Readings — From the April 2019 issue

Come as You Are

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From accounts of nonsexual orgasms documented in “Orgasm Range and Variability in Humans: A Content Analysis.” The study was published in the International Journal of Sexual Health in November of last year.

I had eight or ten during labor with my first child.

Breastfeeding. I can’t even look at women who are breastfeeding now because it brings me back that feeling. If I have any more children, I don’t think I’ll be able to breastfeed them.

I had one once passing a kidney stone.

When I get a tattoo. I’m pretty sure my artist knows.

I have orgasmed when my cats have climbed on my lower back and kneaded my skin and purred. I’ve always felt very weird about that, and it doesn’t happen often because I don’t let them lie on me like that anymore.

I’ve had them after a bad sunburn, when my back is peeling in the spot I can’t reach, and my boyfriend peels my skin off for me.

I can orgasm from itching a mosquito bite or athlete’s foot.

I once stuck my feet out the window of a moving car. The wind tickled them and I had a orgasm.

Walking barefoot on unfinished or weathered wood always makes me orgasm.

Using a head scratcher, the kind with a lot of little flexible arms. I bought one when I was depressed.

Swabbing my ears. Most days I’d rather do that than have sex.

I came while cutting a guy’s mohawk in my bathroom. Wasn’t into the guy.

At a musical-theater conference, someone was singing “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables,” and I was listening and enjoying. When he hit the high note, I came.

Deftones’ “You’ve Seen the Butcher” in concert caused one of the most intense orgasms I’ve had. Other Deftones, Silversun Pickups, Jimi Hendrix, Tricky, and Nine Inch Nails songs also get the same response.

Whenever I dance or even listen to club music. Best part is, I work in a nightclub.

Eating a perfectly ripe cherry tomato.

I’ve had one eating really good, really rich chocolate—sometimes cupcakes, sometimes chocolate bars. I call them “chocogasms.”

Every time I eat tuna—something about the texture in my mouth.

When using a balloon whisk and vigorously beating egg whites until they form soft peaks. One of the less obvious pleasures of home baking.

I’m a bag handler for a major airline, and sometimes, when I’m in the bottom bin of an airplane, stacking people’s bags, I get a very intense orgasm while I’m mid-lift of a bag. It’s extremely embarrassing if someone is in the bin with me because I yell out and can’t move my arms while it happens. They always think I’ve hurt my back.

Every time the flight I’m on takes off. Or if I can hear a flight take off.

When I was talking to my best friend late at night. There was a pause in the conversation and I looked at her and immediately started to orgasm.

Painting has given me the best orgasms. I started art school two years ago, and I don’t paint anymore because it’s too sexual for me.

I was caught shoplifting in a major retail store. They sat me on a bench inside the store’s little spy room, and I was terrified. The security guard started asking questions, but the moment he said he was going to call the cops, I was surprised by a big orgasm.

During my AP Statistics test in high school. The proctor told me I had five minutes left and I came.

While reading a letter of recommendation for grad school. I also cried. It was from my favorite professor.

At the culmination of a terribly good novel. It was a classic, horror-based Stephen King.

I once had an orgasm in a grocery store checkout line while reading Stephen King’s On Writing. He said something beautiful and thought-provoking. And bam!

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