darkGreeny.

(Cross-posted here.)

I like to make a lot of noise when I have orgasms. It turns me on, the sounds of sex, not only grunts and moans and bossy directives, but especially the wet sloppy sounds that come from my pussy when I’m hot and wet and bothered. When circumstances require that I bite the inside of my cheek and keep quiet instead of making my usual racket, I will. But I always prefer to be loud.

When I’m making noise, words are related to ordering someone around, whether in my fantasy when I’m masturbating or to a lover when I’m having sex with someone else. “Lick me, eat it, get your face down in there, fuck me, that’s right, fuck me, get your hand in there, stick your finger in my ass.” The string of orders spews out of me, as I clutch a face against my engorged pussy lips (or imagine myself doing so when I’m in solo-orgasm-land), or squeeze my vaginal muscles around a finger or a fist or a dildo penetrating me.

The other night, I found myself telling her to suck my little cock. “That’s right, pretend that clit is a little penis. Suck it, just like I know you can. Give me a blow job. Suck it. Suck it like you sucked off those boys in junior high. Make me come in your mouth.” I thrust my hips against her mouth, my fingers pulling my labia apart, my swollen little nub protruding towards her tongue and lips.

She obliged, licking and sucking, just as I told her. She slid two or three fingers inside my vagina, her thrusts timed with her sucking. As an orgasm grew in my inner thighs and belly, cresting toward the hot wetness between my legs, I felt my clit grow. I knew it was my imagination, but as she pushed rigid fingers inside me, it felt like she was pushing a cock out my clit. I imagined my clit growing, filling her mouth, and when I came, it felt like I spurted down her throat.

It was hot.

What surprised me was how far I’ve come in terms of having my clit touched. I was an avid masturbater throughout my childhood, but found that direct contact on my clit was “too much!” When I started having sex with other people, it was the same thing. “Too sensitive!” I’d say, squirming away from manual or oral pressure on my clitoris. “It hurts to be touched.”

Indirect pressure, on the other hand, was sublime. Through reading about sex-ed and physiology, I learned that with practice, my clit would mellow out and would feel good being touched. I took the information, and began my explorations.

I started slowly, first with indirect pressure through my pants, then through panties. After several sessions, I moved to placing the heel of my hand against my bare clit hood and pressing downward. It felt like “too much!” but I slowly persisted, being patient, working up to the point where I could actually touch my clit directly without writhing away in the pain-side of pleasure.

Eventually, I stopped thinking about it as a project, as Operation Touch My Clit, and just enjoyed myself. I became less invested in the goal than the journey. As I became more comfortable touching the hood, with necessary lubrication and arousal, my clit started to emerge. Eventually I bought my first clit-vibrator, the eager beaver, and with painstaking precision found I could carefully stimulate my clit.

Seventeen years ago, shortly after I started having partnersex, I never would have believed the day would arrive that I would welcome direct contact with my clitoris. I imagined that I was defective or that somehow I just wasn’t built for it. But in retrospect, I don’t think I’m all that unique at all. I just needed to learn, and to give my body safe space to emerge and accept pleasure.

Over time, I liberated my clit from its glass enclosure, where it saw all the fun sex and pleasure, but was too sensitive to partake. Though I didn’t throw it a debutante ball, my clit has come out, is ready to play, and enjoys a good suck. Be prepared – I’ll probably make some noise.