My Squirting Story

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Loneliness and isolation created by Covid-19 drove me to reading free personal classified ads to break up the monotony of the day. I remember one of them said, “I have an itch to scratch.” I was instantly pulled into the mystery and engaged.

A playful exchange ensued, something along the lines of, “I’ll scratch your itch if you scratch mine.” And then he let me know what his itch was. He wanted to be with a woman that squirts. Now boys and girls, I am a 53 year old woman. I’ve burnt my bra and gone from panty-less to granny panties. I’ve proudly claimed my orgasms first while straddling my partner in the cowgirl position. I swallow. I know stuff. I’ve been around the block. I’ve traveled the world. I’ve raised children and I did not know what squirting was.

How is it possible that this bit of knowledge escaped me my entire 53 year old life? I had no idea it was a thing and I certainly didn’t know what it was. Hello Google. Tell me. Ah, I see. Squirting refers to female ejaculate fluid. Wait, what? Hold up. Female ejaculation? I had no idea. Truly none. And then, like all fluffy middle-aged women (most fluffy middle-aged women?), I immediately started doubting my sexiness, desirability and my sexual value. Fuck. Is it not enough that I can no longer proudly claim my orgasms a-top my partner waving my hat in the air? Is it not enough that I don’t have a pussy picture because my belly gets in the way? Am I now cowed by a stranger’s rejection because I am squirt-less?

I talk to my happily married buddy that loves all things female, and start to whine about not being good enough because I don’t squirt. And how embarrassed I am that I’ve only learned esenyurt escort about it now. He assures me it’s not that big of a deal and that it is mostly messy and basically pee. And then everywhere everything seems to be taunting me about how squirting is hot and I see ads that promise to teach how to make your female partners squirt and I’m sure I’m doomed. As doomed as I was standing at the school field fence in the first grade, anxiety ridden over not being able to spell “wagon” and knowing that my life was over.

Man, how is anyone going to want to be with me? I don’t squirt. I never have and I likely never will. Ho hum. What to do. Nothing. There is nothing to be done about it. It’s funny, I’ve even been insecure about my orgasms. Sure, some of them are amazing but some are just little peaks of joy and I would even doubt their existence a few minutes later. Talk about insecurities. It’s horrible. But somehow I had hope. It could happen! It could. I even bought reusable mattress pads to throw in my toy bag because, you never know, one just might come in handy. I might squirt. Maybe.

And then, one fateful morning about two months ago, in an economical hotel in Castro Valley, getting a good fucking on with my attached male friend. We were deep in the throws of our third go and I’m making all kinds of animal noises. I’m on my back, he is on his knees between my legs, supporting himself on my knees that are up in the air and spread wide. My ass is lifted up off the bed so my pelvis is at a slightly higher angle than usual. My penis bearer is in deeper than usual as well. He’s pushing his cock up etiler escort into my pussy, rhythmically pounding away. The feelings are getting more intense and I start to play with doing some Kegel exercises in the middle of it. I start holding and releasing; holding and releasing and I let it go one last time and I’m getting louder and louder with my animal noises and I feel this intense warm wetness and I look up at him and he looks down at me and down at his cock and he says, “You just squirted.”

And there was this yummy wetness under my butt and it was the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had but not too unlike the others so I know it’s in the same family of physical sensation. The only thing pee-like about it was where it shot out of and the fact the two are both wet. Other than that, I think it was much different from my typical pee. Anyway, I digress. I squirted. I Squirted!!

I felt like I had just run a mile in under 6 minutes or made it to the top of half dome or was walking across the stage with a new masters degree. It felt like something monumental had happened and that I had come into my own sex. That I had earned a merit badge or pin. I sent out “I Squirted!” announcements to all my current, past, and future male suitors. I stood a little taller, my hips swayed a little wider when I walked. I was a sexy woman and I had the ejaculation to prove it. And then I wanted to have another one. If I did it once, I should be able to do it again, right?

This begins my great experiment to understand the mechanism behind my ability to squirt. Was it the pelvic exercises? Was it the angle of my butt? fatih escort Was it something specific about the penis bearer? Like a good scientist, I explored all hypotheses and was deeply engaged in observation and reflection. The process delivered amazing orgasms but I couldn’t “make” myself squirt. I was not able to reliably predict that I would squirt. I needed more first hand research. So I continued to fuck a variety of men.

And then one day, after hearing the squirting story, one of my partners ejaculated inside me the same way as always. I’m on my back, he is between my legs on his knees. My feet are resting on his shoulder. He hits his orgasm but doesn’t stop right away. He continues in me until he is too flaccid and then he takes up his hand and he uses his fingers. My legs are still in the air, my butt is still off the ground, my lover is finger fucking me and then whoosh. I feel a warm flow of water on my butt. Has it happened again? The orgasm was intense and amazing. I feel the sheets when we are done and they are wet. I had the confirmation I needed from my lover. I squirted again. I squirted twice. Does this make me an official squirter?

Did squirting change my life circumstances? No. I still love sex as much as I had before. Has it given me a little extra self-confidence? Yes, it has although I know that confidence should always have been there. Sometimes I just randomly throw it into conversations. For example, I was talking to a friend and threw in the phrase, “the other day after I squirted…,” and “he is a great lover, I squirted with him,” and “the last time I squirted…” You get the idea.

I feel like going to back to the guy with the itch, just to let him know mine got scratched. It’s obnoxious, I know. I stopped carrying around the mattress pad. I just squirt right on the sheets. I’m such an animal. I’m fluffy and in my fifties and I love sex and I’m sexy damn it. And did I mention, I officially squirt? It’s true. I’m a squirter.

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