I Can Come from Being Squeezed

Hips, ribs, and other improbable erogenous zones

The first time I got turned on by a hard squeeze, it took me off-guard.

It wasn’t a fantasy come true. It wasn’t something I hoped would happen. It’s something I didn’t know I wanted.

And in an instant, it was something I didn’t want to live without.

I can come in a few different ways that have nothing to do with my clit or my G-spot. Some are typical, like nipple orgasms, and some are a little less common, like having fingers trace my lower back or the waistband of my pants.

But most of them don’t turn me on as much as the squeeze.

Getting Pushed Around — In a Good Way

I discovered my love of squeezing with one of my early boyfriends. A few other guys had been physical with me at that point, but not in the same way Mark was.

I remember the first time very vividly. He was having a party at his place. The entire basement was his bedroom. It was half-finished with a bare concrete floor. Everything in it looked thrown together — a bed in this corner, a computer desk in the other, a guitar and large amp by the wall, an incongruous washing machine.

It was open plan before it was trendy. It wasn’t aesthetically pleasing. It was poorly lit by a single fluorescent light. I’m sure it had terrible feng shui. It was functional and it looked functional. It was a perfect place for teenagers to get loud, drunk, and stoned.

We had been dating for about three weeks, and I was sitting by his side. I ignored everyone at the party. I wanted to flirt with him a little instead. I wanted the evening to end like they usually did: with a long makeout session once we were alone.

He didn’t wait that long. Something about the way I was being sweet with him got him fired up. I felt his hand grab my wrist. He pulled it hard and led me out of the room. I was shocked, but excited. Something about the way he pulled me so insistently felt really good.

He pulled me into the stairwell and pushed me up against the wall where his guests had hung their coats. He made out with me while grabbing and pushing my hips. It wasn’t violent, but it was definitely aggressive.

I could feel the coats hanging around my ears and neck. I felt like I was being engulfed by them, but mostly I was taken over by the feeling of his strong hands squeezing me.

He dry-humped me while grabbing my waist, squeezing my ribs, and pushing his whole body into me. I felt how hard he was through his pants while we rolled our tongues together and breathed so loudly even the sound of the guitars playing on the other side of the thin wall couldn’t drown it out.

The way he grabbed me felt overwhelmingly pleasurable. It wasn’t a feeling I was very familiar with at the time, but now that I look back on it, I know exactly what it was.

I was on the verge of an orgasm.

He pulled away from me and stormed back into his bedroom. He turned off the amps and kicked everyone out so we could fuck.

Once everyone had left, he pulled my pants down, got on top of me, and I silently prayed I was going to get a fuck as aggressive, as enthusiastic, and as passionate as the action he gave me in the stairwell.

He lay on top of me and fucked me for the first time in our relationship. It felt good, but then it stopped abruptly. Two or three minutes in, he got soft and couldn’t regain his erection.

He climbed off me, apologized for it, and blamed it on how drunk he was.

Later, I found out he was on antipsychotic medication, and those were probably the culprit. It was the only time we had sex — he never managed to get hard again no matter how sober he was.

The end was a bit anti-climactic, but that night is an important one for me. Not just because I’ve masturbated to it frequently (it is prime spank bank material), but because it was a revelation.

I learned something new about my sexuality under those coats. The way he handled me woke something in me. His physicality made me feel his passion. I could feel his desire for me. Other boyfriends before him only seemed to want sex. Mark wanted me. I could see it in his aggression, his inability to hold back, his need to take me.

Sadly, it only happened one more time.

It was another party. This time, we were outdoors, and I don’t remember how it all got started, but somewhere in that night, he got the urge to take me again.

This time, he pushed me up against a car — whose car, I have no idea — and grabbed me hard in all the right places. He made out with me, pushed his body on me, showed his desire for me.

We were surrounded by people, but he didn’t give a fuck. That turned me on more. He took what he wanted — and what he wanted was me. He wanted me there. He wanted me now. It didn’t matter how many people were around us.

I broke up with Mark soon after that for dumb teenage reasons. The boy I had a crush on said he liked me. He would end up stringing me along and fucking me a few times, but that’s all that ever came of it. He was timid when it came to being physical — he seemed more uncertain and nervous than passionate.

I missed the squeezing. And I couldn’t ask for it — it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t feel like desire unchained — it would just feel forced.

For about a year, my hips and ribs were left frustratingly unsqueezed. And then I finally met someone else who would grab me the right way.

A Dick Grab and a Hip Squeeze

Mark was really hot. He was fit and had a bit of a bad boy look that matched my punky style. He was the kind of guy who took your breath away on first sight.

Jake wasn’t like that. His looks didn’t stop you in your tracks. But the first night I met him, he showed me that he had other ways of taking my breath away.

I met him online, through a mutual friend. We got to know each other over email, over messenger, we chatted while we were on webcam.

I developed a crush on him. He seemed sweet and talking to him felt so natural. I spent all day wishing I could be at my computer so I could hear from him again.

We had a running joke. I asked him about his dick. He said he would show it to me if I wanted to see it. So, I kept making comments about him living up to that promise.

Eventually, I finally worked up the nerve to meet him. I went to his place with a friend (I know how to watch out for myself). I showed up wearing an outfit he still remembers to this day: tight hot pink pants, black suspenders hanging loose, black shirt with fishnet sleeves, and a studded jacket. And I remember thinking “He really is as dorky as he seems.”

We hung out in his room. He was watching a David Byrne concert video, which was a change of pace for a gal who spent her time hanging out with metalheads.

I don’t remember much about that night other than we hung out in his bed and I felt really nervous.

There was a lot of tension between us — we both wanted to get closer to each other, to make a move, to do something, anything. But we weren’t alone.

When it was time for me to leave, I decided I had to do something bold. I had to stake my claim. I had to show my interest in him somehow.

So I blurted out, “So, am I going to get to see your dick or what?” and tried to look as confident as I sounded.

He agreed. He took me to another room so we’d have some privacy. I was laughing at how far he was taking the joke.

Then, he shut the door behind me and I realized he wasn’t joking.

I know now that it wasn’t his first time exposing himself at someone’s request, but it just seemed crazy to me.

The energy changed in the room, and I changed with it. This was going down. I had pushed us into the direction I wanted to go in and we had already arrived.

He undid his pants, and while he was still packing it in underwear, he said “You can touch it if you want.”

And want I did.

I reached into his underwear and pulled it out. It was rock hard. I stroked his cock lightly a few times, taking in the weird but exciting moment.

I wanted to kiss him. No, I’m more passive than that — I wanted him to kiss me.

I bit my lip and nervously tripped on my words, trying to stammer out a few compliments about his cock (it really was a nice cock).

He looked at my lips and said, “You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

I whispered “Yes.” and he pounced on me.

He shoved his dick back in his pants while making out with me.

Lips locked with mine, he pushed me against the wall. As soon as he had me pinned, his hands went up the sides of my shirt — no one had ever done that before, no one had ever touched me that way.

I was freaking out on the inside. His hands on my bare skin — on my chubby frame. I was worried he wouldn’t like my body.

By the way he handled me, though, he definitely seemed to like my body.

He grabbed my hips, the sides of my stomach, my ribs. It was the first time someone had squeezed me since Mark. Not quite in the same way, but enough to make feel wanted, to make me feel desired, and it was getting me off in a similar way.

His Main Squeeze

I ended up marrying that fucker, so he’s had plenty of opportunities to squeeze me since that first evening.

I’m more fragile than I used to be. Being pushed around and roughed up usually hurts me now. But squeezing me is still part of Mr. Austin’s arsenal. He’ll grab my hips to show me he’s interested in me. He’ll squeeze the sides of my waist during foreplay. Sometimes, he’ll carefully grip my ribs while fucking me.

Every time, I feel a rush of hormones. It makes me inhale sharply. My breath hitches.

It turns me on instantly. It’s a dangerous weapon for him to wield.

And even though he’s never been able to quite replicate that feeling I got when I was being pushed against the car by Mark, when I’m horny enough he can make me come just by gripping me in the right way.

There’s something about the physical pressure, the way those hands press on my ribs or hip bones, that just drives me wild.

There is also something passionate about it, too. It still feels like I’m being taken.

And I’m not going to lie, it’s also because it takes me back to that party when I was engulfed by coat sleeves and feeling desired for the first time in my life.

Until that night in Mark’s basement, I would’ve never thought that being squeezed would be arousing, and I would have never guessed that it could bring me to orgasm.

Being able to come from it used to make me feel a little weird, a little embarrassed. Too easy. Now, it just reminds me to keep exploring and to be passionate. Instead of falling into a routine, touch and explore your partner’s body and just have fun. You might discover new things that get you off, and you’ll both end up feeling more desired.

Sex is about heat, not formula. So, next time you’re with them, give your partner a squeeze and see what happens.

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