Sorry, I Can't Cum: The Troubles with Female Orgasms

It always happens the same way: the sex occurs, the man ejaculates and it’s game over. Then comes the inevitable follow-up question that is usually along the lines of “so… did you cum?” I sometimes wonder how my eyes haven’t stayed permanently rolled to the back of my head as I confess that female orgasms—and my own in particular—are not as easy to achieve.

While I don’t always admit to my orgasm-less life at first, I do so for good reason. Naturally, guys are typically more competitive and, in my experience, you can almost smell their testosterone flowing when their egos are challenged in the bedroom. More often than not, when I reveal the truth I become a game to them—a game they feel that they MUST win, despite the fact that I am essentially player number one and own the controller. Now, becoming the sexual focus in bed may sound like an amazing experience, and I can’t lie and say I haven’t relished in the attention at times; however, dealing with men attempting to copy what they’ve seen in porn can be excruciatingly painful—both literally and figuratively. As a woman, I am well aware that female orgasms are about 80% mental, 20% physical, but upon mentioning my inability to cum to a man they become 100% dedicated to the physical aspects. Even when posting my ideas for this article on my social media, I received this message:

When did my vagina and orgasms become a challenge that needed to be accepted? At what point did I ask for someone to devote themself to my clitoris? Why is my inability to cum treated as though something is wrong with me?

“I can’t” does not translate into “please show me how I can.”

Just when I think my vagina has taken the worst of it, then comes the guilt, desperation and anger. The sentence “baby, just cum for me” is engraved into my skull as the penetrating guilt trips have put me into some of the most uncomfortable situations. Oftentimes, I want to scream out: “Can’t you see that I’m trying my best?!” But, my best is never enough. As I am forced to rebuild and polish the masculinities of unsatisfied men after losing the challenge that is my vagina, the true victim in the situation is myself. While I am an openly sexual person, my experiences have mostly been disappointing and emotionally debilitating.

A man I had been seeing for a few months once told me that since his attempts had failed, something must be wrong with me and proceeded to deem me as “sexually broken.” Unfortunately, I believed him. Later that night, I spent hours scouring the internet for any type of advice as to how to fix my seemingly unfixable vagina and became obsessed with trying to prove to him that I was normal. As a result, there were times when we would attempt things that I wasn’t comfortable with, but I would always push through it in hopes of being able to orgasm.

Since then, I’ve come to realize that the only person I should be trying to orgasm for is myself, and that my inability to cum is completely normal! By speaking up about my troubles, I’ve come to find that there are women everywhere who struggle with this as well. So… why are we so tight-lipped on the situation? Why do I wait until someone is naked in my bed before I blurt out the truth? Why isn’t a woman’s orgasm equally as important during intercourse as a man’s?

How many times have you heard the words “just let me finish” as you lie there and accommodate a man’s orgasm enjoyment? My guess: one too many.

While we may take longer to get there, have more specific pleasure spots, and require more or an equal amount of mental stimulation as physical, our orgasms should be treated as a priority, not a prize to be won.

As I have just begun to truly embrace my own sexuality, it’s become very clear to me that being open about my sexual needs from the beginning is imperative to ensuring I am not left disappointed once again. As far as I am concerned, if a man doesn’t agree to equal pleasure, he isn’t worth a sliver of my time.

Additionally, to the man who labeled me as “broken,” I want you to know that even while you discouraged me, I put myself through hell trying to fix a non-existent issue for no one else besides you. If you take anything away from this, it should be that sex shouldn’t be selfish.

So, I can’t cum but really… so what?

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