When you touch yourself, do you touch yourself?
I rarely did. Until I did. And it was incredible.
“I could do that in my sleep,” people say. Which is funny to me because the only thing I can do in my sleep is something I have no muscle memory for. It’s something I’ve practiced, sure, but by no means could I do it without thinking.
My subconscious knows how to orgasm far better than my muscles or my conscious mind. My muscles, in fact, haven’t had much to do with my orgasms at all.
For decades, I touched myself without actually touching myself. I touched the vibrator. The vibrator touched me. Vibrators are great, but they’ve never given me my best orgasms — and they’ve had many opportunities.
My best O’s always needed a mouth. A person — unpredictable, secretory, and warm.
A person also did something I hadn’t learned to do for myself until recently… They stopped me from overthinking. Company soothed me. A companion calmed me.
I learned how to relax around the same time I was falling in love with my husband, Joe. I started feeling safe enough to love, and found a love that made me feel safe.
So now — after our elopement, an international move, and two babies — I’m in a post-breastfeeding hormonal phase, where I’m getting arousals reminiscent of puberty. With my newfound peace of mind and body, some self-made O’s have made me high.
Just last week, I gave myself my best orgasm of my life.
I came with my own hands, and I thought to myself, “My god, I can do anything.” This is why manifest’s etymology is to seize with the hand.
The hand is a powerful tool. It’s better than a gua sha. Better than a scalp massager. Better than a wand — although less efficient. But maybe that will change once I get the muscle memory.
Because I won’t let fear or laziness stop me from having an O worthy of philosophical pondering for another year, let alone decades. To help myself repeat the process, I wrote it down, and I thought you might find it interesting. Or hot. Or both.
Enjoy the exact 18 events that brought me my best orgasm:
