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.
Chapter 2 - Clay
“Good morning, Doctor O’Neill!”
I look over and smile at our receptionist. She’s standing tall in her chair, pushing her tits out towards me. She bats her eyes at me as I walk by.
“Morning, Liz.”
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“I’m ok for now,” I reply, holding up the cup in my hand. She giggles and I try not to roll my eyes.
She shouldn’t try so hard. I like a woman who can hold her own.
I like the feisty ones, like the one I had bent over my kitchen counter last night. She’d been wild, all nails and biting and writhing, loving the way I slammed my cock into her. I smile at the thought of her ass backing into me. Her curly brown hair had felt good when my fingers were wrapped around it. She’d been good. Very good.
It’s too bad I won’t see her again, she’d been a lot of fun. We’d hardly slept at all last night, and I’m definitely feeling it this morning.
It was worth it though. I’d watched her put her tiny skirt back on this morning and walk bow-legged out of my apartment.
They don’t call me Doctor O for nothing.
I hadn’t gotten up out of bed when she did, just watched her put her clothes back on from my bed with my arms behind my head. I liked watching a woman get dressed almost as much as I liked watching her getting undressed. It was hot the way she bent over to slip her panties and skirt back on, and then threw her shirt over her head without bothering to put her bra back on.
I yawn and open the door to my office, closing the door behind me and flopping onto my chair. My thoughts flick back to this morning. I smile, thinking of the familiar charade I play with all the women I hook up with.
Once she’d gathered her things from around my room she’d looked back at me as I laid in bed. She smiled a bit sheepishly at me and awkwardly said goodbye. I’d nodded at her, knowing she wanted me to ask to see her again, to give her my phone number and promise to take her out. No way. Goodbye, curly haired vixen, it’s been a wild night but that’s all it’ll be.
It’s my golden rule: one woman, one night, and no mixing sex with work. I can’t get attached. One night of fun is all they get, and in a city like New York there’s no shortage of women to choose from. My career is too important to me, and women just seem to get in the way. Anytime I see a woman more than once it always ends up being a disaster.
I set this rule for myself years ago when my ex destroyed my world and burned everything I cared about. She ripped through my life, leaving a wake of destruction behind her and me standing in the middle holding nothing but the destroyed remains of my own shattered heart.
I like to think it was a good thing though, it’s served me well to focus on my career, and I’ve had no shortage of women to keep me occupied. I wouldn’t want to hang out with them for more than a couple hours anyways. Long enough to get off and then get them out.
I squint at my computer screen, knowing it’ll be a long day already. I look at my appointments for the day. Saturdays are half days, which is good since I’m going to need the afternoon to sleep. My schedule is full but nothing too strenuous, just routine checkups and a few elderly patients in for their new prescriptions.
One new client I haven’t met yet pops up in my mid morning slot: Valerie Brooks. Sexy name, I think to myself. Can’t mix business and pleasure unfortunately, otherwise I’d be all over the multitude of young beautiful female patients that throw themselves at me.
I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I put myself through medical school, working nights and weekends. I did it myself and graduated at the top of my class. I worked hard in my residency and now just had a few more years until I could call myself a full fledged cardiologist.
This position at my current practice is a crucial stepping stone in my career, and I can’t mess it up under any circumstances. And then once I’m finished here, I’m in line to work under the best cardiologist in the country. Just a few short weeks and I can make the move cross-country to Seattle.
Still, I smile at the thought of my medical school years. I’ve successfully kept my second job a secret from my medical professional network. I wouldn’t want anyone to know I was a male stripper and made a fortune getting naked in front of screaming women. That’s not exactly the bedside manner they teach in medical school.
Being a male stripper is where I really learned what makes women tick, what drives them wild. I saw the power of having a rock hard body, how crazy it makes them. I loved having women throw themselves at me, rubbing their hands all over my chest and abs as I danced for them.
I lean back in my chair and think back on those days. Bachelorette parties were the most fun, those women really let themselves loose. I hardly had to strip myself of my clothes, they’d rip it off me themselves.
Once I graduated medical school I stopped dancing, but I didn’t stop having plenty of women in my life. I can’t go around half naked on a stage anymore, but I can still drive women wild. Like the chick last night. Her bright red lipstick looked so, so good when it was wrapped around my hard cock. I’d wrapped my fingers into her curly hair and helped her along as she worked her magic. I can feel my cock twitch against my pants at the thought, wanting to feel a woman’s lips around it once again.
I shake my head. I’m at work. I shut my appointment book and prepare myself for my first patient.
There’s a knock on the door and Liz pops her head through the opening. She leans over as she pokes through the door so I can see her cleavage on full display. I wouldn’t mind giving her a full physical, but we work together and I can’t risk my position at the practice. She’s just the type of girl that would get too attached.
I’ve just started working here, I can’t jeopardize that over something as trivial as casual sex.
“Your first patient is here, doctor. Let me know if you need anything from me.” She smiles and cocks her head to the side. Her breasts are pressed up against the door and she bats her eyelashes at me. Good morning to you too, Liz.
“Thanks Liz, I’ll let you know. Send them in.”
Chapter 3 - Valerie
I wake up when my phone rings. It’s Emma.
“Oh. My. God. Val. You will not believe the night I had!”
She’s practically yelling down the phone in excitement. Groggy, I rub my eyes and try to understand what she’s saying. My voice is husky and hoarse when I respond.
“Why, what happened? Are you ok?”
“Am I ok?! Are you kidding me?? I just had the most mind blowing night of the century. Holy shit, Val, you would not believe it. I just had the craziest, most animalistic sex of my life. I haven’t even slept. He was so good, and his cock was huge!”
I groan in response, still trying to wake up. It isn’t unusual for Emma to wake me up with her crazy antics. I just wish she hadn’t done so on my first day off in two weeks. I sit up in bed, holding the phone to my ear as she talks nonstop while I try to keep up.
“I met him at this bar and we connected right away, you know? Like we were just drawn to each other. He had me bent over his kitchen counter, pulling my hair back, ahh even just thinking about it now is driving me nuts. Val, you need to sort out this orgasm thing of yours because life's too short to not have a night like that!!”
“Sounds exciting, Em.”
“You wouldn’t believe. Seriously. You need to have an orgasm. Or twelve.”
“I’m going to the doctor this morning actually, I’m going to ask them about it,” I respond.
“About the orgasm thing? That’s good! Because I can tell you, you are missing out. Big time.”
As if I didn’t already
know. Her words sting. I love Emma with all my heart but sometimes she can be so oblivious. I know she doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings but when she goes on and on about how great her sex life is, it just makes me feel so... Inadequate. I tell her I need to get ready for the doctor and I hang up the phone.
I lay back down and stare up at my ceiling. I wonder if there are any other ceilings that have been stared at as much as mine. I seem to know every inch of it, every crack in the paint and the way the light hits every corner of it. I should put up a photo like they do in dentists’ offices so at least I’d have something to look at.
I get up and turn on the shower. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror as the water warms up. I look a bit tired but nothing a good shower and some makeup won’t fix. War paint, as Emma calls it. I need to feel as confident as possible when I go to this doctor’s appointment because if I feel the slightest bit insecure about myself I might chicken out and not ask about my problem.
My mind is racing as I shower. How will the doctor react? I’m sure they’ll be professional. I hope it’s a woman.
As I get ready I try not to think too much about my appointment. I pick out my favourite jeans and a tight white tank top. I blow dry my hair and put on some makeup, making sure my blue eyes pop. I even put on some lipstick, thinking of Emma and her signature power red. I choose a dusty pink colour, understated but flattering.
I throw on a cardigan and look at myself in my full-length mirror. I feel good. Simple, casual, but pretty and confident. Like someone who is capable of having mind blowing orgasms.
At least I hope so.
It’s nice to be wearing jeans, and to have a bit of a sleep in. Even though I’m nervous about my appointment it’s nice to have a day off. I’ve been working so much this past while, and I’ve finally hit my stride at the office.
I’ve started making some big sales in New York real estate. Month after month I was the top sales agent in my area, so my boss has finally given me some bigger listings. I’m breaking into the multi-million dollar mansions now, which means a bigger commission but more difficult clients. It’s cutthroat, thankless, and non-stop, but I know how to sell a house. I smile. I can’t come but at least I close a deal.
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