Squirting

This isn’t the post I was going to write. The other day, I was looking longingly at my rather neglected bag of sex toys, and thinking about how long it’s been since someone properly fucked my arse. That led to a rather nostalgic fantasy about the first woman who took me that way, and I decided I’d blog about it when I got the chance.

That woman was called Nat, and she was a pint-sinking, rugby-playing, pierced-and-tattooed 19-year-old, who worked as a bank clerk in my home town. We were both fairly new to kink, and I was shy about exploring strap-on play with her, as she had been when discussing her own desire for anal with me. Pegging appealed to the domme in her though, and she was certainly strong enough to toss me around a bit once we’d both properly warmed up to the idea.

Both of us lived with parents at the time, so we mainly used to fuck in (or on) her car, out on one of the back roads near town, and I have a very vivid memory of a cold, clear, starry night – so cold that we kept the car heater on full blast throughout – and loud rock music drowning out my grunts and moans as she nailed me hard from behind on the back seat, the door open to give us more room.

That’s what I was going to write about. It was only when I started thinking about the details that I realised that Nat wasn’t just the first woman to fuck my arse: she was also the woman who introduced me to female ejaculation.

—

Squirting was on my mind already. A couple of years ago, I hooked up with an American who had moved to London to do her PHD. Sadie had excellent East Coast liberal arts school/sex-positive feminist credentials, and was generally a pretty awesome fuck. We’d seen each other a few times, and had moved quickly from ‘let’s just have lots of sex because sex is great’ to ‘hmm, I have this thing I really love and what do you think about trying it with me?’ In her case, that thing was receiving incredibly energetic anal sex, while using a vibrator on herself.

“I don’t know why, but I just come so hard when someone properly goes to town on my arse. I don’t like asking for it though, because it makes me squirt everywhere, and most guys aren’t cool with that.”

(Wait…what? Seriously? Yeah, we’ll come back to that…)

Anyway, half an hour later, I flopped down onto the only dry bit of bed sheet, shiny with sweat, lube, and Sadie’s cum, which ran in streaks down the insides of my thighs. She’d gushed so much that it had soaked through to the mattress, and the middle of the sheet was translucent with her juices. I stared at it in something approaching awe, and knew instantly that I’d be wanking over that sight – that feeling – for months to come.

—

Longer than that, in fact, because when Sadie sent me a ‘hey, how are you doing?’ email last week, that puddle of cum was the first thing that came to mind. She’s in a very happy relationship with a lovely guy, so it’s not an experience I envisage repeating, but it’s certainly one I’m unlikely ever to forget.

With Nat, it was different. It came as a real shock to both of us, in fact, because it wasn’t something we’d realised was possible. One minute I was going down on her – three fingers in her cunt, one in her arse, and my tongue furiously working her clit – and the next I felt a warm jet of liquid shoot down my chin. She sat bolt upright and looked at me open-mouthed.

“Fuck, what was that?”

“No idea. Did you know you could do that??”

“Nope! Um…want to see if I can do it again?”

And that was that. Whenever we met up, and regardless of which one of us ended up getting fucked, I’d always go down on her first, my fingers and tongue probing together in a greedy attempt to find the magic formula that would unlock what she uncertainly referred to as her ‘squirt reflex’. To a very inexperienced 22-year-old guy, it felt like the ultimate validation. ‘Look, look’, I wanted to say. ‘Look what I can make this person do!’

It’s happened with a few women since then, most memorably Anna, who I wrote about here for the Brit Babes. As with Sadie, ‘squirting’ is an inadequate word to describe the river of girl-cum with which Anna would soak me, the bed, and anything else within a ten-mile radius of her cunt whenever we fucked. Her internal muscles were so strong that I would have to fight to keep my cock inside her when she came – she pushed down incredibly hard, and more often than not I’d pop out of her despite my best efforts, along with another stream of fluid.

Our sessions together were always really long, because I got addicted to feeling her squirt over my fingers and face; I used to get comfortable between her legs and just work her G-spot as she hurled obscenities at me, and stuffed a pillow over her face to keep from screaming, until arousal turned to exhaustion and she went limp under my hands, unable to endure further stimulation.

—

I spent a couple of days pondering whether to write this at all. I know that relatively few women can squirt, and in talking about how much I love those who do, it would be very easy to imply that sex with those who don’t is inferior in some way. It’s really, really not. Squirting is just one of a long list of things that ought to make us appreciate how awesome the human body is, and how varied our sexual experiences can be, if we’re open to challenging narrow definitions of ‘normal’.

In the end, I wrote this because I remembered what Sadie said. Maybe she was just pushing my buttons – “come on big boy, show me how right-on and sexually-liberated you are” – but I kind of doubt it; equally though, I find it hard to believe that ‘most guys’ have a problem with squirting. That suggests it belongs on the depressingly long list of things that women are taught (by society rather than experience) to believe are shameful or embarrassing about the female body. Stuff like that becomes self-fulfilling: you try to avoid doing it, which means you never get the positive reinforcement required to bust the myth that it’s weird and unnatural.

So consider this a small part of that positive reinforcement: squirting rocks.