“Ouroboros” Adult Film Review

Take a moment and imagine two dissimilar people to whom you’re sexually attracted.

Hold on to that image and picture the three of you fucking in every configuration. While this is just my opinion, that’s how sex should be, on an infinite loop.

This is the March review for Porn Club. “Porn Club seeks to encourage discussions about porn as an indie film genre, focusing on classic and contemporary titles available to us through our streaming network, PinkLabel.TV. Topics might include technical aspects of how a movie was made, directorial influences, perceived social or historical impact, and other aspects of interest…”

Ouroboros does a great job of infusing studio sex with the infinite loop of fantasy. The lighting was a good balance between a dimly lit bedroom and lit well enough to see what you want. The sex was a fun balance of affectionate cuddle puddle, wrestling, spanks, spit roasts, and grinds. All of the giving, all of the receiving, all of the pleasure without the focus on any singular pleasure, goal, or climax. That’s how sex should be.

This film is what would happen if three people craved each other, abstained from sex, and then they were given license to lay in a studio, imagine what they’d do to one another and then *ding* off goes the bell for the start of their fantasy. I liked this film because it seemed driven by the desire of the actor’s to enjoy and consume each other. It felt genuine. Everything in this film looks, feels, and sounds like real sex. Everything in this film lands as if driven by pure desire. I loved it and I hope that you enjoy it as well.

“How to Female Ejaculate” (1993) Adult Film Review

Watching a documentary is always an interesting trip. I’m driven to watch documentaries for the sake of furthering my education on matters somewhat foreign to me. Before I tell you about my experience watching and learning from “How to Female Ejaculate” (1993) directed by and featuring Deborah Sundahl, I want to cover some language that I’ll be using in this post. People with vaginas are not always women and women don’t always have vaginas. I’ve spent enough time with cadavers in anatomy classes to know that every human body is different. Throughout this post about vaginas and the marvel of vaginal ejaculation, I’ll be using the term women with the aforementioned understanding in consideration. For the CisHet men reading this, please note that I won’t be explaining any “hOw To MaKe hEr sQuIrT!” sort of business. This isn’t about you learning some tricks for the bedroom. This is about self-exploration for women who wish to feel what the presenters in this doc felt. (Dudes, I encourage you to read “Whose Orgasm Is It Anyway?”) Alright, still with me and ready to read on? Great!

From the jump, the early ‘90s aesthetic made my heart sing tunes of nostalgia. The hair and clothes were enough to dive all the way into this doc. Even if you weren’t a ‘90s kid, I think everyone should watch this doc. Human bodies are wonderful and there hasn’t been remotely enough research on women’s sexual pleasure response (more on that lack of research later). For all the CisHet men out there who fancy themselves to be “good at sex” take more time to listen, learn, and study instead of back patting yourself. Watch HTFE for the sake of education, not to “learn some tricks”.

I loved the educational components from this documentary. In the event that you’ve ever believed squirting or the g-spot to be a myth, please watch HTFE. Here are some great takeaways from the video to keep in mind the next time you find yourself with a squirter.

1. Female ejaculate is not urine! I’ve heard a heartbreaking story from a friend who ejaculated all over her lover’s bed and he ghosted after accusing her of peeing during sex. Wow! If only he had watched HTFE and learned some things!

2. The urethral sponge is a much better name for the pleasure receptor than the “G-spot”, IMO. Science has been moving away from the habit of naming areas of the body after the person credited with their discovery. Ernst Gräfenberg was credited with discovering the g-spot, hence the name.

Fun Fact: A quick Googling will show present day arguments as to whether there even is a g-spot and to that all I can rhetorically ask is what the fuck!

Watch HTFE and learn why the urethral sponge is not only a more physiologically accurate term, the naming convention also tells you where to find it. That is assuming that you know where to find a woman’s urethra and of course you know that no one pees out of their vagina (another myth perpetuated by the miseducated).

3. Please note that squirting doesn’t have to be a goal (however, hearing what it means to this group of women could inspire others). Everyone’s pleasure response is different and that’s perfectly fine.

4. The video discusses some techniques for Kegeling. You should watch it for that alone. Imagine being able to work a muscle that helps to give you stronger orgasms! Yes, please! Exercise those PC (pubococcygeus) muscles. You can have stronger orgasms (if that’s something you want).

Fun Fact: Anyone with a pelvic floor can Kegel! (I’ve met some people who were surprised that men can Kegel.)

5. Something I loved about the demo portion (this is a Porn Club review after all) was the reminder that different people call for different methods and yield unique pleasure responses. To phrase it another way, if you have “go to” methods when assisting someone with their pleasure, keep in mind that all bodies are not the same.

Carol Queen, who I had the pleasure of working with (not in that way) last year on a panel at ConvergeCon, had some great points about women ejaculating. She spoke about the sense of empowerment that came from the self-discovery of female ejaculation. Sex education for teens is often inaccurate or non-existent. Sex education as it relates to a woman’s pleasure is even scarcer. When the conversation shifted to safety, because we are talking about a bodily fluid, Carol pointed out the insufficient AIDS research as it related to women’s pleasure response.

I encourage you to watch HTFE, not because you want to learn some tricks, instead because you want to celebrate in the self-discovery of the women featured in the film. Afterwards, you may find out something about your own pleasure response. Even if you don’t, it’s still both educational and an erotic joy to watch.

The Wedding Party

The California King-sized bed had been moved into the main living area, the largest room in the house. The entirety of the home, inside and out, was adorned in their favorite flowers. Blood red dahlias for the groom and purple orchids for the bride. The scent of the flowers filled the entry way and the aroma was punctuated with sandalwood and jasmine in the form incense burning in several rooms. A little over a dozen well dressed people began to fill the space. Most of them drifted into a circle around the bed. No side of the bed was against a wall allowing an adequate vantage point for everyone in the circle. Once everyone found their assigned places around the bed, there was a respectful silence that held the room. The silence exploded into applause when the bride and groom arrived, dressed impeccably and still aglow from their wedding ceremony.
A woman with sienna-colored dreadlocks projected her voice over the applause to congratulate the couple on their union and to begin the ceremony for which they’d all gathered. She spoke with the same tone and respect one would at the opening circle for a play party. This party was a bit more exclusive as only the closest friends of the newlyweds were in attendance. She spoke about consent, boundaries, respect, and holding space. Everyone stood with a muted respect for the orator, the unofficial matriarch of the group, until she’d finished. Once the opening circle was complete, a person who sang at the wedding began singing softly to set the mood. Their voice was low and rumbled with a vibration strong enough to give the guests a tingle. The singing continued just long enough for the DJ to finish cueing up the music playlist that had already been curated by friends of the newlyweds. Music began playing softly and the vocalist sang quieter until they faded out their contribution to give way to ambient noise. Music that felt impossibly slow with its own brand of tension filled the room.
By this time, the couple had already begun undressing each other. His hands slowly loosened her red corset until unhooking it was easy. He dropped to his knees to help her out of her thigh high boots, again unlacing slowly. The onlookers were silent, save for a few whispers, as he continued to undress her. By the time he’d reached the last layer, she was bent over the bed as he pulled her panties down, covering the backs of her legs with kisses as his hands pulled them closer to the floor. When he reached the floor, he took the time to kiss her feet. She turned and sat down on the bed as he massaged her toes, squeezing and pulling each one to help her feet relax after a few hours in six inch heels. She was completely free from any clothing, which meant it was her turn to undress him. She took the same care and patience with undressing him. She used her fingernails, manicured to a dagger-like point, to stimulate the nerves in his skin wear clothing had been instead of the kisses he’d used to show his affection for her. She knew every erogenous zone that made it difficult for him to stand. She played with him until he was short of breath and weak in the knees. At last, they were both naked.
The photographer was given a nod by the bride. This was their cue that they were now allowed to begin capturing the event for them to frame and enjoy for the remainder of their years together. Boudoir photos in real time. They each turned to their trusted friends, the groom to the best man and the bride to the maid of honor, to receive gift wrapped boxes. These boxes held their wedding gifts to each other. She opened her box first. In it she found a purple Hitachi with the words, “Can’t stop. Won’t stop.” engraved on the handle. She laughed as she read the inscription. It was their private joke and there was no need to explain it to the wedding party. He sat upright on the bed, near the head, with his legs spread and she nestled in between them facing away. Her ankles were then bound to the bed posts by soft leather restraints. Her hands gripped his shins as he plugged in her new toy. Once he turned it on the lowest setting, he began gently running the wand across the nape of her neck. He then moved on to her shoulders until he felt more tension leave her body. He whispered more private jokes to her low enough to stay out of earshot of the wedding party. She laughed as she leaned her head back for a kiss. He continued down to her nipple where he stimulated her briefly until she seemed to lose her breath. He knew that her nipples can only take so much before the pleasure crossing the line into annoying. He then crossed over to her sternum and moved lower until reaching her waist. He then moved in a circle, past the iliac crest and on to her sacrum. There, he held for a while and pressed the vibrating wand between his penis and the muscles in her lower back. Both of them began to lose their breath. He circumnavigated her pelvis a few times before placing a condom on the wand. By this time, her lips were swollen, red, and pulsing. He applied more pressure and a higher vibration on her pubic bone as her left knee began to sway side-to-side. He continued with the massage just outside of her vulva, being careful not to touch her pussy, not yet. He moved on to her gracilis. Her legs began to shake. While he continued to use the wand with his right hand, the palm of his left hand covered her pussy with gentle pressure, no movement, no rubbing, just gentle pressure. She breathed a sigh of relief as he felt how wet she’d become. “Do you want me inside of you?”, he whispered into her ear. With eyes half-closed she exhaled an anxious and audible “Yes!” The wedding party smiled in silence.
He extended his hand out to the left as someone was ready with the bride’s preferred lube. After a few squirts into his hand, he rubbed all five fingers together and reached back to his partner. He began with one finger as he slid from the perineum up and slowly pressed inside. He felt her Skene’s gland swelling as he gave gentle circle stimulation until she accepted a second finger. Less focused on destination and more enthralled with the journey, he massaged her pussy with two fingers and alternated back and forth between nature’s oldest sex toy, the hand, and her wedding gift. Between heavy breaths, she encouraged him when to stay “right there” or reminded him “don’t stop” when his intentions were in alignment with her reception. Following her guidance, the massage from man and machine continued. Her moans turned into song as her voice outperformed the speakers. Her toes would curl as if her feet were making fists and her ankles pulled at the leather restraints. Her eyes rolled back at regular intervals only broken up by the occasional proclamation of “FUCK!” or “YES!” The wedding party stood in quiet reverence, excited at the possibility of what was next. The thoughts from the party ranged any where from expectations of an epic squirting orgasm to clenched teeth as they patiently waited to play with their mates. Time seemed to travel from fast to slow for everyone in the room. There were times when it felt like time was moving fast and that five minutes felt like 30 seconds. There were times when some felt the opposite and everything was in slow motion. The groom continued to massage the bride’s pussy, focused on journey in lieu of destination. And then it happened…
A bridesmaid in the corner who had yet to make a sound, dropped to her knees. She had an orgasm! The entire room shifted their focus to where she had been standing in the corner, untouched, uncoupled, and up until that point, unspoken. She had fallen to her hands and knees and squirted so hard that the carpet underneath her was spongy to the touch. As she gyrated through a series of pelvic thrusts, the wedding party began to erupt in cheers, applause, and laughter. The bride laughed the loudest. When the cacophony died down, the bride wiped a joyous tear from her face and announced to everyone, “YOU MAY ALL JOIN IN THE DANCE!”
The wedding party erupted in cheers and laughter as the exercise in voyeurism transitioned into a play party for everyone in the room. The groom paused his massage, removed his partner’s restraints and they held each other, laughing at the unexpected turn of events. Everyone began to undress and play in groups. The bridesmaid who broke the ice kept to herself in the corner. She refused any would be partners and massaged herself into orgasms for the rest of the evening.
This has been an original erotic short story written by Jet Noir. This is a work of fiction.

Yes, I Am A Sex Worker

No, it’s probably not what you imagine. Recently, I was on a panel of Sex Workers who spoke to a group of people about advocacy, biased/antiquated laws, and healthcare for an underserved, persecuted, and often misunderstood industry.

Here’s my speech, originally delivered on 7/20/17 at the Uptown in Oakland.

Speaking to you as a man, I will not be using the term male sex worker. I will not be using the terms male stripper or boylesque either. If the hair on the nape of your neck has ever stood on end when hearing the term female comedian, you understand why I don’t subscribe to the aforementioned titles. All of those terms suggest that this sort of work is designated for a specific gender. I’ll be the first to admit that I know more women who are sex workers than men. As a burlesque performer and sex worker (not the same-more on that later), I work in a woman’s world. I respect and acknowledge that. But, during my time on the mic, I will leave gender out of my labels because you have eyes.

When interviewed about their profession as sex workers, some men are quick to point out that they’re not prostitutes. That word has a history of judgment surrounding it. Making this distinction, especially when a sex worker gets paid for sex, is akin to when burlesque performers feel the need to distinguish what they do as “stripping but classier”. Yes, some people actually say this.

Sex work doesn’t always mean having penetration-oriented sex for cash. Sometimes sex work is as simple as making money from the sex industry. If we break down that legal definition of sex work we can see that, legally-speaking, the person who hands out flyers for (and gets paid by) the Gold club is a sex worker. I think that the people who demonize the profession may change their tune about some of the laws surrounding sex work if they realized that.

As a man, I recognize that I hold some privilege as a sex worker. It tends to manifest in the form of my ability to speak openly about what I do without persecution. I’m a fitness coach by day. After instructing a cycling class, I encourage them all to attend my shows. Women are unable to do that without being disrespected or solicited immediately after. When people hear that I’m a sex worker, they often make the assumption that I’m having intercourse with all of my clients (I am not, with any of them). “At least you’re getting paid for it.” has been the joke of those who have made this assumption. I’ve never really heard of women hearing that sort of joke. Other people tend to ask questions about my specific tasks. What makes me a sex worker? [Here, I went on to describe services I provide. I’m happy to answer those questions, privately. I will not post my list of services on the internet. My work is by referral only.]

Homophobia is something I never thought I’d have to deal with in San Francisco. Wrong. As a cisgender heterosexual male, I’ve been socialized to be homophobic. I can spot homophobia pretty easily. I’ve spent much of my life unlearning these toxic behaviors. When homophobic men find out that I’m a sex worker, many of them assume that I’m servicing men for money and they aren’t exactly kind beyond that. A friend of mine, also a sex worker, was kicked out of a bar just because the bouncer found out he was a sex worker! To be clear, my friend wasn’t harassing anyone or being disruptive. He was asked to leave and the bouncer had no problem making the reason known. That prompted me to make a shirt with SEX WORKER printed on the chest. All proceeds from the sell of that shirt go to the St. James Infirmary. My goal in wearing that shirt is to start conversations that will, hopefully, end assumptions and misunderstandings of what it means to be a sex worker.

One of the unexpected beauties of sex work is the healing aspect. I’ve met a surprising number of women who have never seen the penis of a man they weren’t fucking. I’m not suggesting that my penis is capable of healing. I am suggesting that it’s important that women be allowed safe space to see men as sexy without concern of being pursued, harassed, or attacked.

I once danced for a woman. We were the only two in the room and I performed a 15 minute striptease just for her. She giggled at the beginning. She took more deliberate breaths as I got closer to naked o’cock. By the end, her eyes (now open), her posture, and her everything had changed. As she thanked me, she mentioned that she had just turned 30 and had never seen a man strip before. I told her, “Your 30s are going to be fantastic!” She got misty-eyed and fought tears to tell me how any form of sexual expression had always been frowned upon in her family. I asked permission to hug her. As we hugged, she released all of the tension from her body and relaxed for just a moment. As she left, she continued to thank me and I perceived that none of her gratitude was about my performance. I’m grateful that I was able to hold space for her. Sometimes #sexwork can be a form of healing.

To all of the men who find themselves alone with women in a romantic setting. Please dance for them. Tease them as you undress. Take your time. If she’s already given enthusiastic consent, she’s not going to run away if you take too long to get your pants off. Slow down and enjoy the journey.

Creating space for women to feel like it’s okay to objectify me (or any man) without any expectations being placed on them or their bodies creates an experience wherein her tension is released almost audibly. I look forward to helping more people realize that sexuality is not to be frowned upon. I hope to teach men that being sexy is not only okay, but the world wants to see it. Not “manly”, but sexy. Men touching themselves and loving the way their body moves without it being considered effeminate. I hope that any man [reading] this will find a bit more freedom the next time they dance in public.

Sex Gets Me Up: Energy For A Busy Life, Part 4/7

Sex as a form of caffeine. A ridiculous concept that I hope all of you are willing to try.

I drink about 2.5 cups of coffee a day. The half cup is just re-using the grinds from the first cup to make a cup of decaf. (Other wise, I’d be drinking 3-4 cups of the high octane giddyup and that would be no fun for anyone involved, trust!) While I try to time my caffeine intake so that I get the most bang for my cup, there’s a better form of caffeine available in limited quantities. It’s called sex, people. You can have it hot, iced, wet, or with (wait for it)… room for cream HA!

Screen Shot 2016-03-21 at 14.54.40

But, seriously folks, this week’s post is part 4 in a 7 part series about how I keep up my high energy levels. The coffee was no secret and it certainly wasn’t worth an entire post on how coffee works. This post will be written for those of you that have experienced orgasmic narcolepsy. Others that may benefit from this post may be those that have been told to “think about Baseball” to avoid cumming too soon. (That was the advice floating around 20 years ago. I pray to the great Boogie Monster in the sky that no one is still doling out that nonsense these days.)

There’s a book that I’ve tried to read more than twice. It’s called “The Multi-Orgasmic Man.” It’s a well-written book with some interesting techniques for, what the authors refer to as, Sexual Kung Fu. However, there was a little thing I had trouble getting my head around. It was le petit mort (the little death). For those of you that are orgasmically narcoleptic, there’s a chance you’ve read about it. The distilled version of the concept is that the human body works so hard to produce that ejaculate (from the penis or the vagina) that we experience a sort of death, in the most pleasurable sense of the word. The book suggests that the process of ejaculating makes us weak, zaps our energy, and makes it difficult for us to focus. Because of that, the book teaches men the difference between having an orgasm and ejaculating. I’ve had trouble getting behind the theory because my body doesn’t always work that way. There have been times when ejaculating has helped me to focus in finish writing that paper. However, the lessons taught in the book about having an orgasm and distributing the sexual energy of that orgasm throughout the body have helped me to have sex with greater frequency and a “2nd wind” of energy afterwards.

“Jet, you’re crazy! If I make the sweet loves, I’m done. I’m giving all of my energy to my partner and I won’t have anything left to give after the fact. I certainly won’t have more energy!” Stay with me on this one, what if you changed the way you thought about sex? Let’s go back to that “think about Baseball” silliness. What do you think about during sex? I find that gratitude can be invigorating. The words “thank you” are on a constant loop in my head during sex. I try to express appreciation for every way in which my partner has given herself to me. I express that appreciation with my thoughts, actions, and kind (albeit few) words. In the moments that my fingers touch her skin or when my fingers interlace with hers, I tap into her energy while sending her mine. That exchange is invigorating. Instead of thinking about something removed from the presence of our interaction (read: Baseball) I think about her. I think about how grateful I am that we’re sharing this experience. I think about all of the interesting smells and poetic sounds. I take it all in as energy and it excites me. The sensory stimulation makes my heart race and stays with me for hours (sometimes days) after an encounter.

Killing myself (as in the little death) is of no interest to me. So, ejaculating isn’t a goal of mine during sex. I’d rather have an orgasm from the energy exchange and carry that energetic high with me throughout the rest of my day. If you’re reading this and you are sexually active, consider sex an opportunity to connect with your partner on an energetic level. WTF does that mean? Have you ever had a hug in which you or the other person, audibly exhaled and proclaimed “I needed that”? That’s what it feels like to connect with someone energetically. I’ve seen posture change, smiles brighten, and attitudes adjust with a hug. Imagine the power of sex as an energetic exchange. In such an exchange, try to be energetically philanthropic in your encounters. Give your energy to your partner as you connect with them on a deeper level. If they’re following the Four Rs of good sex then the Reciprocity they give will provide the energy you need for your daily life. I once asked a woman out for a coffee. When she said that she was tired, I took it as a polite, “no thank you, I’m not interested.” Coffee (often) resolves tired. Hopefully, the sex (and energetic exchange) you have resolves tired. We can be too tired for many things, but hopefully not things that resolve tired. I challenge you all to change the way you think about sex.

Sex gives me energy.
*say it with me*
Sex gives me energy.
*say it with me*
Sex gives me energy.

Whose Orgasm Is It Anyway?

Did you ever hear the one about the woman who had multiple orgasms… for three hours!? Her orgasms weren’t all pleasure, nor were they a feat of strength. She was experiencing dozens of orgasms due to Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder (PGAD). I have no idea how statistically common PGAD can be, although there are many examples of the condition floating round the internet. When I first heard the story, the news anchors made jokes about the man (who brought his wife into the ER) receiving high fives, claps on the back, and “way to go” affirmations for what he had done. Wait, for what he had done? I thought the story was about her orgasm, not his. In the film, Irreversible, two friends that were once lovers discussed the trouble they had with sex. He spoke about how hard he tried to give her an orgasm and how he always seemed to fail. She laughed and explained that if he had just enjoyed himself and not tried so hard she would have had no problem reaching a climax.

Distracted Jet Thought… I’ve always remembered that movie scene because I’ve never wanted to sound stupid with a lover in the heat of moment. I’ve learned the hard way that saying the wrong thing, at the right time, can cool a woman off faster than a January toilet seat in an apartment with no heat. Three things have helped me to avoid saying as much stupid shit as I have in the past.
1.) I think before I speak. How would this message be perceived, out of context, or if it were written in stone?
2.) I try not to give anything personally. It’s a daily challenge to avoid taking things, that others say, personally. A different sort of challenge is to avoid delivering coded messages from a deeply personal place. (i.e. Don’t make your message about you. If you do, and it happens, call yourself on it.)
3.) Platinum speaking. Golden speakers speak with the golden rule and deliver message the way they want to receive messages. Platinum speakers speak with the platinum rule and deliver message the way their audience wants to receive messages.

Now, back to your loosely scheduled post…

I’d like to share with you some of the comments I’ve heard men say, in reference to women’s orgasms over the years. I’ll start with the song by The Time from 1984’s Ice Cream Castles “If The Kid Can’t Make You Come”, wherein Morris Day brags on how he’ll make his woman come and if he (the kid) can’t do it, nobody can. I mean, who’s better at making the ladies cum than Morris Day, honestly! Another classic was that one dude at a house party, back in Atlanta that claimed he could make a woman cum just by looking at her. We were all in our 20s, drunk or high, and talking shit to impress any of the pretty women nearby. I’ll cut that guy some slack. The most persistent example I’ve overheard (at play parties, orgies, and various bedrooms) has been the guy that aggressively promises to make his lover cum with the same volition that one would promise to make dinner.

He Makes Her Cum
It’s all up to him,
let him tell it.
It’s all in the stroke,
let him sell it.
I suppose it is a sales pitch.
Pardon me!
I know that you have many dicks
to choose from
when you choose to travel.
But, if you choose to ride on this dick,
I’ll make you cum so hard
and cum so quick
that your mind will unravel.
Shall we take a Lyft Line
to your place or mine?
You so fine,
I’ll take some extra time and…
*he whispers* Move to the left,
we’re in your puddle.
What was that?
You’re welcome, Boo!
I’m so glad
that I could give you an orgasm
and make your back spasm.
I know, I know.
I’m the man!

Did you vomit in your mouth a little bit? Sorry, I wanted to give an extreme example of the unwelcome bedroom brag. It’s Worth Mentioning [IWM]… Sometimes lovers welcome and crave comedically confident talk in the bedroom. This post has more to do with you being a better communicator with your lover than it has to do with some random Jet telling you how to speak to your lover.

A message to the men that use some of the aforementioned language before, during, or after sex: The problem with such commentary is that these are examples of giving messages personally. Don’t make the message about you. The subject of concern is an orgasm. Not just an orgasm, but her orgasm. It’s her orgasm to release, enjoy, and to share with you (if you’re lucky). It is neither your sole responsibility to bring a woman to orgasm, nor is it a reflection of your manhood if she does not reach an orgasm. Societal conditioning has concocted many misguided ways for us to prove our manhood. Taking ownership of a woman’s orgasm should be stricken from that list. I would be over distilling the definition of a woman’s sexual climax if I were to call an orgasm a mere response to stimuli. Of course, the breakdown of what types of stimuli involved can be numerous. This post isn’t about the science or the “mystery” (he wrote, mockingly) of a woman’s orgasm. That’s another topic for another time. This is about taking credit and, in essence, attempting to take power away from the woman in your embrace. [IWM… Women should take care and avoid giving away power by making her partner responsible for her orgasm. “You didn’t make me cum!”, she said with arms akimbo and a furrowed accusatory brow. I’ve written before about how no one can make you feel, but this isn’t as simple as words being (or not being) the catalyst for an emotional outcome. This is about so much more. An orgasm should never be considered, nor feel like someone’s job.]

I’ve never known what it’s like to hear someone tell me, “I’m going to make you cum” as if they were attempting to take ownership of my pleasure. So, I sought counsel from some of the women in my life. When asked how they felt about the aforementioned phrase, they had this to say…

A: “I don’t think anyone has ever said that. And I’m not sure I would want them to! 1. It might make me feel pressured…unless you’re tying me up and holding a wand to my pussy and it’s a dominating situation it doesn’t feel appropriate to state that. 2. 98% of the time I do cum so why state the obvious…my only response could be “I hope so” 3. Plus not every time has to have an end goal and maybe I’m just in the mood to experience pleasure for the sake of pleasure with that being enough.”

J: “It totally depends on the context, the timing, and the tone of voice. It could potentially amp things up a bit and be exciting, but it could also sound a little aggressive. I find it much hotter when a partner says something like, “I love it when you cum,” or “I love watching you cum.” That implies that the partner gets pleasure in meeting your needs or bringing you pleasure, but was not as focused on the outcome as he was on you. Saying “I’m going to make you cum” can sometimes come across more like the partner is using a goal-oriented checklist approach to show off his own prowess with sex, and it’s more an accomplishment for him than something for you. But again, it depends on the context, timing, & tone of voice…”

F: “For me, having an orgasm is not a requirement for good sex. I’ve had amazing sex when I didn’t cum, I’ve had mediocre sex that had an orgasm or two in the mix… and everything in between. What is a requirement, however, is connection and communication- feeling like both parties are equally engaged in both their own pleasure and that of the other person. Sometimes I want to cum, but I can’t. Sometimes I don’t think I’m going to cum, and then it happens. Surprise! At the end of the day, my preference is that someone ask (GASP!) if I want to cum before assuming it as a goal. I don’t like cumming just to stroke someone’s ego. So if the person I’m fucking asks if I want to cum, and I say yes, and then they proceed to work their damnedest to help make it happen, and at some point say “I’m going to make you cum”, or in a more [Dom/sub] fashion order me to cum for them, or something like that, then it’s great! If someone doesn’t ask, and the mood isn’t right and they say “I’m going to make you cum”, it’s a total boner-killer for me because then I feel like I have to cum for them, that I owe them an orgasm. I will also mention that I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the latter when fucking women.”

R: “You can’t make me anything mothafucka and concentrating on that end result will take away some of the joy of getting there for the both of us.”

I’m certainly not suggesting that these four women represent all women everywhere. But, here are some takeaways from their feedback:
1.) A statement’s delivery and circumstance will determine how welcome it is to the listener’s ears. The D/S dynamic is just one situation in which the phrase may be welcomed during certain types of play.
2.) Stating the obvious. If you know your partner, are paying attention to your new partner, or you’ve asked your partner what they want out of your experience together (please, phrase that in a more eloquent manner so you don’t come across as a square-unless you’re about to make it with a sapiosexual, in which case, go for it) there’s a chance you may not make such a gonna-make-you-cum comment much like you wouldn’t stare into a storm cloud and demand rain.
3.) The end game doesn’t always have to be about ending the play. How many times have you had sex in the past month? How did you count that number? Was the number based on how many orgasms you/your partner had or was the number based on separate play experiences? I once reflected on the number of whole body orgasms I experienced, the night before, because I was trying to figure out why I wanted to sleep in. It wasn’t because I was trying to count how many times I had sex. I think it’s more rewarding for both parties to have a sexy rumpus that continues as a seamless experience throughout the allotted time together. Why do we count anyway, ego? “We did it four times last night, I’m such a stud!” M’eh! Just enjoy each other until one/both of you taps out. IWM… Another (not quoted above) sage woman mentioned that she’s experienced this commanding statement from both men and women. So, I’m not taking aim at one particular group of humans.

All humans should talk to their lovers and understand what each other wants instead of assuming or, heaven forbid, making some measurable mark of pleasure. Enjoy your orgasms, both solo and with your lovers. Listen to each other and try enjoying the pleasure without a goal-oriented approach.