There’s More to Good Sex Than Orgasms

(But I still need orgasms)

At this point in my life, orgasms are non-negotiable.

I don’t have time for sex that doesn’t get me off, and I really don’t know how I could be satisfied without it at this point.

If I have orgasms but I don’t manage to get a really strong, satisfying one, I’ll keep nudging things along until I get there.

And if I really struggle, it just takes me a few minutes with a decent vibrator to get what I need.

Orgasms are a big deal because they’re a big part of what makes sex really pleasurable and worthwhile for me.

But they’re not the only part of sex that matters.

I routinely see guys bragging about how they can make a woman come, how quickly they can make her come, or how often they can make her come. As if that’s the one and only measure of good sex.

I hope they’re right about their sexual skills. If they are, I’m glad their partners are getting off. But I hope they’re bringing more than that to the bedroom.

I know there’s more to good sex because I’ve had amazing nights that didn’t result in orgasms, and I’ve had multi-orgasmic sex that was still missing something.

The Sex That Gave Me More Than Orgasms

For the first years of my sex life, I didn’t have a single orgasm.

I’m sure part of it was always being a little nervous, a bit uncomfortable, and highly self-conscious.

But a bigger part of it is that no one made much of an effort to give me one. I very rarely got my clit touched — and forget about getting it licked.

But even though none of the guys I dated or hooked up with made me come, I still remember some of the sex very, very fondly.

There was the first guy who talked dirty to me — online, anyway. We had just started dating and he spent an entire week sending me X-rated emails.

I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him — but mostly, to have his hands on me.

We finally got to meet up at my friend’s house. I was already really drunk by the time he got there, so it didn’t take long before I pulled him into a bedroom so we could be alone.

I was filled with teenage lust and I spent hours doing nothing but making out with him and loving the way his hard-on grinded against my crotch.

I was planning to take things slowly, but my head was swimming with hormones and all that dry humping just made me want more.

We got a condom and he gave me a decent fucking.

I didn’t get an orgasm from it, but it didn’t matter.

His hands all over me, the way he touched me incessantly, the way he couldn’t stop kissing me, and the very fact that we wore each other’s will power down to nothing and just had to fuck — all of it made me feel incredibly desired.

He wasn’t the first person I fucked, but he was the first one who showed passion for me.

Todd was another guy who never managed to make me come. But he’s still very memorable because he was the one who fucked me with the most gusto. I still have vivid memories of having him bend me over and getting fucked so hard his hips slammed against my ass.

He had a dominant attitude in bed. It didn’t feel like we were just fucking — it felt like he wanted me and he was taking me.

He treated me like I ignited his desires, and that made me feel really fucking hot.

I’m a sexual little spoon, too, so having him take the lead made me feel really taken care of. It’s like he knew what I needed and was ready to give it to me.

But it was Jason who gave me one of my most memorable fucks.

I met him on a train ride to Montreal and I found him exceedingly charming.

I thought I’d never see him again. So, when I found him on the train ride back to my small city, it felt like fate.

I was so happy to see him again and get to spend a few more hours with him.

He was amazing at conversation. I hung on his every word and he was rapt with attention when I was speaking. I felt like we were getting to know each other very quickly.

There was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to fuck this guy. It didn’t matter that there were other people in the train car. It was late, they were asleep, and it was worth the risk.

We laid a blanket over our laps and started touching each other. After that, I kneeled on the seat and he fucked me with what is by far the thickest cock I have ever encountered. But he got me so fucking wet his girth didn’t even matter.

We were interrupted mid-fuck. Neither of us got to come. But it was still some of the best sex I’ve ever had.

The way he was interested in me. The way he cared about my pleasure. The way he made me feel like he was really into me — not just into the idea of fucking me. He wasn’t just going through the motions to get to third base. We formed a connection before either of us knew we’d have a chance to fuck.

That made all the difference. By the time he pushed his massive cock into me, I was feeling special, appreciated, and wanted.

None of these guys made me come, but all three gave me great sex because they gave me so many of the other elements of a satisfying sexual encounter. How they made me feel — desired, sexy, connected, cared for, and incredibly horny — was almost as important as what they did to me physically.

The Sex That Only Gave Me Orgasms

Since meeting my husband, things have changed dramatically. I’ve gone from having no orgasms during sex to having multiple orgasms every single time I fuck.

But that doesn’t mean the sex was always amazing.

Early into our relationship, we had a threesome with one of his friends, Bryan.

I wasn’t attracted to Bryan. I was more into the idea of having a threesome than I was into the idea of him. But Bryan was conveniently down for anything.

In all fairness to Bryan, he did pull his weight. He stroked my clit, went down on me, and put in a decent effort at getting me off. He was responsible for some of the orgasms I had that night.

But he was also responsible for none of us having a terribly good time.

There was no passion with Bryan. I didn’t feel any for him and I don’t think he felt any for me. Because of that, everything was very technical. He was doing the things he needed to do to make me climax, and he would even brag about getting me off while we were fooling around. Awkward.

There were no cameras around, but it felt like we were filming a crappy porno.

One of the low points was the way Bryan talked to Mr. Austin about me instead of addressing me directly. He would tell him how hot I was, tell him how good it felt to finger me, tell him how good I was with my hands. I felt like a Bang Bros chick getting railed by two guys who didn’t bother learning her name.

Mr. Austin gently called him out on it, but the weirdness didn’t really end. Bryan spent the rest of the night trying to make me come. I tried to make him come. But in the end, there was no connection or desire. It just felt routine.

I can’t remember how many orgasms I had that night. I know I don’t have enough fingers to count them all. But it doesn’t matter. If you asked me if I had good sex that night, I would definitely say no.

At least Mr. Austin was there, so it wasn’t a total shit show.

But things weren’t always perfect with him, either.

We’re tight and sexy now, but our marriage was sexless for a few years. We had sex, at most, once a month.

Ideally, when you’re waiting that long to fuck, you’d make up for it with some mind-blowing sex. But it didn’t work out that way.

The sex we did have was very habitual. It was routine. I knew exactly what to expect, right down to how long each part of it lasted.

My libido was barely there, so I wasn’t super into it even though I was happy to fuck. And my husband was worried he’d do something to startle me and kill my sex drive. So, he stuck to what worked.

Except, it didn’t really work.

It made me come, yeah. It gave me multiple orgasms. But there was no magic to it. It felt like we were in it for the orgasms and not much else.

It felt rehearsed. And because of that, it didn’t make me feel all that great.

Feeling like I had become some kind of habit made me feel a lot less sexy. And going through the same motions every time made me feel boring.

I worried I had let the spark die and there was nothing I could ever do to bring it back. This was just what sex would be like from now on.

I loved my husband dearly. I know he loved me, too. But nothing about the way we fucked expressed that. It didn’t make us feel like we were hot for each other. There was no excitement to it. It just became a thing we did.

It didn’t matter how many times I got off during it, it just wasn’t all that incredible. It didn’t give me much that I couldn’t have given myself.

Great Sex Doesn’t Just Make You Come

I’ve seen a lot of people pushing the message that good sex doesn’t have to include orgasms.

I kind of agree, but I have complicated feelings about this.

I think we do ourselves a disservice if we consider our orgasms to be optional.

If we call it and say that we’re just not going to be able to come, that’s fine. I’ve been there. I’ve had nights where no matter what I do, I just get more and more frustrated. Sometimes it makes sense to give up on the orgasm and just enjoy the feeling of a tongue lapping at your pussy.

But that doesn’t mean we should be okay with our partners not putting in a decent effort to get us there.

If we’re fucking someone, it’s not unreasonable to ask them to at least try to get us off.

But at the same time, there’s so much more to good sex than how strong or how often you climax.

The best sex combines everything. It makes you feel good physically and it makes you feel great about yourself.

Great sex makes you feel desired. Great sex makes you feel sexy. Great sex makes you feel passionate. Great sex makes you feel appreciated and taken care of. Great sex makes you feel enthusiastic about giving pleasure. Great sex makes you feel hot as fuck.

Great sex also makes you come. But it’s so much more than that.

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