Chasing
933 Words
Chasing
You’ve heard of those storm chaser folks, haven’t you? The ones that go out seeking tornados and stuff so they can do scientific research on them? Well, I’m like them. Only I chase orgasms, not tornados. And I’m not interested in research—scientific or otherwise—just the extreme pleasure each and every c****x gives me.
I guess you’re wondering why I’ve compared myself to a storm chaser now, aren’t you? After all, orgasms are two-a-penny, right? Not for me. I used the comparison because my climaxes are as unpredictable as the weather, and so elusive that I have to chase them relentlessly, using specialised equipment.
I was nineteen when I had my first o****m, and it was courtesy of my brand new vibrator. I’d had several lovers by then, but none of them had even come close to making me come. It didn’t mean that the s*x was crap—far from it, in some cases—but for some reason, my c******s would simply not co-operate. It became a constant source of frustration—for both myself and my s*x partners—and I was convinced there was something wrong with me. I read books, I searched the Internet, and soon discovered that I wasn’t alone. According to many sources, the problem was psychological, not physical. They also said that if I couldn’t make myself come, then how could I expect anyone else to?
I tried. Really I did. I watched p**n, read dirty books, pulled out the lube and m*********d until my fingers went stiff, my wrists ached, and my lady parts were sore. I ended up more frustrated than ever, and eventually headed into a s*x shop and purchased myself a rabbit vibe.
The first time I used it, I came so quickly that I barely knew what it felt like. I was left breathless, with my cunt spasming wildly around the shaft of the toy and a flush that ran from my chest up to my cheeks.
Oddly, my first emotion was relief. So I could o****m, I just needed something battery-operated to help me out. It was better than nothing, and once my clit had recovered from its sensitivity, I switched the toy on again and teased my body into a second c****x. That time I was more able to savour the sensation. I can’t think of a word that truly captures how it was. Think divine, heavenly, blissful; times that by ten and you’re somewhere in the right region.
From then on I was hooked. I now knew exactly how wonderful it felt to c****x, and I wanted more. Knowing I was physically able to come from c******l stimulation took a weight off my mind. I thought perhaps it would clear the mental block that was preventing me from coming by my own hand and with partners. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. Lots more toy-free m**********n and several s****l partners later and I was still o****m-less.
Thankfully I always had my vibrator as backup, and every time I went grocery shopping I added batteries to my basket. I came perilously close to turning into a teenage boy. Not literally, of course, but in the locking-myself-in-my-room-and-going-through-lots-of-tissues way. I just got addicted to the feeling that so many women take for granted, and pushed my body over the edge again and again, marvelling at how completely amazing and mind-blowing it was, each and every time.
Now, though, I have a much better handle on things. I know that I can come, and that the ability isn’t going to disappear. I hope.
It’s getting harder. Compared to the first time, when I came so quickly I hardly knew what had hit me, it’s growing increasingly more difficult. In the months and years since that eye-opening moment, I’ve bought every type of s*x toy going. More rabbit-style vibrators, dildos, wands, bullets, remote-controlled knickers... you name it, I’ve bought it. I should probably have shares in the battery manufacturing companies, I’m spending that much money with them. The trouble is, no matter how wonderful and powerful these toys claim to be, there’s only one that can make me come.
My trusty rabbit. It alone can tease my stubborn clit into submission, bring that delicious tightening sensation to my abdomen, make my p***y flutter and give me climaxes so extreme that I writhe on the bed and yell so loud my neighbours probably think I’m being murdered.
My first one broke, you know. I panicked. The thought of never being able to come again struck terror into the very depths of my soul. I literally dropped everything and ran to the computer to order another one, exactly the same. Thankfully they still stocked that particular model.
I don’t know what I’ll do if they discontinue it. Maybe I should buy several and keep them in storage, just in case.
I know it sounds crazy. Excessive. But can you imagine having one single thing, just one way of making yourself feel on top of the world? And to risk it being taken away? You wouldn’t, would you? It’s unthinkable. I’m trying new things all the time, just hoping that there’s something, or someone, else that will shake my clit into submission and break me into tiny fragments of ecstasy. So far, there’s nothing or no one. But I’m having fun trying.
So that’s why I continue to chase c****x, with my specialised equipment. Because I won’t give them up. I won’t. I can’t.
Maybe I should try therapy. I’m beginning to think it’ll be cheaper than all these damn batteries.
- Writer
