the perfection of the female orgasm

by Parker Dupris

I have much more direct experience with the female orgasm than male.

Let me restate that. I guess I have more experience with my own than anyone else’s, and I’m male. But I don’t think that counts. In that blind way you can’t tickle yourself or your voice always sounds strange to you when you hear a playback of it, I think I probably know a lot more about the true nature of my ( and male? ) orgasms from inside, so to speak.

At this moment, I’m talking about seeing them from the outside.

Watching a woman’s orgasm slowly build, expressed as a sweet conversation her body is having, is the most delicious element of a sexual encounter I can think of. So much more goes into arousal of course; the circumstance, your mutual history ( or its absence… ) the look, the delicious tactile chords you play. Then there’s the sound. For me this is almost as arousing as anything I can see; as skin flushes, lip quivers, and eyes roll back up the gasps, moans, pants, and shudders are all so very delicious to hear.

For me, this is all like hearing an orchestra build, or Hendrix slowly make his way through a riff to some exploding finality. Or getting to the real meat of a meal you’ve been anticipating.

That build up, the sensual delight of seeing the ripples turn to waves, signalling the tsunami to come.

To cum.

That letting go, that “little death” where she is at once profoundly with you and so completely on her own is a physical expression of beauty. You can see this in life of course, but unless you’re just a voyeur you’re usually a little busy to truly smell the roses. Watching porn, there’s maybe a lot more going on, purposefully meant to distract you, and from what I hear sometimes her orgasms aren’t genuine.


But here’s something. The original inspiration was something called “Hysterical Literature,” orgasm as art form. A beautiful woman reads from some contemporary masterpiece, all while out of sight she has a Hitachi Magic Wand slowly, relentlessly driving her to cumming. It’s a near-perfect expression of what I rambled about above; you can focus on the words, but out of the bedroom, with clothes on and out of the context of being balls-deep inside of her and feeling her astride you, one is really able to see those little ripples become a tsunami.

Delicious. Elegant.

Here’s an even better expression, and as a bonus it’s in Russian. I am powerfully drawn to Eastern European women to begin with, and tho I understand a smidge of what’s being said taking the lingual part of the equation out for me makes it even hotter. To wit: