Chapter 1 - Valerie
I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling for the thousandth time. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on my hand as it moves down and over my mound, savouring the electric warmth that ripples with every movement of my fingers. I concentrate hard, trying to think of something sexy. Abs, or… muscles. Hands gripping me. The touch of a man’s tongue over me. Umm… throbbing… members?
There’s a warmth growing inside me and I move my fingers faster, travelling up and down between my lips. My brow furrows as my fingers move faster, circling around my clit with more intensity. I’m holding my breath.
It’s going to happen, I can feel it. I’m going to feel the shockwaves course through my body and the anticipation is making my heart hammer in my chest. I concentrate harder, moving my hand faster with the excitement.
And then all of a sudden, nothing.
It’s gone. My orgasm slips away into oblivion, just like it does every single other time I’ve ever tried. I sigh.
This isn’t going to happen. Not this time, not ever.
I let my hand fall to my side and open my eyes back up, looking up at the ceiling again. Every single time I feel something, anything close to an orgasm it somehow escapes me. Maybe I’m thinking too hard, or I don’t know how to touch myself properly.
It’s even worse when someone else tries to give me one. I tense up or think too much about what I’m doing or what I look like or what they’re thinking.
Even when I am able to relax into the moment somehow it always seems to slip away at the last second. I can be completely in the mood and excited but for some reason I’ve just never gone over the edge. I’ve never felt the fireworks that everyone describes. The back arching, leg shaking, head melting feeling of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Not once, and it kills me.
My ex boyfriend gave up trying in the end. He’d play with me until I was wet enough for him to enter me and then take his own orgasm without any worry about my own pleasure. I broke it off with him three months ago and since then, like every month and year before that, I’ve been unable to get myself off.
When I broke it off with my ex, my best friend Emma was there to pick up the pieces. We were out at our local cocktail lounge and I’d had two or three glasses of wine, just enough to be a bit giddy. I remember looking at her and blurting it out:
“I’ve never orgasmed.”
She’d nearly spat out her drink and looked at me in shock. Her mess of brown curls bounced around her face as she turned to look at me. She was wearing her signature bright red lipstick and her mouth hung open.
“You mean in the four years you spent with that idiot he was never able to make you come?!”
I’d looked around, worried she was being too loud. We were in our favourite booth in the back corner, with a perfect view of everyone in the bar but shielded from any unwelcome attention. I glanced around to make sure no one had heard her outburst.
She didn’t care, as usual. She never seemed to be self conscious or insecure. She walked into any room like she owned it, swaying her hips and walking in with purpose. All eyes were on her, always. Her figure was a perfect hourglass and she had the attitude to match.
Where she is all curls and curves, I'm wavy-haired, blonde, lanky. I always seem to feel a bit awkward when men talk to me, like somehow they’re making fun of me, or they’re just passing the time until they get their turn with her. She’s the centre of attention and I’m her sidekick wherever we go. I don’t mind, not really. I love her to bits. She’s my rock, my best friend, my confidante. I couldn’t imagine my life without her by my side. She’s been there for me through thick and thin.
The past three months she’s helped me move into my new apartment, made me laugh, brought me ice cream when I needed it. We’d moved to New York five years ago together and would not have survived without each other. She is the best friend I’ve ever had, and it felt good to open up to her about my orgasm-less existence.
I couldn’t help but smile at the horror on her face when I told her my secret.
“No, I mean I’ve never had an orgasm.. Ever. Like, not just with Bryce. Never.”
Emma put down her glass of wine and brought her hands to her temples. This seemed to be difficult for her to understand. She stared at the table intently, processing what I’d just told her.
“Never. As in… Ever? Not once?”
She looked up at me, searching my face. I shrugged, not knowing what to tell her.
“I mean, I’ve tried. Don’t get me wrong.”
I looked at her sheepishly.
“Val, girl. You need to sort this out. I’m telling you this as your oldest and dearest friend, and as someone who has had many mind blowing orgasms. This is a very, very important part of any woman’s life. Did Bryce know? What did he do to try to get you off?”
I’d felt the tears welling up in my eyes when she mentioned him. I didn’t want to tell her how bad our sex life had gotten, how selfish he’d been in bed. How selfish he’d been in general!
She’d understood without me saying anything, as usual. She’d just waived the waiter over and dramatically ordered another round of drinks for us and then turned and winked at me. I’d laughed and the constriction in my throat had disappeared.
I smile as I think back on that conversation. She’d been so concerned, so intent on helping me. She’d given me tips, she described her most intense orgasms, the way they rushed from her centre outwards in waves of warmth and pleasure.
She had been so open and candid with me, talking about the way her back arched and her legs trembled. How her partners had actually enjoyed giving her pleasure, it wasn’t a chore to them at all. I’d listened to her describing her experiences and wished I could feel the same. I’d tried the tricks that she’d told me and tried to relax into it.
It just seems like I… can’t. I can’t do it. No matter how hard I try I still haven’t felt an orgasm rip through my body. I haven’t been with anyone since Bryce but I can’t bring myself to go through that again. To explain that it won’t happen, it’s not them, it’s me. To see the disappointment in the guy’s face as he tries and tries to get me to climax only to ultimately fail.
Some guys take it on like a challenge but it only makes me feel worse when it doesn’t work. I’ve learned to live with it, sort of. I’ve thrown myself into my career and most days it feels like that’s enough.
I lay in bed wondering if maybe there’s something wrong with me, and it makes me not able to orgasm. When the thought crosses my mind, I turn and reach for my phone. I pull up Google and within a millisecond I’m presented with ten thousand reasons that I’m not able to get off. I start clicking through the top few results.
Maybe there really is something wrong with me. Doctor Google certainly seems to think so. Apparently I need to relax more, but the next article tells me to tense my leg muscles. I just need to try masturbating, duh, as if I haven’t tried that a million times!
I sigh as I click from one result to another. Hormonal dysfunction, chronic illness, nerve damage, there seem to be countless things that might be wrong. I feel the familiar frustration bubbling up inside me as I keep reading. All I want is to feel what everyone else can feel! I want that for myself and I want that connection with someone else.
I don’t think that’s too much to ask. It’s a basic human biological function.
I can feel the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I don’t want to cry, not again. I’ve been crying for three months. I take a deep breath and gather my resolve. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow for a medical, maybe I’ll ask the doctor if there’s something wrong with me. My cheeks burn at the thought of asking that, of admitting once again that I’ve never felt the rush of an orgasm through my body. To make matters worse, I’ve just changed doctors and I haven’t met this one yet.
I look at my email confirmation from the doctor’s office and see the name: Doctor O’Neill. I hope it’s a woman, and I don’t have to embarrass myself in front of yet another man. I let my phone fall beside me and look up once again at the ceiling. It’ll drive me nuts to keep thinking like this.
I can endure a few minutes of embarrassment if it means I get an answer. I’ll ask the doctor tomorrow. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. Doctors have heard worse, I tell myself. All I want is a simple little orgasm, is that too much to ask? It doesn’t need to be earth shattering. I’ll settle for a regular old, middle of the week Wednesday-style routine orgasm. That’s a thing, right?
I feel the familiar stubbornness growing inside me. When I set my mind to something, nothing can stop me. I’ll get my answer tomorrow.
I turn to my side and close my eyes, just wanting to go to sleep.