Girl Talk: I Think I Had A G-Spot Orgasm

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I think I had a g-spot orgasm. Maybe. I’m not really sure. Even as I thought I might be having one, I questioned its existence.

Somewhere along the way I got the message that this was how I should be getting off. Whether it was part of the idea that penetration is the ultimate sex act or a side effect of sex positive feminism or one of Cosmo’s unrealistic sex tips — the notion that my body should be achieving g-spot orgasm on the regular was embedded in my brain.

Despite what Cosmo told me, science has not concluded that the g-spot exists in all women, or at all. What is currently taught in college level courses on sexuality is that the g-spot might exist. Maybe. We aren’t really sure.

Basically, scientists can’t agree. There are some studies, like the one out of Kings College of London last year, which concluded that the g-spot was just a figment of our imaginations. The study was criticized for being flawed as researchers simply asked women if they had a g-spot, without any physiological studies. That’s like asking people if they believe in unicorns.

This particular study really angered long-time g-spot supporters like Beverley Whipple, who popularized the concept of the g-spot about 25 years ago. Other scientists think the g-spot is an internal clitoris, or that it’s a part of the clitoris, which gets stimulated through the vaginal wall.

With all the mixed g-spot messages, I decided the only way for me to have proof of its existence was to have a g-spot orgasm myself.

In my early 20s, I decided I would become this mythical sex fairy — a super sex version of myself. I obsessively read articles on the g-spot. How do you find it? With a “come hither” motion of the index finger. What does it feel like? A small walnut. I even watched a film about squirting, hoping that it would lead me to my own magical lady potion.

I was eager to test my knowledge in the bedroom with my sex partner at the time.

“See, like that, feel that?” he asked me.

He was trying to help me out.

“Yeah…” I lied. “It kinda feels like I have to pee.”

If I were truly the mythical sex fairy that I fancied myself to be, I probably would have relaxed into the pee feeling and saw where it took me. I wouldn’t have cared if I looked fat with my ankles over my ears. I would have considered my queafs hilarious, not shameful. I, on the other hand, couldn’t do any of those things and my g-spot remained a mystery.

Then I met my husband, the man who helped me groove into that illusive g-spot … at least, I think. I was comfortable with him. Our sex was great, suddenly I didn’t care how fat my stomach looked or how loud my queafs were! I realized that holding myself to imagined g-spot standards was not sex positive.

Then, one night, I was in bed with my husband and I was in the position that usually does the trick (me on top, craned forward, hump-back style). He was hitting the spot that felt good and I worked toward a familiar rush of warmth and tingle, still not like a clitoral orgasm, but good.

Holy shit was that my g-spot he was hitting?

It started as a warm feeling with the I-am-going-to-cum build-up. It built to a sort of plateau then came back down. I moaned, I felt good but confused. There was no OH-GOD-YES twitching moment of shivery bliss, there was no geyser that accompanied it.

“Did you just have a g-spot orgasm?” he asked.

“Yes. I think so,” I responded.

Did I?

Why second guess myself? Afterwards, I fell back onto the bed and shrugged. I don’t know. Maybe that was a g-spot orgasm or maybe it was just a figment of my imagination.

I like having solid answers about things, but I also know so much of sex is illogical. It is whatever you feel and what you make of it.

I enjoyed my maybe, maybe-not g-spot orgasm. Whatever it was, it was real to me.

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