Squirting... My Everest.

I, like so many, was painfully ill educated about squirting. I thought only some women were “squirters.” Only these select few had the gift. I thought when a woman squirted, the only fluid expelled was an adorable little pump. A thimble full. I never really gave squrirting much thought.

Until I met a man who loves it.

Guess who.

It was one of the first things we discussed, project wise. I think his words were, “Let’s get you squirting.”

Step One: Kegel exercises. Check. (They’re sort of a bitch to remember, though).

Step Two: G Spot Exploration and Familiarization. (Ok, fine! I’ll finger myself silly. For you, honey.)

Step Three: Learn how to Ejaculate without an Orgasm. (Slam Dunk, Ladies.)

The night I tried this, I did everything the book suggested. I laid down a towel, played some sexy music, lit some candles, poured myself a glass of wine, and settled in to play with myself.

The problem is, I felt a little silly. There was nothing stimulating me but my fingers plugging away. Then I realized. I was trying to romance myself. For fuck’s sake! I was trying to seduce myself!

And failing.

I never cum from elaborate seduction scenes. I need good old fashioned filth. So I chucked the music and put on some kinky hentai porn. I kept the candles, because I’m still a lady.

As I watched cartoon Japanese people do imaginative things to each other, my g spot started swelling. I did everything the book suggested. Stroking the soft, puffy area slowly but firmly. Pressing. Getting two fingers in my pussy and pinching.

It swelled and it swelled and it swelled.

I was laying on my back, on a towel, a pillow under my head. Girly Japanese squealing in my ears. I planted my feet and lifted my hips. I pushed, like I was trying to pee.

Nothing.

I kept stimulating. Masturbating. G spot. Clit. G spot.

Then I took my hands away, lifted my hips, and pushed.

Nothing.

Stimulate. Push. Hold. Relax Stimulate. Push. Hold. Relax. Stimulate. Push. Hold.

Something.

The tiniest feeling of liquid. A trickle.

Push. Hold. Relax. Stimulate. Push. Hold. Relax. Stimulate. Push. Hold.

A little bit more.

Stimulate. Push. Hold.

More! A gush of fluid rushed out of me. I pushed and I held and it gushed onto my towel.

Then (just as the book suggested) I changed position. I climbed onto my knees, leaning over, I braced myself on the edge of my bed with one hand and reached between my legs with the other. Stimulate! Push! Hold!

A stream of water flooded out of me! A long hard stream jetting out of my pussy with such force I heard the impact as it hit the floor. More than I thought. Harder than I thought. Pressure and momentum and I was pushing and it was rushing out like a geyser...

But I didn’t cum.

That wasn’t the point. This step was squirting without an orgasm. This was a training exercise.

And I’d succeeded. :-)

Shocked at what I’d done, I stood up and stared at the soaked towel on my floor. I couldn’t believe that had just come out of me! I got down on my knees and smelled it. Then I went to the bathroom and urinated to compare samples. Actually, both were odorless. I’d been hydrating in preparation for this exercise all day. Still. I felt certain the liquid on my floor was ejaculate.

I had ejaculated.

Grinning huge, elation flooding through me, I felt amazing. Unstoppable. Magnificent. I couldn’t wait to tell G.

I took a picture of the wet towel and sent it to him.

Then I poured myself some more wine and basked in the glow of my achievement. What’s funny is I totally forgot to keep masturbating. I didn’t finish myself that night. It didn’t even occur to me.

I went to bed feeling like a rockstar.

That was nine months ago.

I’ve squirted several times since, the exact same way. By myself. No orgasm.

I can’t cum when I squirt.

And I can’t squirt around G.

Which is really frustrating when he’s the reason I started doing this in the first place. Once, he was out of town and I spent every day he was gone practicing. I had a routine. I squirted every day. Like a champ. Good squirts- squirts that shot several feet. Squirts that came quickly. Super squirts.

The moment he climbed between my legs, I was as dry as the Sahara.

Really.

Frustrating.

I get nervous :-( About many things. What he’s seeing, what could go wrong, and most often... what if I can’t do it?

Performance anxiety. Plain and simple. As soon as he’s looking, I can’t squirt. I even tried videotaping myself for him, so he’d know i wasn’t full of lies! But the MOMENT I pressed record, I went dry. If the camera was off,  wet city.

I’m an actress! I’ve acted in front of thousands of people. I’ve sang. I’ve danced.  I’ve cried. I even showed my tits to a room full of strangers.

I do not get performance anxiety.

God! Until now! Fucking fucking fucking frustrating! The more I fail, the more I want it, the harder I try, the more I fail.

I want to squirt.

I want to cum when I squirt.

I want to squirt in front of my boyfriend.

And I want it now.