Howl

Do We Need Stronger Orgasms…or a Broader Definition of Sexual Pleasure?

Some of the most pleasurable moments I’ve experienced in the bedroom had nothing to do with an orgasm

I always roll my eyes when women’s magazines proclaim that learning “this one trick” will help me have the most mind-blowing, powerful orgasm of my life. Or that “performing this particular move” will give me and/or my partner more pleasure than we’ve ever experienced.

I know this is how they sell magazines, but I don’t see sex as a set of pleasure milestones to achieve, always trying to one-up my last experience. I try not to attach goals to sex, at all, as a matter of fact.

I’d rather say that I have certain intentions when it comes to sex.

• I want sex to deepen intimacy between me and a partner.
• I want to learn to accept and experience more pleasure.
• I want to shed more of my inhibitions.
• I want to feel more centered and present within my body (which is really, really hard for me).
• I want to show my partner loving, physical attention.

I understand the attraction to the whole “have stronger orgasms” or “experience greater pleasure” thing, but looking back on my past, those moments arose organically in the most wonderfully spontaneous ways. I did nothing to orchestrate them, hadn’t just finished a set of Kegels, and wasn’t aiming to heighten my experience.

These moments don’t necessarily feature an orgasm…or even physical contact.

Yes, there is the sizzling memory of the one and only time a partner and I had an orgasm at the same time. And there’s the night he and I were lying together, naked, and he rolled onto me and entered me in one move, with no assistance, as if our bodies were of one, involuntary mind, driven singularly toward union.

But then there was the night with a lover when I felt so incredibly confident that I asked to try a position we hadn’t tried before — him sitting cross-legged, me in his lap. I have no memory of any orgasm I experienced that night, but I remember how free I felt, how hard his hands were on my back, how my unusual level of confidence allowed me to arch my back, leaning away from him so he could look at my body, which I knew he loved to do.

And there is so much pleasure in the memory of the texts and emails I shared with my last partner, early in our relationship, before we had become physically intimate. We were both nervous about taking the next step, so we wrote to each other things we were too shy to say in person — all the things we liked and didn’t like, and what we wanted our first time together to be like.

I remember asking him, near the end of our messaging volley, to tell me the one thing that would make the experience most satisfying to him. He wrote, “I don’t really care about any of this, to be honest. All I want is to feel myself inside you.” That was, to me, one of the most pleasurable moments of our sex life — and we weren’t even in the same room when it happened.

It became apparent when I bought my first set of “How to Be a Great Lover” books during my first sexual relationship that sex was important to me. But I also learned early on that striving toward specific iterations of sexual pleasure (i.e. super strong orgasms) is kinda impossible, not to mention limiting. There are so many other moments of intense, unpredictable pleasure to enjoy pre- or post-orgasm, or even in moments when you’re not having sex, at all.

I stopped playing the “Tell me about your most intense orgasm” game that a few past lovers have instigated, the implication being that they were going to give me an even bigger one. I appreciate the attention to my pleasure and the mindset that pleasure is all about potential, of course. But I don’t want to set an aspirational tone for my future experiences with a new lover.

Also, I genuinely cannot describe my most intense orgasms or when I had them. Yes, I distinctly remember that simultaneous orgasm and how it felt like the contractions were pulling us deep into each other’s bodies in that moment. Yes, I distinctly remember the involuntary cry of pleasure we both made the night he rolled onto, then into me so effortlessly, so unexpectedly, and I remember the orgasm that followed.

But in general, remembering a specific orgasm is so rare for me. I remember moments — not necessarily orgasms.

So in the end, there’s really no such thing as the strongest orgasm. What can I compare them to in order to come to that conclusion? And to separate the sensation from the experience makes it meaningless to me.

I like the chaos and unpredictability of sex. I wouldn’t want to remember only the culmination of every sexual encounter. I want to see what arises at any given moment. All those experiences of pleasure — even those that don’t involve orgasm — are so precious to me.

I cherish the memory of my partner telling me how much he wanted to be inside me as much as any orgasm — no matter how intense — I might have had with him or anyone else. That kind of stuff makes sex mind-blowing, too.

© Yael Wolfe 2019