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Squirting by way of a g-spot orgasm has never been at the top of my list of priorities.
I'd say it's right below learning to tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue — visually
impressive, but ultimately not worth the effort. Maybe it's the name that turns
me off: "Grafenberg Spot" is just not that sexy.
It sounds like something I slept through in eighth-grade lab science. And although
I've heard that g-spot orgasms are tremendous, I'm happy with my clitoral orgasms.
After all, if somethin' ain't broke, don't fix it.
I also wonder if the idea that squirting g-spot orgasms are earth-shattering
might be part of the Man's plan to make women feel inadequate. One of the great things about being a woman is never clicking
on spam emails for products that promise to help you shoot loads across the room.
However, if there is even a tiny chance that squirting is enjoyable and attainable,
I'm not willing to rule it out of my sexual repertoire. A possible bonus: if I were
able to find some chemically sensitive paper, I could incorporate squirting into
my visual art and revive the action-painting movement.
Please list all the materials required for this experiment (including, if applicable, how they were obtained).
- DVD: How to Female Ejaculate
- DVD:
Seymore Butts' Female Ejaculation: A Complete Guide
-
"Nubby G" vibrator (1)
- Lab partner (1)
In this portion of your report, you must describe, step-by-step, what you did
in your lab. It should be specific enough that someone who has not seen the lab
can follow the directions and recreate the same lab.
When news spread that I wanted to squirt for science, several prospective
lab partners volunteered. I finally settled on my friend Tobly, not because
she's a squirter, but because she had just stolen a copy of She Comes First from
the office where she works. Plus, she sent me an impressive résumé detailing
her qualifications, which consisted of having a tongue and at least ten fingers.
Skills and work experience included using toys, not crying during
sex and always paying the rent. Several references were listed, including Janet
Reno and the entire roster of the St. Thomas College field hockey team.
In summation, she wrote, "I wouldn't give up till we made you a fountain.
I would even take it right in the eye. That is how important this is to me."
I was sold. Plus, I figured a female lab partner would be less likely to try
to "put it in" if I got too impatient and simply wanted to bone.
Tobly and I scheduled our lab for the following week. Because I have a compact vagina
and long fingers, I know exactly where my G-Spot is and have petted it many
times. But figuring out how to make this petting propel a volcanic reaction would
take at least a week's worth of research.
"You've got to do kegels," my friend Michelle advised.
"Oh, man, I hate working out, even if it's only my vagina," I moaned.
I know I should do kegels every day. I also know I should eat spinach, exercise
and remove my eyeliner before bed, but that doesn't mean I do. Reluctantly, I began doing kegels — at work, at the bar, on the subway,
while watching TV. It was a little like not exercising for ten years and then
cramming for a triathlon with only a week to go.
Many of my male friends were eager to uncover what techniques could lead to female
ejaculation. My friend George did a Google search on squirting and discovered
that porn actor/producer Seymore Butts made a DVD entitled Seymour Butts'
Female Ejaculation: The Complete Guide. The absurd yet academic title appealed
to me. However, I imagined entering a porn store and requesting such a ridiculous
title would be mortifying. To lessen the embarrassment I brought along my friends
Amy and Georgia.
Our first stop was sex superstore Babeland, where I didn't find the DVD but did acquire a "Nubby G" vibrator, which is said to stimulate
not only the g-spot but the clit and anus as well. According to Babeland employees,
this oafish vibrator helped someone they know ejaculate for the first time. Along
with my Nubby G, I picked up a copy of the DVD How to Female Ejaculate. According
to the cover, it is "the classic — 10,000 copies sold!"
From there, we headed up to Times Square, where I sheepishly wandered into several
stores looking for Seymore Butts' squirting video. A handsome porn shop employee
named Greg told us they were sold out. "It's definitely one of the best," he
added, promising to order it for me.
Later that night, my friend Bruce and I viewed How to Female Ejaculate. The DVD
opens with host Deborah Sundahl discussing female anatomy. Judging from Deborah's
shoulder-padded purple blazer and the Negal prints behind her, I gathered that the
film was shot in the mid-eighties. As for the g-spot, Deborah proclaimed, "If
it were any closer, it might bite you!" She then went on to display her
own g-spot by turning a speculum on its side.
"It looks like a little snail," I marveled.
Soon, a trio of Deborah's squirter friends joined her.
"Look, two of them are wearing hats," Bruce noted. "Maybe that has something
to do with it."
The squirters proceeded to discuss their first ejaculation experiences and the
consistency of their ejaculate — what it felt, smelled and even
tasted like.
"Let's get to the squirting!" I cried, tiring of all the talk.
"It's made by women, so of course they have to talk about it a lot before they
do it," Bruce noted.
We were forced to eat our condescending words when the women suddenly began to squirt.
Bruce literally jumped out of his seat as a lanky brunette in crotchless Calvin
Klein panties, suspenders and requisite hat shot enough clear fluid to drown
a small mammal.
"That's amazing! How cool would it be to jizz on a man's face?" I pronounced,
suddenly inspired.
The following day, I picked up my Seymore Butts video, popped it in the DVD player
and awaited instruction, Nubby G in hand and Astroglide at my side. Unlike most
male adult stars, Seymore Butts has
high cheekbones and a cute smile. He is a male porn star who might actually turn
women on.
The film began with Seymore standing in the rain getting drenched, then
shaking out his lovely ringlets and promising to teach viewers everything they
wanted to know about female ejaculation. His sermon was interrupted
by a phone call from his mother, which he went inside to answer.
From then on, the Butts residence was awash in activity. It was like he was
a latter-day Mr. Rogers; his telephone and doorbell were constantly
ringing. Only in this land of make-believe, it wasn't Mr. McFeely at the door
but Tina, a blonde with basketball boobs who wound up engaging in coitus with
another visitor to the Butts home. In one scene, a pants-less brunette strolled
through Seymour's living room to retrieve her trousers from the laundry room.
Shockingly, she never made it to the laundry room, but instead lost her top,
her bra and about a half-gallon of she-jizz.
Amid the unbelievable scenarios, viewers were treated to tips on squirting.
Tina demonstrated advanced and beginner kegels, and Seymore boxed a plastic "Tae
Bo buddy" while explaining that wrist and forearm strength are crucial to
eliciting female ejaculations from your partner.
Female Ejaculation: The Complete Guide is one of the loudest pornographic videos
I've ever viewed. Inordinate amounts of wailing and moaning accompanied each squirting
episode. After viewing the first two hours of footage, I wandered into my kitchen and realized my new next-door neighbors were
having a fancy rooftop cocktail party while all my windows were wide open. I'm
lucky no one called the cops.
Horrified, I ventured back inside my bedroom, turned down the volume and decided
to do a little exploring. Splaying my legs, I fiddled with my g-spot, making
a come-hither motion with my fingers. I draped a condom over the Nubby G and
coated it with lube. Evidently my eyes had been bigger than my pussy when I purchased the Nubby; its fat, curved head barely fit. When I finally managed
to insert it, the pressure was too much for my
clit. Within a minute or two, I achieved a satisfying clitoral orgasm that made
me wonder why exactly I was bothering with the g-spot.
If I were going to have a full-on g-spot orgasm, I would have to keep my fingers
away from my clit, a feat that would possibly require restraints. Placing the Nubby G far out of reach, I tried again, this time using my fingers
and the rapid motions I'd witnessed Seymore use. I clenched my PC muscles, sweated
and strained, but produced no fountain.
Frustrated, I called my friend Faceboy. Knowing he had experience with squirters,
I thought he could give me advice.
"Face, I've been rubbing my g-spot for an hour," I said. "I feel like I'm ready to squirt,
but can't."
"Well, what kind of sensations are you having?" he asked.
"I feel the g-spot swell up and get hard. And it feels like I have to pee."
"You know how when you pee, you just let go? That's what you have to do,
just let go."
"What if I pee?"
"You won't. But, if you're really worried, try not drinking beer beforehand."
"Sexual activity without beer — that's probably not going to happen. Also,
I have to pee all the time anyway. I go through ninety percent of my life having
to pee, and the other ten percent looking for places to pee."
I live in constant fear of pissing myself due to my pea-sized bladder, but Faceboy
was right. I would have to get over my phobia of pissing the bed before I could
produce the glorious geysers I'd witnessed onscreen.
Quantify the effects of the experiment.
"Tobly, I'm worried I might pee on you," I told my lab partner when she arrived
at my apartment carrying her hot copy of She Comes First.
"I really wouldn't care," she assured me. "And I've been doing serious research. You're not gonna
pee on me. We're gonna make this happen."
"It could take a long time."
"If it takes all night," she declared.
Like a junior scientist who just discovered the explosive qualities of baking
soda and vinegar, Tobly excitedly shared her findings. Opening the pages of She
Comes First, she pointed to a line drawing of the urethral sponge and began explaining
what happens when it fills with ejaculate.
"What are those squiggly lines?" I asked, confused by the abstract expressionist
nature of the image.
"I think those are supposed to be pubes."
"Why did they have to draw in the pubes?"
"Because that's the mons pubis."
"Yeah, but still it seems a little detail oriented."
"Maybe the guy just digs pubes."
Tobly put the book down and we went into my boudoir, where I put on How to Female
Ejaculate and fast-forwarded to the ejaculations.
"You know, they really don't tell you exactly how to do it in this video," Tobly noted.
"I know," I said. "It's like they're showing off."
Realizing Tobly was bored, I put on the more modern Seymore Butts DVD.
"I'm really intimidated," I said, watching the fountains of clear liquid pouring forth from the actresses onscreen.
"Don't be intimidated," Tobly said confidently. "They're in porn because they can do that. They're experts. That's why they get paid the big bucks."
"I don't think I can do it."
"You can do it. Turn that off and get naked."
I stripped and lay some towels down on the bed, thrilled that, like my male
counterparts, I now had a jizz rag.
"Do you want to get naked too?" I asked Tobly, who still wore jeans and a
T-shirt.
"No. This is all about you. I'm just here to facilitate. It does feel a little
technical, though."
"Yeah, it's like we're about to do surgery."
Some mood lighting and incense remedied the situation. I repositioned myself on the bed and Tobly poured a heavy coat of lube over my
pudenda. Slowly she spread the lube around and inserted a finger.
Luckily she had short nails.
"Do you feel my g-spot?" I asked, excitedly. "It feels like a rough
sponge, almost like a loofah."
"Hold on. We're not there yet," she said, teasing me with her fingers and
tongue until lube became superfluous.
She slid two fingers inside of me, making the sign of Satan as she
began to apply pressure to my G-Spot. She worked her fingers in and out, softly
at first, and then hard and fast.
Noises escaped my mouth not unlike those of a seal. It must've looked and sounded
like Tobly was beating the shit out of me, because my chihuahua, JJ, darted into
the bedroom and started going nuts.
"I can't squirt with this commotion," I sighed, rising from the bed and relegating
JJ to the kitchen, where she shivered dramatically.
"Okay, back to work," I stated, reclining back on the bed, my g-spot still
swollen and aching for relief.
Tobly reinserted her fingers, rolling them over the ridges of my sweet spot and
settling into a fast, repetitive motion whereby she pressed down on the G. Minutes
passed, and with each minute my apparent urge to pee grew stronger. My PC muscles
contracted around her fingers, but she wouldn't stop.
"Oh my God, it's killing me!" I screamed. "Please stop!"
"Really?"
"No!"
I begged her to stop several times and then begged her to keep going several
times, all while grunting, moaning and sweating. I tried to "let go," as
I'd been instructed to do, but nothing happened. I pressed down like I was draining
my kitty and nothing happened. The pressure grew heavier and I feared it really
would take all night. Tobly's face was inches from my crotch. She wore a look
of pained determination. If you remember the scene in Alien where John Hurt's stomach bursts open and
he gives birth to alien spawn, you'll have some idea of what my face looked like.
Usually when I build up to orgasm I'm entertaining dirty thoughts, but I was
entertaining no thoughts whatsoever. I was just focusing on the intense, unusual
sensation in my crotch. I tried to sit up to lessen the pressure.
"No, lie back down!" Tobly commanded.
I lay back down and breathed, lifting my legs up, in what must've been a really
unflattering move.
And then, much to my surprise, I squirted. The feeling that I had to pee was gone, yet I hadn't peed; I had come instead! I stared down at my vagina, amazed.
"Oh my God! You did it!" Tobly screamed.
We hugged and rolled our sweaty bodies around on the bed together like we'd just
won the lottery. As we collected ourselves, I immediately began asking questions
regarding the aesthetic of my squirt. Because we weren't underwater, I knew it
hadn't been as impressive as the ejaculations I'd watched onscreen. Still, I
was a little disappointed when Tobly referred to my ejaculation as "cute."
"It sprayed out about four inches. It was like a little fountain," she informed
me.
"Did it get in your hair?" I asked.
"No. It didn't get that far."
Disappointed by my lack of distance and aim, we tried to elicit a few more ejaculations,
to no avail. I even convinced Tobly to get naked and allow me to dip my hands
in her honey pot. But because I've had few such experiences, I was more interested in playing with her breasts, which were very large. "Breasts
are awesome!" I exclaimed, forgetting the lab at hand.
Unable to muster further ejaculations, we gave up and went to a nearby bar, where we discussed
our g-spots ad nauseam.
What fascinates me most about the g-spot is how big it gets when aroused, like a sponge that expands when it fills with liquid. I know it's not a
very sexy adjective, but the g-spot is really neat. I'm glad I
got to know it a little better.
Summarize your findings. Don't forget to attempt to identify possible variables that could result in different findings for others trying to recreate your test results.
While I didn't prove to be a long-distance squirter, the fact that I squirted at all shocks
me. To have occupied this body for more than about thirty years and not known about its ability to shoot mini-fountains of female ejaculate means that maybe I wasn't paying enough
attention to it. Still, the time and effort required was more than I usually
like to spend on an orgasm. I like my sex like a mafia hit — in and out
and nobody gets hurt.
"That was great, but I'm not sure I'll ever bother to do it again. It took too
long," I told Tobly.
"Rev., it only took twenty-five minutes."
"Yeah, too long."
That could change with time, assuming I do my kegels. As for whether my g-spot orgasm was better than my clitoral orgasms, it
was different, but no more intense. As far as I'm concerned, all orgasms are
winners.
Still, I was proud of my come shot. I spent the following
day boasting to friends that I'd squirted.
"Was it fun?" my friend Tom asked.
"It was fun, but it was a lot of pressure. I didn't want to disappoint."
"Now you know how we feel," he said.
I Did It for Science appears monthly.
| ABOUT THE AUTHOR: |
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Reverend Jen Miller,
patron saint of the uncool, hosts the long-running New York City open
mike "Reverend Jen's Anti-Slam." She is also the author of Reverend Jen's Really Cool Neighborhood, a Lower East Side travel guide "for the poor, deviant and bored." Visit her website at www.revjen.com. |
©2005 Rev. Jen Miller and Nerve.com
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