Category Archives: Sex

Female Ejacultaion as a Passive Experience


After nearly ten years of vigorously pursuing knowledge about female ejaculation, I finally experienced it myself. Why now, after all this time? Since there is no scientific consensus on female ejaculation I can’t be totally sure, but as I explained in my last post there were a few conditions of this particular sexual experience that I believe were integral components:

  • emotional intimacy
  • comfort/relaxation
  • smoking weed/being high
  • getting fucked/penetration
  • passivity

This post explores the role of passivity in my experience ejaculating.

To recap, when I first squirted I was getting fucked missionary position by a man on his couch. But it didn’t begin that way. It began with the much more common scenario of me trying to get out of having sex.

Those who know me well know that my desire to talk about sex is far greater than my desire to have sex. To those who don’t know me well, this often comes as a disappointment. I am acutely aware of this disappointment and the weight of it brings me such turmoil due to my nature of needing to please others, but more so due to my need to be seen as authentic. If I talk about sex and then don’t have it, it kind of looks like I’m not “walking the walk,” right?

I find myself in this situation regularly, and almost just as regularly there is an additional element of the fragility of the male ego. Maybe I feel like there is so much at stake in sexual consent because there seems to be so much gained by giving a girl an orgasm.

Nevertheless, I’ve come up with several strategies for dealing with this situation when it comes about, and I used one of these strategies the night I ejaculated for the first time. Here’s what happened:

He wanted to have sex. I didn’t want to have sex. I was too tired. As a compromise, I proposed that I would pretend like I was asleep and he could pretend to violate me, like in one of those sleeping porn videos. Though I think he was a little disappointed by my reticence to participate, we both got turned on by this idea and assumed position on the couch. I secretly believed I would actually just fall asleep by the time anything really got going and put a halt to the whole game, but I was wrong.

I was in some sort of partial sleep state. Combined with the marijuana, this lent to the kind of consciousness one is in during a massage–my mind and body weren’t separate. I was both fully in my body and totally out of body as I laid on my side and he peeled my panties down and started to fuck me from behind.

I maintained this fuzzy limpness as he flipped me over onto my back and fucked me hard. Had I been fully awake and active, this would have been the point when I would have started rubbing my pussy and trying to orgasm. But I did nothing because we were playing this sleeping game (was it a game? I wasn’t acting…).

Then it happened–I ejaculated. Not so much a squirt but a little splash, breaking on his lower abdomen with the intensity of a Noxzema commercial.


FEMALE EJACULATION! I finally did it!

This  image has nothing to do with the fact that I EJACULATED FOR THE FIRST TIME!

This image has nothing to do with the fact that I EJACULATED FOR THE FIRST TIME!

After nearly 10 years of occupying my mind with female ejaculation, I finally experienced it through my body! Here’s the bare-bones rundown of what happened:

I was having sex with a man on his couch in the dark. He was on top of me and I was on my back. Suddenly there was a splash of fluid on his lower abdomen. We simultaneously questioned what it was and realized what it was. We continued having sex until he came. Afterwords, we turned on the light and saw a wet spot on the couch that looked to measure about 5″ in diameter.

Here is a more detailed account of my experience:

The ejaculation came as a surprise. I wasn’t trying to ejaculate. I wasn’t even trying to have an orgasm. I didn’t feel the “squirt” of the fluid coming out of my urethra. I didn’t “push” and I didn’t feel any convulsions. It was only in retrospect that I recognized that the directional force of the fluid was coming from me. The fluid was warm. I could feel it dripping off of his body onto mine.

It wasn’t an orgasm, and I didn’t have an orgasm during this sexual experience. When I orgasm, I almost always need to chill out and recover after. I can’t continue having sex, I can’t really talk or touch or be touched, and I usually need to lay there and zone out in silence for at least a minute or two. Female ejaculation didn’t have the same effect as an orgasm. I didn’t need to rest. It didn’t deplete me the way that an orgasm does.

Although it is very cool to finally experience something I have only seen and heard about for 10 years, my first time ejaculating is most fascinating to me on an intellectual level. For example, why now? There’s so much to consider! In the coming days I’ll be writing a series of posts about my first experience with female ejaculation and the variables that I believe contributed to my ability to have this experience. These include:

  • Female ejaculation and emotional intimacy
  • Female ejaculation and relaxation/comfort
  • Female ejaculation and smoking marijuana
  • Female ejaculation and getting fucked/penetration
  • Female ejaculation as a passive experience

Stay tuned. And why not treat yourself to a pussy hat pin? :)



I’m a Camgirl now. And here’s what I’ve learned:

Camming is all about the art of seduction.

Premeditated seduction makes me uncomfortable because I like to believe seduction is a spontaneous process and seductiveness is a natural quality. I truly believe that the kind of connection I form through seduction is singular and irreplicable. It’s magic–our connection. It’s God.

We favor quality over quantity: a fresh pastry over a loaf of Wonderbread, a chocolate truffle over a bag of Tootsie Rolls, a filet over a Double Quarter Pounder.

But when it comes to human interactions this just isn’t true. Time is King. The longer you’ve known someone the more meaningful your relationship. Love is valued like labor: Time is the dominant measure of value. Anything outside of what you’ve clocked just doesn’t “count.”

Films end. So do therapy sessions. A breeze dies. Your sister can only visit you for a week. You dance to a song at the bar and the song fades out. Talk to a stranger and take their advice. Ride a roller coaster. I don’t know…

Maybe we need these scripts to jump off of. Dancing with you is not the same if we’re at my house and I play the song. We need the surprise. A DJ to play the song. A crowd to be a part of. A crowd to distinguish ourselves from, through our connection.

Maybe seduction is just the set-up for the scene for us to play out…the detail given to the improv performers so they can make their magic.

Maybe these set-ups that I view as so unnatural are actually the tool that nature provides us, so we can build our specificities upon it.

Sex After Ecstasy (#nofilter)

sex after x

When the experience of drugs doesn’t fundamentally change you, it’s only natural to keep coming back for more.

When you get to enjoy the reoccurring insights that your new understanding of life offers you, there just isn’t the same urgency. One new theory is exciting enough.

Doing Mylie opened up a new cavity in my heart and expanded my capacity for love. Caring for my dog Norman expanded my capacity for love.

I also felt something pop in my emotional psyche when I had my last seizure.

The day after we did Mylie, as I sat in my boyfriend’s flannel and watched television with his sons, I felt a horror that he would leave into the garage and never return. Doubt spread through my veins like hot water stings and I cycled through horror and fear that my love for him was not equally reciprocated, that I had only imagined what happened the night before, that I would never love and care for anyone like that again, and that I would never be able to get over the sadness I felt mourning those moments.

The felt such a strong sense of loss that I couldn’t keep from telling my new boyfriend I feel really scared you don’t love me right now. He found this adorable and assured me the feeling would pass. It was true. My love for him went on and I loved him in a more honest, direct, true, atomic way than I had ever loved anyone before.

For the next year and a half we brought joy everywhere we went together. Together, we radiated. And when I walk Norman down the street, 9 out of 10 people we cross crack a smile. And when I ate mushrooms I developed the ability to distinguish my self from my clothes.

And when I ate mushrooms again I stood in a rain forrest pinched between freeways and felt tears spill down my cheeks as I longed for the comfort of Jason.

Drugs are real. My love for Norm is real. And I know something popped when I had a seizure.

The reality I’m not sure of is the earnestness with which I question my memory of him dragging me down, throwing me out, and leaving me fucked at a dark gas station in the middle of nowhere. And I don’t trust that I didn’t effortfully push him to do it.

Is this what people imagine when they refuse to try ecstasy because they fear sex will never be as good again?