I have to confess that I’ve been on a quest to accomplish female ejaculation. It has become a life mission. It’s a little bit of an odd mission because I have at least one partner who insists that I have already ejaculated, but I don’t remember doing it. I say if I can’t remember it, it doesn’t count. It’s like you can’t claim you’ve seen the top of Everest if you don’t remember the damn thing.
So I went to this G spot seminar. While I’m already friends with my G spot, it seems that people don’t talk about fem-ej without tossing out the G word. Er, letter. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with getting a new perspective on pleasure.
The seminar was held in a tent with mattresses of questionable cleanliness. Fortunately the instructor opted to skip the hands on portion. Well, I guess it was fortunate for my hygiene and health but unfortunate from a learning perspective. Instead I was given the - opportunity? - to watch a stranger hop on a table, spread her legs, and show the audience her vag. I’m going to mark down that day as the one where I firmly, definitely decided that I am not a lesbian. There was nothing sexy about that display. … Although, I suppose I wouldn’t get all that excited if some strange dude dropped his junk on a table in front of me. Anyway.
We talked about anatomy (already know that), about toys with special curves in them (check), about the importance of warming up (yeah yeah), and about how apparently some prostitutes use sea sponge instead of tampons because then they can have sex during their periods (huh - I’ll look into that and report back).
What we did NOT talk about was how to get me fucking ejaculating. This makes me annoyed enough that I could spit - right out of my special female ducts. I give this class a G.
Perhaps one day I’ll find secrets of the magical fountain of fem-ej. If I do, I promise to share the love.