“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” My legs were shaking, my heart racing, and a completely unfamiliar yet euphoric feeling was radiating from my pussy. The sensation was so intense and new that it was almost terrifying. It was building and building like an overfilled water balloon waiting to pop.
What was happening was this: A sexy man’s face was between my legs, his gorgeous mouth wet, hot, and busy on my clit. My hands were in his hair, keeping his head right where it belonged, and his skilled fingers were inside me, soaked, slippery and doing something that felt borderline illegal. And I was having my first orgasm. FUCKING FINALLY!
I was 25, and while I may have just become the newest resident of O-Town, USA, I was no stranger to hooking up. I don’t like to brag, but my sex life was very fruitful, fun, and exciting in my early 20s. See: the time I fucked a smoking-hot model in Miami on every surface in my Airbnb, banged a local in each country on my solo Eurotrip, had a threesome with my best friend and her boyfriend...you get the picture.
But (up until that fateful night, anyway) there was just one thing missing: orgasms. Although I had plenty of sexual experiences, both partnered and solo, they never resulted in that big finale—much to the disappointment of every guy who thought he was going to hold the honor of becoming the first one to make me cum. Even when I was with men I was madly in love with, even when I was super relaxed, even when everything was just right, there was no climax.
I felt broken, and every time I hooked up with someone new who would say, “Cum for me,” or ask, “Are you close?” it would be another reminder of my anorgasmia (the fancy word for the miserable condition of not being able to have an orgasm). I’d go from feeling like a sex goddess to feeling straight-up dysfunctional. I’d even given up on masturbation because it only seemed to make me feel more messed up that I couldn’t make myself cum. And yes, I tried every toy and technique in the damn book.
By the time I was halfway through my 20s, I’d officially accepted my climax-free fate. Orgasms just weren’t in the cards for me. But that didn’t mean I was going to stop getting laid, and I was still a frequent flyer on good ol’ Tinder. What can I say? I love meeting (and banging) attractive men. It makes me feel alive. You just can’t beat the adrenaline rush of exploring someone new—the spark that ignites when you taste their lips on yours for the first time and wonder what the sex will be like. Sweet and slow? Rough and crazy? Something in between? Either way, sign me up.
Cut to one lonely New York City night: I was swiping away and came across one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen on the app. Craig* was covered in tattoos and, even better, he was British. We matched—thank you, Tinder gods—and he was quick to message back. It turned out he was a tattoo artist from Manchester, in New York for a quick guest spot at a shop in Brooklyn. Almost immediately, (and in retrospect, with admittedly little regard for my safety), I gave him my address and invited him over to my dingy Chinatown apartment where—almost as quickly—we made our way to my bedroom and the clothes were coming off.
Craig complimented my body as he took it all in, then began stripping off his own shirt, which hit the floor around the same time as my jaw. When I saw his completely tattooed torso and arms, I needed this man biblically. I ran my hands over his chest and felt the heat of his body as I moved them down that toned, tatted landscape toward the erection I could feel hardening between us.
My hand frozen momentarily on his waistband, I looked up at him with “fuck me” written all over my face before I slowly pulled down his boxers to reveal a gorgeous cock I needed inside me now. Making fuck-me eye contact again, I led him to the bed where he swiftly got on top of me and slid effortlessly into my already wet pussy. I moaned softly as his thrusts quickened, building to a perfect rhythm.
We’d been blissfully banging for a while when I noticed he kept pulling away and squeezing his cock.
“Why do you keep doing that?” I asked, confused.
“I’m trying not to cum,” he said in his sexy accent.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to cum first.”
Fuck. Now I had to tell Craig about my little problem. I quickly told him that I wasn’t going to orgasm, so he could feel free to cum whenever he wanted to and I’d explain later. In typical fashion, he came; I didn’t. Our pillow talk consisted of me explaining my situation, letting him know it wasn’t his fault that I wasn’t getting off, and assuring him that, yes, I was still enjoying the sex regardless.
Luckily, Craig seemed undeterred, and when he finally headed out in the middle of the night, we expressed our mutual desire to see each other again ASAP. Unfortunately, my tiny bedroom, paper-thin walls, and current roommate situation meant my apartment was not ideal for hooking up. I suggested we get a hotel for our next rendezvous and he happily obliged (and paid).
When our follow-up dick appointment rolled around a few days later, I took him to my favorite empanada spot in the city for fuel before we headed back to the hotel. With no roommate on the other side of the wall and the entire night to ourselves, we kicked things off with a super-steamy bath where I found myself instantly, unbearably horny at the thought of our impending all-night sex sesh where I could be as loud as I wanted.
TBH, giving head isn’t my favorite thing to do. But Craig was so hot and I was so turned on, I genuinely wanted to suck his dick and suck it good. I went to town on this man’s cock right therein the bath. (That is, after we’d drained it a bit so I wouldn’t drown. I’m only trying to choke on dick here, not bathwater.) He was loving it and I was too. I felt powerful and sexy, moving my head up and down so enthusiastically I think I nearly gave myself whiplash.
In the interest of avoiding any Sex Sent Me to the ER-worthy dick-sucking accidents, we decided to dry off and head to the bed, conveniently placed beside a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror that was just begging for us to watch ourselves in it. We started going at it doggy style, Craig pounding me from behind as I turned my head to take in every second of the personal, live porn we were making in the mirror. Seeing his sexy, tattooed body thrusting into mine was sending me. His inked-up hands on my ass alone were enough to get me going.
Once I’d been pleasantly pounded into oblivion, Craig pulled out and began making his way down between my legs. He praised my pretty pussy before putting his beautiful mouth right up to it, teasing and licking until I was dying for more—and damn, did he deliver.
He slowly slid a finger inside me and started eating me out, licking and sucking my throbbing clit and fingering me in a way that felt different from the (frankly, many) guys before. I still can’t even describe or replicate the technique. All I know is that it felt absolutely incredible. After a few minutes, I started to feel a sensation unlike anything I’d ever experienced, deep inside where his fingers were twirling around, working their magic. This strange new feeling was radiating outward, building up and up and up...which brings us back to...
“What is happening?!”
Aside from “HOLY SHIT,” and “FUUUCK,” that was literally all I could say—all I could even think. But I knew exactly what was happening: *It* was finally happening. I finally, finally, finally had an orgasm. And holy shit, now I knew what all the hype was about.
As for the man who made it happen, I think he was in disbelief. Stunned, he told me he’d never seen someone cum so hard. He likened it to an exorcism but a sexy one. I cuddled up to him, my own mind fully blown as well. To have something happen that I’d completely given up hope on was nothing short of surreal. I felt like I had finally become a member of this club that every other sexually active being seemed to be a part of.
A few days later, we both went our separate ways. I was en route to Costa Rica for some solo travel, and Craig was heading back home to England. That was the last time I saw him: the hot British guy who gave me my first orgasm and changed my life forever, opening my body up to a new dimension of pleasure. Somehow, that first O unlocked something within me. It was like my body just needed to have one orgasm to learn, and then it knew what to do. All of a sudden, my vibrators were working. I could cum by myself! And while it took some time and practice, I can get there now during partnered sex too, as long as there’s a vibrator on my clit. My sex life may have already been thriving even in my pre-O era, but it feels completely different (in the best possible way) now that orgasms are on the table. Years later, I still message my short-lived lover once in a while to thank him for what he gave me.
Alas, nobody else has been able to quite replicate Craig’s old-school magic, getting me off with just his fingers and mouth. Will that ever happen again? I don’t know. All I know is I’m thrilled to be able to orgasm at all, in any capacity. My body knows how to fully give into the height of erotic pleasure now—and even if a sexual experience leaves me unsatisfied, I canal ways go home and satisfy myself.
So for that night of empanadas, whiplash blow jobs, hotel mirror sex, endless pussy praise, and my very first orgasm, I am forever grateful to the Tinder gods and the gorgeous, gifted hands they saw fit to bestow upon (er, inside) me.
*Name has been changed.
