Chasing

You’ve heard of those storm chaser folks, haven’t you? The ones that go out seeking tornados and stuff so they can do scientific research on them? Well, I’m like them. Only I chase orgasms, not tornados. And I’m not interested in research—scientific or otherwise—just the extreme pleasure each and every climax gives me.

I guess you’re wondering why I’ve compared myself to a storm chaser now, aren’t you? After all, orgasms are two-a-penny, right? Not for me. I used the comparison because my climaxes are as unpredictable as the weather, and so elusive that I have to chase them relentlessly, using specialised equipment.

I was nineteen when I had my first orgasm, and it was courtesy of my brand new vibrator. I’d had several lovers by then, but none of them had even come close to making me come. It didn’t mean that the sex was crap—far from it, in some cases—but for some reason, my clitoris would simply not co-operate. It became a constant source of frustration—for both myself and my sex partners—and I was convinced there was something wrong with me. I read books, I searched the Internet, and soon discovered that I wasn’t alone. According to many sources, the problem was psychological, not physical. They also said that if I couldn’t make myself come, then how could I expect anyone else to?

I tried. Really I did. I watched porn, read dirty books, pulled out the lube and masturbated until my fingers went stiff, my wrists ached,...