I Love Female Orgasm: An Extraordinary Orgasm Guide (2 page)

Set in 10.5 point Granjon by the Perseus Books Group

Cataloging-in-Publication data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN: 978-1-56924-276-6

Published by Da Capo Press

A Member of the Perseus Books Group

www.dacapopress.com

Note: The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. This book is intended only as an informative guide for those wishing to know more about health issues. In no way is this book intended to replace, countermand, or conflict with the advice given to you by your own physician. The ultimate decision concerning care should be made between you and your doctor. We strongly recommend you follow his or her advice. Information in this book is general and is offered with no guarantees on the part of the authors or Da Capo Press. The authors and publisher disclaim all liability in connection with the use of this book.

Da Capo Press books are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the U.S. by corporations, institutions, and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus Books Group, 2300 Chestnut Street, Suite 200, Philadelphia, PA, 19103, or call (800) 810-4145, extension 5000, or e-mail
[email protected]
.

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contents

INTRODUCTION
:
Female Orgasms: What’s Not to Love?

1
     
The Lowdown on the Big O

2
     
Petting the Bunny: Masturbation & Female Orgasm

3
     
So You Want to Have an Orgasm?

4
     
Going Down, Down, Baby: Oral Sex and Female Orgasm

5
     
Doin’ It, and Doin’ It, and Doin’ It Well: Intercourse & Female Orgasm

6
     
G Marks the Spot: The G-Spot and Female Ejaculation

7
     
Vibrators, Toys, and Piercings, Oh My!

8
     
Let’s Hear It for the Boys: Men and Female Orgasm

9
     
Coming with Pride: Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, and Straight-but-Adventurous Orgasms

10
     
Knocking at the Back Door: Advice for the Anally-Curious

11
     
Preventing Bugs and Babies: Safer Sex and Birth Control

     Postscript

     Acknowledgments

     Index

     About Breast Cancer Action

     Do You
Female Orgasm?

I
FEMALE
ORGASM
^®

INTRODUCTION

Female Orgasms:
what’s not to love?

The most common
response we get from women and men who see our I
Female Orgasm T-shirts, buttons, and posters is, “Me, too!”

Maybe you’ve picked up this book because you’re a fan of female orgasms—your own, your partner’s, or all women’s everywhere. Perhaps you’re a woman hoping to learn how to have your first orgasm, how to have multiple orgasms, how to make your G-spot sizzle, or how to come during intercourse. Or maybe you’re hoping to become the kind of husband, boyfriend, or partner women brag to each other about. Whatever your gender; whether you’re straight, lesbian, or bisexual; single, partnered, or married; you’ve come to the right place. Packed with advice, ideas, and information, this book is all about the O.

As independent, self-employed sex educators, we travel the country educating audiences about this topic. We’ve learned there’s no such thing as a place where female orgasm isn’t popular: From cheering crowds in rural Arkansas to the heart of Manhattan to the New Mexico desert, the enthusiasm is the same. Our work has brought us to the mountains of Maine a half-dozen times, and we’ve flown through the Indianapolis airport twice as many. We’ve learned how to score the best seats on an airplane, we can mend a broken suitcase wheel, and we’ve
mastered the technique of convincing hotel clerks to bake another batch of complimentary chocolate chip cookies.

As a couple traveling together (yes, we have both professional
and
personal experience with this subject), we occasionally pique the interest of fellow travelers. We travel with as much luggage as the airlines allow, so people sometimes ask us if we’re heading on an extended vacation. Little do they know that our suitcases are crammed with sex education supplies and merchandise to sell at the next speaking engagement. When the airport security screeners decide they need to search a suitcase by hand, we stand nearby, never sure what kind of reaction we’ll get. When one Transportation Security Administration official cracked a smile at the contents of our bag, Dorian graciously offered him an I
Female Orgasm button. “This will have to be confiscated, too,” he chuckled, helping himself to a second pin. “For my girlfriend,” he added. “Of course,” Marshall said.

Moments like this are one of the reasons we love our jobs. But our passion about our work reaches far beyond fun buttons and cute slogans. We’ve seen how helping women become knowledgeable about and comfortable with their own bodies can transform their daily experience—and, as Dorian discovered, can even save their lives.

dorian’s story

WHEN I WAS twenty-six years old, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I didn’t have a family history or a single risk factor for the disease (in fact, a doctor later told me my statistical risk of getting breast cancer was
below
average). My cancer wasn’t diagnosed by mammogram; women in their twenties don’t get routine mammograms. It wasn’t discovered through breast self-exam; like many women, I knew I should do them, but generally forgot. It wasn’t discovered by my gynecologist, who had examined me just a month earlier and declared all was well. Instead, I noticed the lump myself, lying in bed one night and stretching, then absent-mindedly running a hand down my arm and across my chest. I wasn’t too worried, because I knew that most young women’s breast lumps turn out to be nothing. I ate healthy foods, I didn’t smoke, I had a great relationship
with Marshall; things were going so well in my life that my little lump didn’t concern me in the least.

As luck would have it, I had an appointment with my doctor a month later, and I mentioned the lump to her. After examining it, she said, “You know, Dorian, I think it’s probably nothing, but I’m not 100 percent sure; let’s have some tests done.” Still utterly unconcerned, I met with a breast surgeon for an ultrasound and biopsy.

A few days later, the surgeon left a message asking me to call her back. I did, giving the receptionist my name, and she put me on hold for the doctor. Minutes passed as I watched the January snow fall outside my window. The receptionist came back on and said, “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Dorian; I know the doctor really wants to talk to you.”

At this point my memory switches to slow motion, like the moments before a car accident when you can see the impact coming but can’t do anything to prevent it. I knew the doctor wouldn’t feel so urgently about talking to me if the news were good. When she told me my lump was breast cancer, I was flabbergasted. I called Marshall, and he left work early. I picked him up at the commuter train station near our apartment. While snow fell around the car, we put our arms around each other in our puffy winter parkas, so thick we couldn’t feel the bodies beneath, and we sobbed.

It’s an understatement to say that being diagnosed with cancer is terrifying. It changes your life forever. When I look back, one conclusion resurfaces over and over: Thank God I hadn’t internalized the messages women are bombarded with that it’s bad or dirty to touch your own body. I particularly thank my parents for raising me to be comfortable in my body. I found my cancer early because I touched my own body without even thinking about it, and because I’d done the same thing enough times before that I noticed a very small change in my breast. If I hadn’t, who knows how many weeks, months, or even years might have gone by until someone noticed I had cancer in my breast—and if I’d still be alive today.

On average, young women’s breast cancers are diagnosed far later than older women’s—and as a result the death rate is far higher—in part because the cancers typically go unnoticed for so long. Helping women make peace with our bodies and our sexuality isn’t just an incidental nicety—in some cases, it can be lifesaving. Seven
years after my diagnosis, I’m in remission and I’m doing great. While no breast cancer survivor can ever know what the future holds, I feel very, very lucky.

Surviving cancer fuels my passion for educating about women’s sexuality. But it was an earlier experience—learning how to have an orgasm—that first sparked my interest. That didn’t happen until shortly after my twentieth birthday.

I was a kid who didn’t masturbate growing up. I knew what masturbation was, and my parents were the liberal types who clearly communicated that touching yourself was okay as long as you were in private (not in the sandbox!). But my limited explorations didn’t impress me enough to continue, so I led a happy little-kid existence without masturbation. Didn’t do it, didn’t think about it, didn’t wonder if other kids were doing it.

The years went by. My mom is a regular reader of the advice column Dear Abby, and when I was a teenager, she dutifully mailed $2 and a self-addressed stamped envelope for a copy of Abby’s booklet
What Every Teen Should Know.
The booklet was full of advice on subjects like dating, drinking, smoking, and other topics of interest to the teenage set, and when I read through the copy my mom gave me, it all seemed quite sensible.