Can't cum

Discussion in 'General BDSM discussions' started by Sate_Sprie, Aug 25, 2012.

  1. Sate_Sprie

    Sate_Sprie Member

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    I cannot come from vaginal sex at all. It's not that hubs isn't well off because he is. He's great in bed. I get plenty wet feels good I just can't come. The closest I get is if we're fucking really hard. I can come clitoraly (is that a word) but thats it. I've heard this is common but I hate it. Does anyone else have this issue? Please tell me it's not just me.
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  2. Roland

    Roland Member

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    My wife can't either. We recently embarked on a D/s relationship and our whole sexual dynamic is changing, so hopefully the orgasm thing happens much more readily. She has actually never been able to come in my presence, only through masturbation while alone. She knows it is all psychological and we are working hard together to get her over it. We've been together 9 years, and never seeing her come has been very difficult for me. Now that I am training her anally and orally, she is starting to get more excited. I think the orgasm issue will be a thing of the past soon.

    A couple of things regarding your personal issue. If you are taking anti-depressants or birth control, they can both hinder your ability to orgasm. Same with cigarettes or alcohol. Keep that in mind when looking to determine the cause of your inability to come from vaginal intercourse.
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  3. Sate_Sprie

    Sate_Sprie Member

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    I actually do take anti-depressants and birthcontrol. The issue was happening before then but the meds probably aren't helping it any. I'm glad its not just me though. Maybe i'm just not very sensative? It's a hard thing to deal with sometimes.
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  4. Moonlight

    Moonlight Member

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    I get nothing out of sex alone. It does not even feel good, I simply wait for him to get done. I have heard several times that it is common and women who do cum with sex alone just have the part of the clitoris that wraps around the vagina getting stimulated just right. Now if we use vibrators or he stimulates me during sex I do and it is way different then if we just orgasm without sex.
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  5. KittenMittens

    KittenMittens New Member

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    Same here, you're not alone. Basically like with Moonlight's situation it's never felt very good. On top of that I get stabbing pains in my abdomen when anything goes further than an inch or two inside. Recently found just one position that works for both myself and my OH that's both pain free and enjoyable for both of us, so maybe try some positions that you haven't tried very often or haven't thought of trying? Sorry it's not that great a suggestion, just thought I'd bring it up because it worked for me.

    I think some of it is psychological, too. If you're worried about not being able to achieve orgasm you're going to find it harder to get there, I think that probably applies to almost everyone. It's easy to suggest 'don't worry' when it's difficult to implement, but I do personally think the key is keeping relaxed, and what ever you do don't let it knock your confidence.
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  6. silkysimon

    silkysimon New Member

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    i am the other way , i cant cumm during intercourse unless i am tied , straight sex just doesnt do anything for me and i can stay hard for hours , yes its great for her but highly frustrating for me :-(
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  7. Sate_Sprie

    Sate_Sprie Member

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    I don't feel so abnormal now hah. It ssems like everyone I know can and I just can't so i've always felt weird.
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  8. Roland

    Roland Member

    Last edited: Aug 25, 2012
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  9. Moonlight

    Moonlight Member

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    I was told we orgasm different because we have children. One friend told me to just imagine the pain if we had nerves wrapped inside our vagina when we are pushing a 7 pound baby out. It would be worse then a man getting kicked in the nuts. So our nerves are just in certain areas.
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  10. Sate_Sprie

    Sate_Sprie Member

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    I had never heard that. I couldn't imagine chikd birth being any worse. Hehe
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  11. Last edited: Aug 26, 2012
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    Interesting article in the UK Sunday Times today: Part 1

    Apologies for the long post but I thought you all might enjoy this article in full, and if you don't live in the UK you might not be able to get it.

    It's by the American author, Naomi Wolf.


    Spring 2009 was beautiful. I was emotionally and sexually happy, intellectually excited, and newly in love. But it was a spring in which I also started to realise that something was becoming terribly wrong with me.

    I was 46. I was in a relationship with a man who, for two years, had given me great emotional and physical happiness. I had never had difficulty with sexual responsiveness but, almost imperceptibly, I began to notice a change.

    I had always been able to have clitoral orgasms; and in my thirties, I had also learnt to have what would probably be called “blended†or vaginal orgasms, which added what seemed to be another psychological dimension to the experience. I’d always had a postcoital rush of good emotional and physical feelings.

    After lovemaking, as I grew older, I would see colours as if they were brighter; and the details of the beauty of the natural world would seem sharper and more compelling. I would feel the connection between things more distinctly for a few hours; my mood would lift.

    But gradually, I became aware that this was changing. I was slowly but steadily losing sensation inside my body. That was not the worst of it. To my astonishment and dismay, while my orgasms were as strong and pleasurable as ever, something very different was happening, after sex, to my mind.

    I realised one day, as I gazed out on the treetops outside the bedroom of our little cottage, that the usual postcoital rush of a sense of vitality infusing the world, of delight with myself and with all around me, and of creative energy rushing through everything alive, was no longer following the physical pleasure.

    It still felt really good, but I increasingly did not experience sex as being incredibly emotionally meaningful. I wanted it physically — it was a hunger and a repletion — but I no longer experienced it in a poetic dimension; I no longer felt it as being vitally connected to everything else in my life.

    I had lost the rush of seeing the connections between things; colours were just colours — they did not heighten after lovemaking any longer. I wondered: what is happening to me?

    Although nothing else in my life was going wrong — and though my relationship continued to be wonderful — I began to feel a sense of depression; then, underneath everything, a sense of despair. It was like a horror movie, as the light and sparkle of the world dialled downward and downward — not just after lovemaking, but in everyday existence.

    The internal numbness was progressing. I could not pretend I was imagining it. An emotional numbness progressed inexorably alongside it. I felt I was losing, somehow, what made me a woman, and that I could not face living in this condition for the rest of my life.

    I could not figure out from anything I had researched what could possibly be causing this incredible, traumatic loss. With a heavy heart — afraid to hear that nothing could be done for me — I made an appointment with my gynaecologist, Dr Deborah Coady. I was extremely fortunate, since she is one of the few physicians who specialise in the aspects of the female body that, it would turn out, I was being affected by: problems with the pelvic nerve.

    Coady is a lovely woman in her forties, with soft, light brown hair that falls to her shoulders, and a face that has a certain expression of gentle fatigue and receptivity to others’ pain. Because of her speciality in female pelvic nerve disorders, she often sees women who are experiencing a broad range of suffering, which has made her unusually careful and compassionate.

    She examined me, asked questions in a quiet voice and told me she believed I was suffering numbness from nerve compression. I was so panicked at this point about what I was losing in terms of the emotional dimensions of my life and my sexuality — and so terrified of losing any more — that she took me into her private office.

    There, in an effort to reassure me, she showed me two Netter images — beautifully drawn anatomical full-colour illustrations. Frank Netter was a gifted medical illustrator, whose images of parts of the human body are visual classics, collected by some neurologists, gynaecologists and other specialists to help them explain abstract medical realities in a vivid way to their patients.

    The first Netter image depicted the way that the pelvic nerves in women branch out to the base of the spinal cord. Another showed how one branch, which originates in the clitoris and dorsal and clitoral nerve, arches elegantly to branch to the spinal cord, while other branches curve sinuously, originating in the vagina and also in the cervix. The nerve branches from the clitoris and vagina go to the larger pudendal nerve, whereas the nerve branch originating from the cervix goes to the pelvic nerve.
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    Interesting article in the UK Sunday Times today: Part 1

    Part 2 of post...

    All of this complexity, I would learn later, gives women several different areas in their pelvises from which orgasms can be produced, and all of these connect to the spinal cord and then up to the brain. Coady suspected that my problem was a spinal compression of one of the latter branches.

    She wanted to assure me that because of the way women were wired, no matter how bad the spinal compression that she suspected I had might prove to be, I would never lose the ability to have an orgasm, from the clitoris. Minimally comforted, I left her office with an appointment for an MRI and a referral to Dr Jeffrey Cole, New York’s pelvic nerve man.

    Calm and quietly amusing, with an old-fashioned, reassuring manner, Cole looked at my x-rays, examined my posture, then wrote me a prescription for a hideous black back brace.

    All women’s wiring is different, that’s the reason women respond so differently from one another sexually Two weeks later, I went back for a follow-up visit. Azaleas were in bloom — it was the loveliest part of the spring — but I felt almost faint as I sped into the suburbs in the back seat of a battered taxi.

    I was also very uncomfortable, since, for the past two weeks, I had been wearing the back brace. It extended from above my hips to below my rib cage and it made me sit up perfectly straight.

    I was really scared to hear what Cole had to say, since I knew he had my MRI results. The MRI, he informed me, showed that I had lower-back degenerative spinal disease: my vertebrae were crumbling and compressed against each other. I was very surprised, having never had any pain or any problem with my back.

    He startled me by showing me the additional x-rays he had taken during the last appointment; there was no way to miss or misread it: on L6 and S1, my lower back, my spinal column was like a child’s tower of blocks that had slid, at a certain point, exactly halfway off central alignment — so that half of each stack of vertebrae was in contact with the other, but half of each ended in space.

    I dressed and sat in Cole’s consultation office. He put me through an unexpectedly tough and direct interview: “Did you ever have a blow to your lower back?†“Did anything ever strike your lower back?†He said it was a serious injury and I must have some memory of having sustained it.

    After about five minutes, I realised that yes, I had indeed once suffered a blow. In my early twenties, I had lost my footing in a department store, fallen down a flight of stairs and landed on my back.

    I hadn’t felt much pain, but I had felt shaken. An ambulance had arrived; I had been taken to hospital and x-rayed. But nothing had been found to be the matter and I had been released.

    Cole ordered a more detailed x-ray. He also performed an uncomfortable test in which he shot electrical impulses through needles into my neural network, to see what was “lighting up†and what had gone dark.

    At our third meeting he explained that the new set of x-rays had revealed exactly what was the matter. I had been born with a mild version of spina bifida, the condition in which spinal vertebrae never develop completely.

    The blow from 20 years before had cracked the already fragile and incompletely formed vertebrae. Time had drawn my spinal column far out of alignment around the injury, which was now compressing one branch of the pelvic nerve — the one that terminated in the vaginal canal. I had been unbelievably lucky never to have had any symptoms until then, he said.

    Given the severity of my injury, it was fortunate that though I had increasing numbness, I had had no pain. Much though I disliked working out, it seemed that a lifetime of grudging exercise had strengthened my back and abdomen enough to have kept any worse symptoms from manifesting until then. But time had done its work: where the two sections of spine were misaligned, the pelvic nerve was entrapped and compressed, and the signals from one of its branches were blocked from moving up my spinal cord to my brain. The neural impulses from that part of my body had gone dark.

    I wondered if this had something to do with how I felt — or how I was not feeling — after sex, though I was too shy to ask. He explained that I would need to consider surgery to fuse the vertebrae and to relieve the pressure on the nerve.

    After I had walked for him so he could check my gait to make sure my legs had not been affected, and after he had measured my shoulders to be sure they were level, I mentioned to him — perhaps partly for a second opinion, for reassurance — that Coady had assured me that my clitoral orgasms would not be affected, even if the branch of the pelvic nerve that was injured did not ever get better. He agreed that that was correct; if the clitoral branch of the network were to be affected, it would have been so by then.

    The fact that that branch was unaffected was an accident of my wiring. And then he explained casually: “Every woman is wired differently. Some women’s nerves branch more in the vagina; other women’s nerves branch more in the clitoris. Some branch a great deal in the perineum, or at the mouth of the cervix. That accounts for some of the differences in female sexual response.â€

    I almost fell off the edge of the exam table in my astonishment. That’s what explained vaginal versus clitoral orgasms? Neural wiring? Not culture, not upbringing, not patriarchy, not feminism, not Freud? Even in women’s magazines, variation in women’s sexual response was often described as if it were predicated mostly upon emotions, or access to the “right†fantasies or role playing, or upon one’s upbringing, or upon one’s “guiltâ€, or “liberationâ€, or upon a lover’s skill.

    I had never read that the way you best reached orgasm, as a woman, was largely due to basic neural wiring. This was a much less mysterious and value-laden message about female sexuality: it presented the obvious suggestion that anyone could learn about her own, or his or her partner’s, particular neural variant as such, and simply master the patterns of the special way it worked.

    “Do you realise,†I stammered, not self-possessed enough in my astonishment to consider that the debate I was about to describe might not have been as momentous to him as it was to me, “you’ve just given the answer to a question that Freudians and feminists and sexologists have been arguing about for decades? All these people have assumed the differences in vaginal versus clitoral orgasms had to do with how women were raised . . . or what social role was expected of them . . . or whether they were free to explore their own bodies or not . . . or free or not to adapt their lovemaking to external expectations — and you are saying that the reason is simply that all women’s wiring is different? That some are neurally wired more for vaginal orgasms, some more for clitoral, and so on? That some are wired to feel a G-spot more, others won’t feel it so much — that it’s mostly physical?â€

    “All women’s wiring is different,†he confirmed gently, as if he were addressing someone who had become slightly unhinged. “That’s the reason women respond so differently from one another sexually. The pelvic nerve branches in very individual ways for every woman. These differences are physical.†(I would learn later that this complex distribution is very different from male sexual wiring, which, as far as we know from the dorsal penile nerve, is far more uniform.)
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    Interesting article in the UK Sunday Times today: Part 3

    Part 3 of post.

    I was silent, trying to absorb what he had said. Women have so many judgments about themselves, I have found, based on how they do or don’t reach orgasm. Our discourse about female sexuality, which pays no attention whatsoever to this neural reality, which is the very mechanism of female orgasm, suggests that if women have trouble reaching orgasm, it is by now, in our liberated moment, surely, somehow, their own fault: they must be too inhibited, too unskilled, not “open†enough about their bodies.

    Cole tactfully cleared his throat. He courteously sought to turn my attention back to my own predicament and referred me to Dr Ramesh Babu, a neurosurgeon at a New York hospital, and that too was a very lucky thing.

    Irrationally, perhaps, I was reassured to find that Babu, a suavely dressed and charismatic physician, had on his shelves among his neuroscience texts the same small statue of Kwan Yin, the Chinese goddess of compassion, that I had at home on my own bookshelves. Babu offered me an apple and then hectored me firmly but kindly on the need to operate without delay. Scarily, he wanted to put a 17in metal plate, with a set of attached metal joints, into my lower back and fuse the damaged vertebrae. Fortunately, his will was just as strong as mine.

    I scheduled the surgery. After a four-hour operation, I awoke, hideously groggy, in a hospital bed, the owner of this metal contraption, which fastened the vertebrae of my lower back together with four bolts. I had a vertical scar down my back that my boyfriend — in an effort to reassure me — described, referring to the rock band, as “very Nine Inch Nailsâ€.

    All these changes seemed like minor issues compared with the hope I had of regaining the lost aspects of my mind and of my creative life, via my now-decompressed pelvic nerve.

    After three months I was allowed to make love again. I felt better but not completely recovered; I knew that neural regeneration, if it was to happen, could take many months. I continued to recuperate steadily for six months, eager but also scared to find out what would happen, if anything, to my mind once my pelvic nerve was really free of obstruction. Would the nerve fully recover? And, more important — would my mind fully recover? Would I feel again that emotional joy, sense again that union among all things?

    Thanks to Babu, I had a complete neural recovery, which was not something any of the team had taken for granted. This particular kind of neural compression, though not unheard of, is seldom written about outside medical journals, and I am a walking control group for the study of the effect of impulses from the pelvic nerve on the female brain. Because of how scant information is on this subject, I feel I owe it to women to put down on paper what happened next.

    As my lost pelvic sensation slowly returned, my lost states of consciousness also returned. Slowly but steadily, as internal sensation reawakened, and as the “blended†clitoral/vaginal kind of orgasms that I had been more used to returned to me, sex became emotional for me again.

    Sexual recovery for me was like that transition in The Wizard of Oz in which Dorothy goes from black-and-white Kansas to colourful, magical Oz. Slowly, after orgasm, I once again saw light flowing into the world around me. I began to have, once again, a wave of sociability pass over me after lovemaking — to want to talk and laugh. Gradually, I re-experienced the sense of deep emotional union, of postcoital creative euphoria, of joy with one’s self and with one’s lover, of confidence and volubility and the sense that all was well in some existential way, that I thought I had lost for ever.

    I began again, after lovemaking, to experience the sense of heightened interconnectedness, which the Romantic poets and painters called “the sublimeâ€: that sense of a spiritual dimension that unites all things — hints of a sense of all things shivering with light. That, to my immense happiness, returned. It was enough for me to have glimpses of it once again from time to time.

    I remember being again in the small upstairs bedroom of the little cottage upstate; my partner and I had just made love. I looked out of the window at the trees tossing their new leaves and the wind lifting their branches in great waves, and it all looked like an intensely choreographed dance, in which all of nature was expressing something. The moving grasses, the sweeping tree branches, the birds calling from invisible locations in the dappled shadows, seemed, again, all to be in communication with one another. I thought: it is back.
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  15. Roland

    Roland Member

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    Wow! Every woman on the planet should read this, period.

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