless clitoral peak. It’s often over and done with in less than a minute. Nothing else but quick relief.
The One Where I Can Be As Loud As I Damn Well Please
THIS ONE DOES NOT HAPPEN EVEN NEARLY OFTEN ENOUGH.
But oh-my-god… it’s magical when the opportunity arises.
Living in a family home, with not just my children but also my partner’s mother, means that I can never be as loud as I like/as I’d naturally get during sex and masturbation. And naturally, I get quite loud. This means that at home, I’m always having to monitor my noise level during stimulation to orgasm, which can gets in the way of ever feeling like I’ve well and truly given myself over to the pleasure.
Hence, a big part of why I love hotels so much.
When my partner and I are away and sexy-times are possible (so, on our own, obviously) I’ve accidentally conditioned myself to be turned on as soon as I arrive in a hotel room. I just know from past experiences the pleasure potential awaiting me/us. And during our unrestrained fucking, I can finally, properly, fully, allow myself to be possessed by the orgasmic pleasure, to surrender to an orgasm as screamingly, leg-buckingly, wild and flailingly loud as I please.
The One Which Lasts Forever
Is this a multiple orgasm? That’s what I’m asking myself in the background while I’m experiencing the joy of this type of climax.
I’m travelling towards that familiar destination, by whatever means, and up on the horizon pops the first sign of orgasm. I head straight for it. God, don’t let anything distract me now. Concentrate.
Sure enough, the orgasm hits… It’s bliss, it’s magical, it’s rainbows and unicorn sparkles and planet-saving glitter. Then, just about the time I’m expecting it to abate, it… doesn’t. It carries on. I’m strung out over what feels like about 5 orgasms rolled into one. Not one orgasm, then another, then another; but more the length of 5 orgasms, in an ebb and flow concerto of pleasure.
Will it ever end? Do I want it to? Could I live like this, endlessly orgasming in this blissful ocean? Is this my life now? And, just as I’m resigned to a lifetime endlessly riding this orgasmic wave, it’s over.
The One Where I Have Permission
This one is pure, fully adulterated kink. There’s nothing quite like the orgasm I’m eventually ‘allowed’ to have after being held off, and teased, and brought to the edge again, then led away, then following the scent of my orgasm back, just to have it held aloft, out of reach, out of taste… Long enough to think I’ll surely lose the fight and the torrent will burst forth anyway… when finally, he tells me I can. Not just that I have permission, but that I must. Cum for me, now.
The hotness of the permitted orgasm is all about the mind-set, the roleplay and the route taken to this destination. With us, it’s usually via my ageplay kink –his ‘Daddy’ role to my ‘little girl’- but I know others for whom it’s the more traditional Top allowing the held off or chaste bottom/sub to finally enjoy orgasmic release.
My permitted orgasm is a performance. I’m not just experiencing the relief of falling into that blissful abyss, after mental and physical teasing; I’m doing it for him. I’m orgasming because he’s allowed it, because he’s told me to, because he’s told me he wants me to. It pleases him; to be in control of that moment, to be the one to say I can, to watch me as I buck and writhe in his embrace and gasp out my powerful orgasm.
The One Where It’s Therapy
My therapy orgasms are often at the same time as the permitted orgasms (above), but not always. I might have a therapeutic orgasm due to the amount of stress in my mind and body, and the physical release is also a relief, leading to an outpouring of emotions. I often find myself crying as I’m orgasming, the catharsis overwhelming me. They’re not bad tears, it’s just the pent-up stress and emotion being channelled out of my body via the orgasm.
I don’t usually end up in a full breakdown of tears and emotion on my own though, through masturbation. I can feel welcome relief from these, when I orgasm to release stress, but the therapeutic tears come when my partner is there for additional emotional support. Perhaps it’s because I’m protecting myself; I don’t want to be alone when I’m at my most fragile, my most vulnerable emotionally. Maybe because I want him to comfort me with words and touch and cuddles, throughout and then afterwards too.
These therapeutic, cathartic orgasms are exhausting, but in a good way. I feel emptied afterwards, the pressure and weight of the stress lifted. I feel lighter, but worn-out at the same time. They’re usually closely followed by a deep, healing sleep.
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