Nancy Lewis
Sort of… You’re looking for my g-spot in the wrong place, stupid
It’s not where all the sex manuals say it is, or where you think it is, or even what you think it is…
I used to take forever to orgasm, if it happened at all.
That was because neither myself nor my partner(s) knew how to get there. Yes, there is a sensitive area ‘down there’, and in some women it is more responsive than others, but it isn’t a magic button that will substitute for deep, selfless and caring involvement with someone who knows how to put your pleasure first.
It will not kickstart an all-devouring, explosive sex life, or fulfill all your fantasies. The sensitive area associated with the G-spot is just a tiny part of your whole, and means nothing on its own. Which is why making a big deal out of it is largely a waste of time.
Ultimately, I found that the big ‘O’ was something I had to reach out for and take for myself, even though it was freely and generously available.
My thoughts expressed here cannot be a panacea for all your sex concerns, but you might pick up threads which you can weave into your own lifestyle, patch up a few worn bits here and there and in doing so, help those problems to disappear.
I used to be sexual mess; what worked for me might work for you. I hope so anyway.
My personal reality and yours
Essentially this is about my personal sexual odyssey, drawn from my own life. The point of writing this article is that my experiences might help others, but I can’t promise that it will.
My thinking affects both sexes . A man might pop off once and feel satisfied with that, but a woman with normal health and fitness has the power to climax well into double and even treble figures, reaching a stage where orgasms come in unstoppable waves, not single incidents. This is why a woman takes longer to reach ‘satisfaction’ — her appetite is bigger, much, much bigger.
It is often impossible for a man to comprehend that. To be a wonderful lover, he must be aware of that.
A man must be prepared to learn, and come to know all that a woman is.
A woman is not like a man with different bits.
The female psyche makes her a different creature altogether, something few men come to understand fully. We are made differently.
If you’re a kind of guy who thinks ‘once is enough,’ be aware that almost any woman can be brought to a pitch where once is never enough. If you are unwilling to think along those lines, then this might be another good place to stop reading and go back to watching football.
But if you still want to learn, then I offer you the hardest lesson of all where sex is concerned: Forget yourself.
Master that, and sex for both of you will be perfect, every time.
Yes, forgetting yourself and concentrating on her needs takes practice, but it’s worth it.
When sexuality is unleashed, a woman can be very demanding. No need to fake orgasms, she comes back for more and more. My significant other is flattered by the way I explode again and again on him, and has the emotional stability to want me to fly. Not all men are able to do that. Or they might find it scary. But he was the one who taught me to be the way I am.
I asked him once how he came to know so much. His reply was: “I’ve had good teachers.”
So that is the prime lesson for men: be prepared to learn, and don’t think that a ten minute grind is all-satisfying, and when you’ve climaxed, it’s finished; it isn’t. I can guarantee that’s the way to sexual boredom and termination.
The lady in your life can go much much further than that if you free your mind of inhibition and let yourself be shown how.
Just accept that sexual instinct is something most women are born with. Men, generally speaking, are not.
Many women don’t know that (as I didn’t) so never get to use it. I was fortunate enough to be shown how to.
Men have to learn it, and there is only one place they can get that knowledge. If manly pride makes you refuse that knowledge, then you’ll never be the lover you think you are, or could be.
So how does the magic happen?
This probably sounds weird, but my significant other never initiates sex. He has never chased or persuaded me. I have come to know that that is his way of giving.
It follows that because I must initiate sex, I may never be refused. Beg a little (or a lot) maybe, but that’s all part of the game. Denying me drives me nuts, and he knows it. I know he will always give me what I want. That certainty is critical. In return I give him what he wants, which is an occasional raving nymphomaniac. I can accept that not all men want that.
A woman closes up when she isn’t certain of her lover’s responses.
I couldn’t open up like I do without that certainty. Or to put it more crudely, leap on him and fuck my brains out. He likes that.
I used to be a ‘hardly ever’ type, and always needed the help of lubricant. On our first time, he quietly told me to throw it away. I was told I wouldn’t need it. On that first time, he didn’t fuck me, or make any move to do so. Instead he held me so that our eyes could meet. I had no knowledge of what he was doing but was content to follow his lead.
No fumbling, no groping, no frantic sex, no desperate erection, nothing. Just a silent taking in of one another, lying naked. It had never been like that with a man. Before it had always been immediate attempts at physical penetration. Looking back, I realise that sex was something that had always been done to me, not with me, or for me.
He was making a point of doing nothing ‘to me.’ Instead I know now that I was being made to seek what I wanted for myself, in my own time and at my own pace. It was a revelation.
He put his finger gently on my lips to indicate silence. Somehow he had recognised my nervousness at not being able to ‘perform’; it faded in that silence, because I wasn’t being expected to perform. It was instead almost a time of mutual meditation. He was getting to know me in a way I had not expected.
‘Know yourself, and be yourself,’ he said, quietly, with a soft smile, ‘and take only what you want, when you want it’.
The meaning of what he said was lost on me for that moment; I felt myself wanting to drown in his steady gaze. I wanted him to fuck me.
We kissed, but it wasn’t the tongue twisting oral acrobatics I was used to. Instead it was a meeting of lips with barely any contact at all. It was a light brushing that electrified my entire body. I wanted more. That was the beginning of my new sexuality. That first kiss was showing me what could be if I chose to take it.
Because I was unpressured, I felt myself becoming needy in a way I had never known. It was the first stirring of real want from within myself.
The spell is cast
‘How?’ I whispered, feeling what was happening to me. My hand strayed to his cock, which still remained flaccid. Then my fingers closed around it and felt his immediate hardening response. Somehow the message flashed like a light over my head.
‘Take only what you want, when you want it.’
At that moment I knew what I wanted, and I felt that wanting in a flooding surge that I had never known. His cock was hard and erect. Not because he wanted it so but because I had made it so. That was the essence of his teaching.
I was consumed with rampant physical desire.
I felt a minute pressure of his left hand under my right hip. For the first time in my life, lube was irrelevant. My mind and body were ready and eager, working in sync.
I lifted myself and straddled him, feeling myself wet and ready. I lowered myself onto him, his eyes still holding mine. He kept still, hard, unmoving, letting me move as I wanted to move. I was using him to explore the inner me. For the first time I was free to do with myself as I chose to, not what someone else was trying to do. It was then I realised he was giving me myself.
That became the ultimate freedom; it still is.
And then my climax hit, and hard. I screamed as I forced myself down on him. Wild, abandoned, uninhibited while he held himself inside me, rigid and still, acting as the pivot for every pent up emotion released after years of frustration. It was his ultimate gift, something no one had given me before. I collapsed on his chest, and he held me tight, still deep in me, while I subsided against him.
‘How the hell did you do that?’ I was almost sobbing as I said it.
‘I didn’t, you did.’
‘But how, in just a few seconds? Sex was never like this before.’
‘That’s because you didn’t want it enough, this time you did want it,’ he said. ‘You fucked yourself, because you wanted to.’
Suddenly it all seemed so simple, so obvious. I had used him to fuck myself, in the way I wanted, which was what he intended me to do that first time. Holding himself in me like that displayed a self control that was absolute, and beyond my comprehension. But that too was part of his gift.
Conclusion
Which of course was the whole point, though at that moment, years ago, I still didn’t quite understand. Now I do, of course. I know what makes me tick and explode. Though it is a mutual gift, good sex has to be what I want, though it was my sir who showed that to me. He also locked me into an emotional embrace from which there is no escape, even if I wanted to. It is what he wants too, because he has no interest in sex which isn’t demanded and reciprocated.
He keeps me in a state where I want sex a little bit more than he does. Because of that he owns me.
What I have written carries no guarantee of success, but if two people are prepared to give in the ways I’ve suggested, then there’s every chance that it will work for you.
