Friday, 4/25/97 Opening your mind to pleasure Orgasms: Myths
stand in the way of women’s quest for holy grail of sex
Birds do it. Bees do it. James Joyce wrote about it. The Beatles
sang about it. Meg Ryan has a talent for faking it. I am speaking,
of course, of the big "O" – that mythical, magical moment, an
indescribable sweetness, a fleeting return to the primal state. It
is that feeling which is ultimately physical, and yet strangely
spiritual at the same time: a blissful satiation of both body and
soul. The French call it "le petit mort." The British "go,"
Americans "come." (I absolutely refuse to use that porno mag/phone
sex ad spelling: "cum.") For all the countless slang terms for the
sexual act, there are surprisingly few words for the culmination of
that act. There is a mysterious taboo surrounding the subject,
particularly the ever-elusive female orgasm. Historically, it has
not been considered appropriate for women to enjoy sex. In fact,
there are countries in the world which still practice ritual
clitorectomy. And even now, in the "socially enlightened" America
of the ’90s, many women are confused and frustrated. In fact,
considering that only 25 percent of all women can achieve climax
through penetration alone and that the average duration of
intercourse for American couples is something like two minutes,
some days it feels like a straight woman in this country has a
greater chance of being hijacked by a terrorist than of ever
reaching orgasm with her partner. I think boys feel a lot of
pressure to last a long time, and I wouldn’t want to add to their
anxiety in any way, but we are talking about a national average of
two minutes. That means for all the people who can last, say, 15 or
20 minutes, there are people who are apparently lasting only a few
seconds. But here is the part that bothers me. There are women who
simply don’t know any better. Heck, there are men who don’t know
any better. Sometimes, when I’m out at the bars, I look around and
I get really really depressed. (Well, not too depressed. I mean,
I’m drinking, so I’m basically happy.) But I think to myself, there
are people out there, not to sound condescending or anything, who
think that they are having really really great sex. But they just
don’t know. I mean, I know Westwood. Not in the biblical sense or
anything, but I know Westwood. I’ve heard talk. Everybody thinks
the sex they’re having is pretty good, but it can’t all be good. In
fact, I’ll tell you right now, it’s not all good. There are bad
lovers out there and the sad thing is they have no idea. Until I
meet them. Then they know. I like to consider it a public service.
You want to be able to tell if someone is good in bed? Here’s a
fool-proof plan: sleep with them. No really, everyone has their own
theory. Most women believe in the "good kisser-equals-good-in-bed"
theory. I’ve previously discussed the
"psycho-women-are-better-in-bed," theory that many boys foster.
Also popular is the belief that a less-attractive woman will be
better in bed because she is willing to "work harder." That’s a
useful hypothesis, provided that you think of sex as "work." Some
of us actually consider it recreational. With their dumb theories,
it’s no wonder why so many of them just can’t get it right. Not
that it’s their responsibility … Women should take responsibility
for their own pleasure. But let’s face it: If a boy has certain
skills, it’s not going to hurt his love life any. I mean , what boy
doesn’t want his partner to enjoy herself? Well, there is this
idiot named John Gray. Playboy interviewed him this month in an
article titled, "When No Doesn’t Mean No." And if that’s not a
warning bell right there, read on to hear him divulge such gems as
(and I’m paraphrasing here):"Sex is for men. What is this sex for
women shit?" and "Women are brainwashed by feminism. They think
that they deserve to have orgasms." He reveals that his wife has
sex with him whenever he wants, because, as he puts it,"She’s his
wife. That’s what she’s for." And sex for him consistently lasts
for a whopping two minutes, because he doesn’t have half an hour in
his day to "waste" on sex. John Gray is perhaps better known as the
author of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus." Maybe this
title applies to John Gray and his wife, the aliens, but I don’t
think his advice works for me. In searching for a good lover, try
to avoid John Gray or any man who takes him seriously. Also beware
of those boys who repeat this phrase like a mantra:"I don’t believe
in coming until I’ve satisfied my partner." Trust me, if you hear
this one, run for the hills, because it is the No. 1 lie in the
book. I don’t want a boy who talks the talk. In fact, I don’t want
a boy who talks much at all. If you catch my drift… I’ll tell you
what I want: George Clooney. That man has got to be good in bed.
Just look at him – that mischievous grin, those melting eyes. If he
wasn’t good in bed, that would represent such a perverse
transgression of justice and natural order that the entire universe
as we know it would come grinding to a sudden halt. You may have
noticed that my column usually runs on Thursdays, the same night
that "ER" airs. Is this mere coincidence? Or evidence of a
profound, cosmic connection between me and George? You decide.
There are degrees of orgasm, let’s say, six. That’s totally
arbitrary. There’s "technically" (as in "technically," I guess that
was an orgasm), OK, good, great, incredible and cardiac arrest. And
I don’t even want to hear about the weirdos with their
self-asphyxiation and amyl nitrate. Most women are capable of
achieving orgasm; less than 1 percent are actually physically
frigid. But a lot of women are shy and nervous. They’ve built it up
too much. Here’s my No. 1 tip: Relax! My No. 2 tip: Touch yourself.
I’m serious. I’m going to get in big trouble here at the paper;
they still haven’t forgotten my controversial "sex toys" article.
If you’re reading this and you think I’m discussing something dirty
and gross, please just do both of us a favor and STOP READING! All
you people who write in about how offensive I am, stop torturing
yourself and just turn the page. I beseech you. If you really think
sex is dirty and evil and wrong, all the orgasm advice in the world
isn’t going to help you one little bit. So go away, there is
nothing for you here. Okay, all you sexy studs and libidinous
sexpots who are still reading: hooray for you. We didn’t need those
uptight freaks anyway. Do let me go on (like a blister in the sun):
Girls, stop complaining. If you want to know what orgasm is all
about, you’ve got to take matters into you own hands, so to speak.
You’ve got to figure out what it is you want, what you like, and
then communicate. (I feel like Dr. Ruth right now). Boys, you don’t
need to be sexual supermen. In fact, faster than a speeding bullet
is not my idea of a good time. If you absolutely have to emulate a
superhero, aim for Batman, say, the George Clooney variety. I have
this image of George in tights, a dark, secluded little bat-nook,
that handy-dandy utility belt … Excuse me for a second. Woo!
Sorry, I had to take a little break, to, uh … do some research.
Seriously, gizmos and contraptions aren’t necessary. Put away the
bag of tricks and the mayonnaise, and the shackles and the gerbils,
you won’t be needing them. You don’t need to be Sting, with his
tantric sex techniques and eight-hour erections. You want to be a
better lover? One word: communication. One more word: generosity.
The final word: patience. There are any number of benefits to
satisfying your partner. First of all, she will give you her
undying devotion. Second of all, you know that thing you boys get
in the middle of sex, when you’ll promise anything in the world,
you’ll sever your own limbs, as long as you can keep feeling that
way? Well, women get that too. We get this barrage of chemicals.
Serotonin, oxytocin, I don’t know what the hell it is, but for 36
hours after great sex, we’re wallowing in the "afterglow of
stupidity." That is the point at which you as boys can do anything
you feel like, and we are helpless to stop you. These are vital
secrets about my gender that I’m giving away here, but I’m not
worried; we’ve got a few tricks of our own. We’re only idiots for
sex during those crucial 36 postcoital hours. You boys live in that
world. People of Westwood, explore your sexuality. This is my
Orgasm Manifesto. Repression is the opiate of the masses. Know
thyself. People need to learn to feel comfortable with their own
bodies before they can get comfortable with other bodies. It’s as
simple as that. But it might get even simpler, because science is
working on a pill, a magic drug, designed to stimulate, simulate or
otherwise deploy female orgasm. Bravo. Personally, I don’t think I
could handle the drug. My one experience with X has led me to be
wary of any and all sensual "enhancers," because I am what you
might call,"trigger happy." I can’t imagine a life without orgasms
– a bleak desert wasteland of an existence without sexual
fulfillment. So, if there’s a way for everyone to have this
experience, by all means. Let’s press onward. Some men see this
pill as a threat. These are the same boys who think that a noisy,
buzzing plastic toy is some kind of acceptable substitute for their
company. Nothing can replace the experience of being with another
person. I still remember the first time a boy ever rang my bell. No
lurid Penthouse Forum recollections here. I was 15 years old, at
the local view, kissing a boy. That was it. I still remember the
vivid shock, the sensation of looking out over the sea of lights
and feelings, a thrilling, matching pulse of electricity radiating
through my own body. I had to sit down, because my legs were
shaking. Looking back, that boy was nothing but trouble; that’s the
problem with the good kissers – they’re always trouble. I’m not
saying that achieving orgasm in simply a matter of kissing someone
you really like. Moments like that are few and far between. But
it’s not a heck of a lot more complicated than that. Most of the
unsatisfied girls I’ve talked to mentioned only one thing:
"patience." You want to know why a lot of girls date older guys?
It’s not because they have cars and jobs and their own rooms. Well,
OK, that’s part of it. But the big bonus is they’re not
psychotically, ravenously pawing at our bodies like a crazed
crackhead, scouring the carpet for lost rocks. Patience is key. Not
that rough and tumble is such a bad thing, or kink for that matter.
Tell you what: a little patience, and manual dexterity, and some
rough play, but the right amount of tenderness, and a little to the
left … no, slower … See, that was simple. Tom is the
award-winning author of the book "John Gray is the Devil and I Am a
Goddess." She can be reached at ktom@ucla.edu. DB Archive: Tom