Squirting is quite the unknown phenomenon so we asked one gal to share her squirting adventures. Oh and let’s just set the record straight, squirting ain’t pee, folks!
"I squirt and I like it.
After hours of dull conversation and an equally uninspiring meal at Rockpool, I found myself a little drunk in bed with a kind but dreary Welshman. With the precision and emotion of a highly skilled neurosurgeon, he removed my underwear and started vigorously and confidently fingering me. I moved from shock to confused to bored and sore but there was pressure building. It wasn’t entirely pleasurable but it wasn’t awful. I was seconds from redirecting his attention when about a quarter of an ounce of fluid gushed. He smiled and then quickly removed and licked his fingers. He was experienced. I was confused.
My mind scrambled - was this urine? I excused myself to the bathroom. When I returned he was fully dressed. He mumbled some excuse about having an early start and left. I didn’t return his calls and reconciled the night as a bit of a drunken mystery. It wasn’t sexy and it sure as shit was not an orgasm. It was a thing that happened and I chose not to think about it. I now know it was the first time I squirted.
A year later, I was smitten with a bad boy bogan. He was the opposite of anyone I’ve ever dated but the chemistry was palpable. We were taken aback by the immediate ease and intensity of our lovemaking. I’ll never forget during our first night together – while still inside of me, he stopped, grabbed my face, stared directly into my eyes and asked “Who the fuck are you? Where have you been?”. Swoon. We fit together in ways I didn’t know existed.
His penis was relatively girthy with a 20% lean to the left. One night early in our relationship while I was on top and he was quite deep, I squirted for the second time. I knew almost immediately that I squirted but instead of feeling confused and a little bit of shame I was a pretty pleased with myself. It helped that he literally lapped it up – it ignited a primitive desire which was incredibly sexy. I felt powerful instead of discarded like I did with the Welsh man. I was relieved, emotionally and physically. Again, it wasn’t an orgasm but it was pleasurable. It felt like a bit of pressure, a bit of ecstatic confusion and then a release. In that moment I accepted that I’m a squirter and thought bad boy bogan and I were going to spend the rest of forever having powerful messy loved-up sex.
Our lovemaking remained intense and I squirted two to four times a night. I started changing the sheets daily but they couldn’t be laundered fast enough and eventually one night, we had to sleep in the rather large wet patch. I was hurt and disappointed when he moved from literally drinking it up to being annoyed. We can talk about double standards in the bedroom for yonks but his childish response to it really rubbed me the wrong way. When I started putting down towels and it started to feel … unsavoury. I started to resent my squirts, which at this point I had no control over. His left-leaning penis seemed to hit the illusive squirt spot – he literally opened the floodgates and now he was having a tantrum about the wet spot.. **eye roll** The relationship ended shortly afterwards.
I spent the next few years in and out of long term relationships with men I loved deeply but just didn’t gush over. Literally, pun 100% intended. Recently, I’ve come into my own a bit more (puns!) and have been squirting with every partner, long or short term, with relative ease. It feels more psychological and much more in my control. I naturally lean to long sessions in bed and structure intimacy around a home cooked meal, a fire place, prolonged foreplay, a partner I’m incredibly attracted to and extremely deep penetration. Voilà, I’m squirting! Jokes, it’s not always that easy. The only link I’ve found between intimacy and squirting is the duration of the session. The longer the session with the more frequently I squirt.
Over the years, I’ve lurked around the net trying to make sense of my experience. As is often the case, Google lead to more confusion than clarity. I haven’t found a definitive conclusion about what the liquid is or how squirting takes place. As you can imagine, it’s rather difficult to obtain samples and it still feels a bit taboo. In response I’ll outline what I know so anyone Googling out there on the world wide web may get some reassurance based on my very personal experience.
My liquid is not urine. I don’t change my sheets any more or less when I squirt and my bed is beautifully comfortable and clean. I am 1000% percent sure of this.
The liquid I’ve seen in pornography is sometimes milky – that’s not the case for me. It’s clear.
From all accounts, it’s fucking delicious.
I can squirt up to six times in a session but not every squirt means that I’ve had an orgasm. When they do coincide it’s incredibly intense, like ‘lose your mind, control, and ability to stand’ and I want it to happen more often.
70% of the time it happens when I’m on top and focused on forceful, steady and deep penetration. The other 30% builds when he comes in from behind and I’m straddling a chair and/or deep hard-hitting fingering.
The volume of liquid changes every time. If I had to eyeball it I would say it ranges from a slow short trickle to about half a shot.
I’m not sure if all females have the ability to squirt but I have some wonderfully adventurous girlfriends who came across a man in a bar who bragged he could make anyone squirt. They challenged his ability and took him home. One by one, he made each one of the FIVE girls squirt. True story, cross my heart and hope to die.
I’ve become more comfortable with my super power and don’t put down towels, apologise or forewarn my partners. When good sex happens for me, it’s messy, uninhibited and animalistic. I don’t apologise or shrink for any of it. Instead, I embrace it and my partner and I are so joyously rewarded with a few little gushes and no one complains about sleeping in the wet spot."