When the first March Kink of the Week prompt was revealed, I was excited. Edging is something that has definitely featured in my fantasies, and I anticipated being able to weave some of those thoughts into a piece of erotica. However, this has turned into a reflection piece that requires a content note for discussion of mental health.
There’s a slight possibility that I’ve never had an orgasm.
I think I have, but it’s definitely different to how the orgasms I’ve read about are described. There are no thundering waves or fireworks, just a moment when it feels like everything clicks into place and my body is suddenly in sync with whatever has made me come. (I have only ever orgasmed from clitoral stimulation.) It feels fabulous – but part of me wonders if I’m doing it right.
The reason I cannot be totally sure is that I was already taking anti-depressants when I got to the point where I was comfortable enough with my body to try getting myself off. The kind of anti-depressants I take are SSRIs, and they can have a whole host of effects on your sex life. Decreased sex drive is perhaps the most common, with humans with penises sometimes experiencing impotence and humans with vulvas loosing feeling in there, and in their nipples. Studies have also shown that most people experiences diminished and delayed orgasms, or even experience anorgasmia.
I know I’ve talked about this before, but I didn’t ask if there would be any effects on my then-non-existent sex life, and nor did the doctor mention them. Not that I’m certain I would have been cared if I had been told – I had reached the point when I wanted something, anything, to stop me feeling so shit. It was maybe two months later, in bed with my Scottish boy who was trying to make me come with his fingers while my body stubbornly refused to reach any peak or release, that I wondered if my frustration with my body was due to the medication that was keeping me alive.
So how does this link to edging? I could go on for ages about all the different reasons why edging is hot and the ways I’ve played with it – like the time I told my Scottish boy that he wasn’t allowed to have an orgasm in the week leading up to one of our adventures. He had to edge every day but was forbidden from coming, because I wanted to be able to coax three orgasms out of his body, so I could feel his spunk on my arse, my tits, and hitting the back of my throat. I love the power that comes with instructing someone to edge, or indeed being told to. However, realising that edging was A Thing did something more significant than give me a new kinky thing to play with.
It stopped me feeling like I was failing at sex.
Imagine that you’re rubbing frantically at your clit with a spit-lubed finger, or lying squirming on top of a powerful vibrator. You’re doing all the things that you’re told should give you a wonderful cunt-clenching orgasm, but you can’t come. The arousal and the wanking feel great, but you’re been told that they’re not the ‘end game’. Jerking off, I used to think, should end in a satisfying orgasm, ideally followed by chocolate and a nap. It was discovering that people concept of edging – deliberately getting to the edge of orgasm and holding yourself there – that helped me understand that my masturbation sessions could end whenever I wanted them to do so. I wasn’t doing it ‘wrong’ because I couldn’t make myself come. People deliberately touched themselves to get to the edge of an orgasm but didn’t come! This was a game I could play too!
The submissive in me also breathed a sigh of relief. Being ordered to edge for the pleasure of a dominant, rather than told they want to watch me come, takes so much pressure off me. It means that I’m not failing by not reaching an orgasm, I’m being a good girl and doing what I was told to do. There’s no pressure on me to come, meaning that I’m more relaxed and more likely to come – meaning that I would still have the challenge of holding myself on the edge. You get a delightfully horny girl, who is completely aware of your power over her body, but doesn’t feel useless and hyper aware of her too-dry cunt and body that just won’t work.
Basically what I’m trying to say is that edging made me realise that there is no right way to do sex. And thus it is fucking awesome.
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.