I have been self sexual since early adolescence. There’s research to suggest that it takes less time for me to achieve orgasm as a result of this long-standing relationship I’ve had with myself. Even as a person who has been sexually active with myself for as long as I can remember, the self-discovery unravels deeper and deeper as I age.

This relates intimately to orgasm. I’ve noticed that I’m high-strung. Recently, I sought medication for depression and anxiety for the first time in my life. A lot of it may be situational. I’m approaching the end of a two year Nursing degree. I’m moving to a bigger city to be closer to my bodysex sister Rachel. There are many unknowns and major stressors in my daily life. To save money, I’m working two demanding jobs.

The first part of myself I lost was my desire to be sexual with other people. I had a few dalliances and thought having partner sex might unravel that tightly wound coil at the center of the abdomen. The butterflies in my stomach that don’t go away. The tightening in my chest after spending all day listening to alarms and call bells go off in the hospital. Instead, I found myself utterly disappointed with dating and sex.

But not with myself. I know I’ve discussed this in other blog posts, but I urge other women to understand that we’ve been given a gift. I have my best orgasms with myself. The first one inevitably is quick and powerful. Especially if it’s been a few days since I last masturbated. I orgasm fast and hard. Afterwards, I have a surge of energy even in the middle of the night. I’ll have to get up and put headphones on, at times flitting around my apartment. Other times, I will launch into a creative project or task. And then I come back to myself.

Multiple orgasms can be spread out through an afternoon. Our arousal doesn’t deplete or disappear. We don’t have a refractory period in the traditional sense. I’ll pause between orgasms because I want to jump up and be moved. How often are any of us moved these days? The monotony and struggle of our daily lives threaten to dampen the experience of living in a body hardwired for pleasure.

Other times, I’ll have multiple orgasms in bed in a row with minimal breaks in between. I’ll wake up with a book next to me and my vibrator somewhere under the covers. The beauty of multiple orgasms is the constant return to pleasure. It’s steady or volatile, depending on where I happen to be in my cycle and how much stress I am managing. Honestly, that’s what I wish women understood the most.

The more stress I have going on in my life, the more tightly wound that coil at the center of my being becomes, the harder and deeper I fall into a series of multiple orgasms. You learn, like with any skill or muscle memory, how to clench and release, making those stiff muscles loosen and bend to your whim.

That first orgasm overtakes me with little to no effort. Others, I’ll spend more time edging or falling into a trance rather than pursuing a destination. Those orgasms can be subtle or grand. They can be emotional or cold. No orgasms are bad, and all are welcome. At times, they are tiring, and at other times, they are energizing.

I decided against medication for now, and that is not to dissuade anyone from any methods to healing that they want to pursue. I’m open to any and all ways that we can soften the turmoil that seems to accompany any and all walks of life. I know I’ve said it before, but this is why we have pleasure and orgasm. It’s soft. It’s rhythmic. It’s endless. Especially as women. And nobody can take it from us; we have all the tools, toys, time, and money. We have power and access that generations before us could only dream of. We can’t waste that opportunity and gift.

If you struggle with orgasm, take the goal of orgasm off the table. Practice genital massage. Throw on your current favorite Netflix show and forget the perfectionism. Eventually, your body will react. The arousal will linger, and your relationship with orgasm may shift and change. Once you realize its accessibility, frustration begets curiosity, which is replaced by an internal sense of calm we all long to come home to. It exists in us. Difficult to quantify, but impossible to live without.

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