What it feels like for a girl...who wants to make another girl come

Recently, Jezebel quoted The Assimilated Negro's post about making girls come, and found his whole approach rather lacking. He had written, in part:

It's the ultimate equalizer. If you can get them all flushed and winded and out of control and trembling and just ..... mmmmm. You feel like the Lebron James of labias who just went baseline and dunked on her dome, and you want to stand there and taunt, "Take that!! What say your years of feminist empowerment theory now, beeotch???"

I responded:

I give TAN points for caring about getting girls off cause, well, obviously, plenty of guys don't, and whether he cares because it makes him feel all powerful or for some other reason, that's fine.

TAN has a follow-up post called "It's a Thin Line Between Love and Misogyny" if you want to catch up. (Also, I still have no idea who Lebron James is, and haven't bothered to look it up - sorry.)

So here's my take, starting with an anecdote from a party I attended last night:

I didn't go to the party expecting anything at all amorous to happen, which is sometimes when the hottest things wind up going down. There was a girl there who I've thought was hot since I first met her, but as much as I've flirted with her, it's all been totally lighthearted, and I can safely say that while I've admired her body, I've never had a full-fledged, think-out-every-detail fantasy about her, mostly cause I figured nothing would ever happen. In part because she's involved with someone, and in part because there are people who are just adept at the art of flirting. As my friend G. says, "I flirt with my cat." For them, flirting is just what comes the most naturally, with men or women, and often, regardless of whether they actually want to make out with the person. For me, though, I really only think flirting is worth my time if I have something to back it up. If I'm flirting for a reason, if you will. It's not that I expect it to go anywhere, but if it did, I'd be ready.

Anyway, one minute I'm taking in the gloriously filled apartment and trying to say hi to everyone and ogling cupcakes, and the next I'm on a couch with three other girls, making out with one while another strokes my exposed cleavage. Then someone's tilting a bottle of champagne towards us, and I wonder if it'll just get spilled all over our bodies. I want to take a sip, but am kinda serious about this not drinking thing, so my friend next to me does. We make out some, and then gradually our positions change. My other friend comes by periodically to say, "This is the cute couch!" But then, even though I kindof know people are watching us and can hear them, I tune that all out because the girl, who I'll just call, shockingly, Girl, is demanding my attention. She's even more beautiful right up close than she usually is and I realize that she actually wants to make out, that it wouldn't just be my idea and her reluctantly following. And once I realize that, I just lose myself in her skin. She's warm all over; I keep dipping my fingers into what can only be described as perfect cleavage, cleavage that while, being an opening, a space, is a space I keep wanting to touch almost more than her breasts, a space that seems made for my fingers to sink into. I lift her silky hair and kiss her neck, then lightly brush my tongue over it. I dig my fingers into her back and then she starts making these little noises, kindof like sighs, or maybe they are sighs. All I really know is that every time I hear them, I just want to keep hearing them, and I dig my nails deeper into her skin, once in a while tugging on her hair, running my hands down her back. There's a little while where I'm not doing anything ostensibly sexual, just kneading her back, but I can feel my fingers going into her skin and keep hearing those sighs and by then I'm breathing heavily too, and I shift so I'm straddling her, and I start to realize that this could get very dirty very quickly. I mean, it already is, and I deliberately don't move so my knee is between her legs, pressing against her, because who knows what I'd find there. We break it off soon after and she leaves, and the thing is, even "just" that, some stolen kisses, some copped feels, my hands in her back, tangled in her hair--they were some of the hottest moments I've experienced this year, if ever. And it was mostly those moans that did me in, that let me know that if I got her alone and we could do whatever we wanted, I could make her do more than moan.

And I think that feeling, you could call it power or dominance, but you could also call it lust. But I like it and I'm not ashamed of it. It's intoxicating, and it's also arousing. I think that part is misunderstood. Maybe it's that I tend to be a lot more toppy with girls and bottom-y with guys, but I wouldn't stayed on that couch with her all night (okay, probably if clothes started coming off we'd have been kicked off the couch, but you get my point). Those noises were music to my ears and that was enough. I wouldn't have wanted her to start touching me and be all tit-for-tit reciprocal, because that would've detracted from it for me, in that moment. I wouldn't have been able to concentrate. But I didn't stop thinking about her the rest of the night, not in a OMG-I-want-to-bang-her-kind-of-way, but more in a wow-that-was-one-of-the-best-sweetest-sexiest-nights-I've-had-in-too-long.

In my very first Village Voice column, written what feels like many lifetimes ago, I wrote:

The slut can never get enough; she's consumed by her sexual desire until that is all she is. But what happens when my sexual desire takes the form of wanting to be the fucker rather than the fuckee? It puts me in a slightly awkward position, one that is not always easy to articulate. What does it mean to get off on the idea, image, or reality of being the sexual doer? All too often people perceive that position as the lesser one, with the doer only being used to satisfy someone else's pleasure.

I think for me, part of that power of making anyone come, or come close, or just make those little sighs, is to have them need me. That is probably the thing I'm most a sucker for in any relationship. In that moment, they need me and want me, and that probably sounds more power-mad than I mean it. But it is powerful, heady, important, that feeling of being able to make someone feel something different than what they feel when they're alone, different than what they felt before your bodies connected. For me, orgasm is more of a challenge than anything else. It's not all that simple and I actually don't love being on the other side of that equation most of the time because it often winds up being about something kindof icky and awkward, like the other person has to make me come or they're a failure. I don't see it that way, from either side; I think female orgasm is important, of course, but, say, last night, that wasn't going to happen by nature of the circumstances, but it was still hot, it was still enough to fuel my fantasies, it was enough to let me know that it was mutually pleasurable and not just some silly show. Even though it was "just" a lot of things, it was perfect in and of itself. And I can still hear those little sighs in my head.