Juicy, slippery, saturated, soaked. The instant a woman discovers her body was made to cascade waterfalls in celebration of well-earned orgasms can range from quietly epic to stunning and startling. The day I unearthed my own sexual ability to female ejaculate, I set off on a road to pleasureland by way of my hands. The moment I was offered up to this magnificent release, this complete and utter abandonment to my own hidden inner waterfall, was an instant of sexual liberation and spiritual connection with body, mind and spirit that I’d never experienced.
I was pushed over the edge into a space of total surrender to the present moment, to pleasure, and to a meditative peace. I came away from that first time astonished, bewildered and satisfied in a way I’d never been. Drenched in what I at first thought was urine—but later discovered was female ejaculatory fluid—I was absolutely perplexed by what my body did.
Previous to this blissful incident, I had been brought to the threshold of orgasm before. I was no stranger to the tension that builds like a storm, brewing in the pelvis until lightening explodes up the spine and throughout the limbs. I wasn’t new to feeling my legs quake and seize with sensual gratification. I was quite familiar with the “little death,” the blooming explosion that takes over your body in a transcendent moment of release and fulfillment. But that time was different. That time, when the wave of ecstatic titillation covered me and euphoria literally rained from my body, I was swept in an ocean of an orgasm that I sought to understand, recreate and to master.
Questions prodded me on my quest to sexual self-mastery. What made this particular orgasm different? Was I the only woman who’d undergone this phenomenon? Was there name for this? And the million-dollar question: Could I do this again… and again… and again?
My first foray into this world of sexual exploration was a round of masturbation so vigorous, so long and passionate, that my hands practically cramped and my forearms were sore for hours. I dedicated major personal time to working my body in as many ways as I could come up with in order to coax a river from the mouth of my orgasms. After achieving much pleasure but not as much as a babbling brook worth of wet action, I graduated to the hands, mouth and body of my lover. When this again proved to be a source of sensual delight but failed to produce the gushing I was looking for, I paused tape and shifted gears.
I began to talk to my lady friends about their climaxes. I found that I wasn’t the only one who possessed this ability. I hit the books. I read as much technical, medical, fictional information on the subject I could find. I watched hours of porn dedicated to “squirting.“ I spoke to all my male friends about their experience with women who “wet themselves”—made them break down every nuance of their wettest sexual escapades, from hip movement and stroke technique to positions to what mood/headspace their lovers were in before climaxing. I logged countless hours of my life remembering, reviewing and replaying the first time I squirted over and over again in my head.
In all my research and questing for this seemingly illusive reoccurrence, I was able to learn the technical and medical explanations for what happened to me. It turns out that female ejaculation is the release of fluid consisting of glucose, fructose and prostatic acid phosphatase, from the paraurethral ducts located throughout and around the urethra. It wasn’t until I relaxed and began to release insecurities and doubts related to my physical body, I found my way back to that waterfall of ecstasy. I discovered the key consistently lay in the total acceptance and love for my body and my sexuality. When I let go and allowed my body, mind and spirit to truly enjoy sex, when I let myself exist without boundaries and without apology, my body does what it is made to do.
These days my orgasms are juicy, magnificent, drenched, beautiful, plenteous and aqueous. Just like I like ’em.