Howl

How Many Orgasms Does a Woman Really Need?

Why I don’t strive for multiple orgasms

I have this memory of watching the TV show Sisters when I was a teenager and hearing the characters talking about multiple orgasms — comparing which one of them had had the most. By then, I knew what an orgasm was, but my parents were generally pretty closed-lipped about sex. There were so many things I did not know or understand and I felt too embarrassed to ask.

What the hell were multiple orgasms?, I wondered. Did it mean having simultaneous orgasms? Was that even possible?

For some reason, that was the only explanation that occurred to me. I knew from my own solo explorations that I could have two orgasms within a few minutes of each other, but I had no idea that men couldn’t experience this. As far as I knew, my two-orgasm achievements were just the norm. I had no idea that I was experiencing multiple orgasms.

Because of my absurd understanding of what multiple orgasms were (the whole simultaneous thing), I never expected to experience it with a man. That turned out to be very helpful at keeping my expectations low when I entered my first sexual relationship.

My first boyfriend was like an accountant when it came to orgasms, counting each one so he’d never “fall behind.” I was shy and inexperienced and rarely asked for what I wanted or needed and as a result, I sometimes went unsatisfied. I don’t think I ever experienced more than one orgasm during each encounter with him — and I don’t think he would have ever let me.

Eventually, I discovered what multiple orgasms were and that I’d been experiencing them all along, in my own explorations of my body. But I could still remember that scene from Sisters in which one of the characters — I swear, though maybe my memory is deceiving me — brags about coming fifteen times in one night.

Fifteen?

I just couldn’t imagine that. In general, I had to work pretty hard for my orgasms, and they tended to become harder to achieve, while also diminishing in strength as the night wore on. I couldn’t imagine having the energy to make it there fifteen times.

My last partner turned out to be very generous when it came to orgasms, which I enjoyed, even though I felt he had ulterior motives for his generosity.

The very first time he told me he wanted to make me come again, I’d laughed, almost giddily and kissed him. I had expected him to immediately want to finish, and it was such a nice surprise that he wanted to help me experience another climax.

After my second orgasm, he leaned into me as I was trying to catch my breath, bit my earlobe and whispered. “I want to watch you come one more time.”

Again, I was giddy, though somewhat tired by that time, and we switched positions and kept going.

By that point, I started to worry that things were taking too long. I wanted him to have his fun, too.

I finally came for the third time. He kissed me after I surfaced from the experience, and said, “Again?”

“Jesus,” I said. “No thanks, I’m good.” I laughed, worried I had spoken too harshly, but honestly, I was wiped out. Who the hell needs more than three orgasms in 40 minutes? I mean, it’s amazing, but it’s so much goddamn work.

We had that conversation many times over the years, elevating it to almost comical heights.

“Do you want to come again?” he’d ask, night after night.

“For god’s sake, I’m done,” I’d say, gasping. Or, “Two is enough. Let’s do you now.” Or, “Do I look like I can make it there one more time? Do I?”

Then he’d laugh, and I’d laugh, and we go on about our business.

I still think about that scene in Sisters. Fifteen orgasms. I want to sit down and talk with the screenwriters. Where did the idea for this scene come from? Did someone actually experience this? Were they just trying to be titillating?

The thought of having fifteen orgasms makes me want to roll over and go to sleep. The phrase “too much of a good thing” comes to mind.

Although, it occurs to me that it might be easier in a long, leisurely night of lovemaking, rather than the very concentrated experiences I’ve always had. Even on a first night with a new lover, we’d have sex twice (which meant up to four orgasms for me) and then fall asleep until morning.

I’ve never experienced those lazy, slow encounters, and honestly, I’m not sure that exists outside of books and movies. You know what I’m talking about — when you basically spend the whole night fucking with a few naps in between sessions.

I don’t know what that’s like, though I can imagine if I were to experience that (if people actually do that…?) fifteen orgasms might — might — be a possibility. Hmmm…maybe. At my average of two per session, that would put me somewhere in the ballpark of seven sessions, which makes me sore just to think of. I suppose if he used his hands and tongue, that might help, but still…

Okay, I really just don’t see it happening, even under ideal conditions.

You see, I’m a woman, and in general, it takes some effort for us to climax. That’s just the way we work. It can take twenty minutes of direct stimulation just to get there, as I’ve read from various sources (and know from personal experience). Then there’s the mental effort. Seriously, unless it’s just the right time of the month, and my partner is doing just the perfect move, and I’m feeling extra frisky and focused, I have to work very hard to keep my mind from spiraling off into deadlines and worries and other orgasm-killing thoughts.

This is why two orgasms generally takes a lot out of me. And why three, maybe four, tends to be my ceiling.

Don’t mistake my pragmatism as a lack of gratitude. After beginning my sexual experience with a man who tallied our orgasms, and being with one who withheld them, entirely, it is still wondrous and amazing to me that there are men out there who actually love giving their partners orgasms. I appreciate that so much.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that one or two really strong climaxes that we strive for together are far, far better than three or four or more ever-weakening orgasms that take so much energy out of me that I end up just lying there as he finishes.

Not that I don’t still fantasize about what it might be like to hit fifteen in one night… You know. If I had that kind of energy.

© Yael Wolfe 2019