The way I react to it has changed over the years.

Correction: I don’t react to it anymore, because I simply don’t allow it to happen.

I’m not having sex to get you off and then watch you sleep. Don’t give me the whole “journey is the destination, climax is not all that matters” melody. I’m wise to it, and that’s not what this is about. This is a social justice issue. Bad sex: when he gets his, but doesn’t seem to care much if you get left hanging from a sizzling thread of desire.

I'm lucky; I’ve always had a well-developed radar for great lovers. They know how to deliver that squeeze and seize like there’s no tomorrow, and they’ll keep doing it till you’re declaring your love. But I’ve also allowed a few bad papayas to sneak their way into my bed over the years. There are some I knew were bad from the first. I let ‘em finish and then tell ‘em it’s finished. Others are sorta okay, but they cum too quick and then lie there, expecting a medal. To them I say: nope. They can leave too. And then there are the worst kind of all: the ones with skill, virility, and endurance—who happen to be hopelessly lazy and selfish. Hard to say which quality overpowers the other.

Practicing radical honesty

This summer I began practicing what I like to call “radical honesty” with the men I was dating, or fucking, as was the case. This seems to get a lot easier the older you get, and now that I’m staunchly in my mid-30s, it’s downright fun. Jamie (who’s name has been changed to protect the innocent) was a pretty good lover. I gave him a wild orgasm he’ll always remember. And I put my back into it too. I like doing that, giving of my fire, making a man feel amazing. But then he just sorta skulked around, looking for his socks.

He looked shocked when I made the snide remark: Are you really gonna leave here without making me cum? I said it with humour and girlishness, the way women learn to when they wanna save the mood but still get the fuck off. Rather than pin me down and punish me for my entitlement with a raging orgasm, he continued to skulk, uncomfortably. Said something about expectation being a bad thing, about how we’re all responsible for our own pleasure, and about women’s orgasms being more elusive than men’s, generally speaking. All in a grumble, mumble, sock-searching tone.

Um.

His string of lame excuses was enough to choke off my life supply. Yuck. Like, man the fuck up.

So then I said: “I’m used to having an orgasm every time (which was true).” And I said: “I get frustrated when a guy doesn’t make an effort to help me get there.” And he said: “Oh. I’m glad you told me. Most girls probably wouldn’t say anything.”

I’m not saying I need to cum 100% of the fucking time, but I cum easily, and hard, so I don’t see why not. And men do, so why can’t I? And I’m not saying I’m not down for some drawn out tantric exploration where release is besides the point. If it’s a journey for two, count me in. But what I’m talking about here is a much bigger issue, and is very widespread, in spite of the whole “it’s 2017, for goddess’ sake” exclamation. Maybe mainstream man porn is part of the problem. Too many depictions of women who seem satisfied by an endless build-up followed by some jizz on the tongue. Her pleasure erased from the equation. His magnified, enhanced, and worshipped. Those who think that feminism’s work is done or void are simply misinformed, and usually happen to be oversexed, over-gratified men who are total strangers to experiencing want without release.

When we do it, when we go there, when we throw down, we expect build-up, and we expect release. When we build-up with another warming body, only to be abandoned in the world of the unreleased, it can feel like fucking shit. Not cumming can bring on a very emotional reaction in some women, from anger, to frustration, to straight up tears (in my case). To add insult: know that whole blue balls story men like to tell to pressure women into getting them off? News flash: it’s actually more of a women’s condition, y’all. That’s right.

Female blue balls are a real thing

Beverly Hills relationship psychotherapist Dr. Fran Walfish, was interviewed on the matter. "Many women … take longer or have trouble achieving orgasm. They either experience a physical discomfort in their uterus or a sense of frustration, or both," she says. Since women overall tend to have a harder time having an orgasm, they actually experience female "blue balls" way more often than men do. Teresa Hoffman, M.D., an OB/GYN and medical director of Hoffman & Associates, an OB/GYN group affiliated with Baltimore’s Mercy Medical Center, gets into the mechanics a bit. To sum it up: when you get aroused, more blood flows into your uterus, just as it flows into a man’s cock when he gets hard. If you don’t orgasm, that extra blood stays there, waiting to be released through uterine contractions the likes of which you experience when you have a delicious, juicy orgasm. As a result, you can actually feel congested in your pum pum. Hoffman points out that although the details are not fully clear, since there’s no scientific research on it (hello, gendered biases in medical research!), “if you talk to women, they say it can be uncomfortable. You feel kind of full, like there’s a weight in your pelvis that needs to be released.”



Really? Really. That explains why it feels like shit, doesn’t it? So why don’t we feel as entitled as men do to demand orgasm, or to point it out when we feel pain or frustration where pleasure should be?

Please, please please stop faking orgasms

Ladies: don’t fake your fucking orgasms. You’re not doing anyone a favour. And when you’re left high and dry, do both man and womankind a favour, and practice radical honesty. You’d be surprised how often he actually surprises you and responds with positivity, or even appreciation. It’s hot when a woman claims her pleasure. Think of your body, your mind, your heart. And all the future generations of pum pums.

And men, if you’re actually reading: step up. You get back manyfold what you give. And believe it or not, you too can have better, more profound orgasms when you actually connect. The selfish satisfaction of the entitlement-addled brain has an expiration date, and eventually you’ll find yourself running on empty, without the ability to merge with a real, human woman. Meanwhile, word has spread that you’re a crap lover. You don’t want that.