Wildflowers

Perfect Buds

The If-Busters

Late Bloomers

Early Bloomers

Living-Togethers

Sexual Explorers

Sexually Dissatisfied Wives

Overcoming Rejection

Why Sacrifice Pleasure?

A Way of Classifying Sexual Identity

How Pleasure-Claimers Get Better Orgasms

Some Observations from the Survey

Early Bloomers

"I started thinking about it, sex, at an early age. I can't Remember not thinking about it."

-a twenty-nine-year old from Georgia

I was in high school, sometime in the early Sixties, and I was doing homework at the desk tucked into a corner of my bedroom," writes a forty-three-year-old journalist. "It was late autumn. The window was open a crack, enough to let in the scent of burning leaves. My mind wandered from trigonometry to thoughts of a certain boy kissing the tops of my breasts, which swelled attractively over my white cotton bra while the silly pointed tips of it remained empty. In my fantasies, I always cropped the pictures either above or below the wrinkled tips of my bras.

            "He moved his hands under the bra, down my body, inside the lining of my panties. We stretched out full length and fully clothed on the sofa and rubbed on the sofa and rubbed against each other until we came. When it was over, he held me close and said, 'I love you.'

            "Of course, he said, 'I love you!'

            "I dressed him in the psychological clothing of a prince; and the prince wouldn't have touched the princess without loving her," she continues. "As always, the aura of romance permeated my sexual fantasies, making them acceptable to me."

            In her mind, they were love fantasies. His whispered "I love you" was the benediction blessing her heated state. The difference between her and another girl-aside from the obvious one of precocious sexual development-was her ability to let the pheromones and fantasy go when it had served its purpose.

            "I didn't write this boy's name a hundred times in my notebook or contrive to bump into him in the hall between classes the next day or believe my life would be wonderful if only he'd give me his class ring.

            "No. I went back to my work, still so warm that, minutes later, when I pulled up a bra strap that had slipped off my shoulder, the movement of the fabric against my breast made my nipples hard again, made me shiver. Almost thirty years later, I can recall the shiver."

            She was an early bloomer; and so was I. Being among the first perfect buds in the garden of female sexuality to burst open was comfortable in the early Sixties, when America was on the cusp of sexual revolution; and I suspect it is still uncomfortable for girls today. Like boys who suddenly had erections they could not control, we were embarrassed by the heat and force of our unbidden sexual responses.

            I had my first orgasm at the thirteen shimmying down at oak tree after I'd been reading a sexy novel in my treehouse, and perhaps touching myself. I don't remember if I did or did not the heal touch . Perhaps, I've blanked the touching part out, because it wasn't acceptable while love fantasies were. I do remember the fantasies of sex and love and especially the feeling of being bombarded by desires that seemed to come from nowhere, from the heavens, like tiny bullets of frozen rain hitting my hot skin with sizzling ferocity. I can't believe my male contemporaries were any more tormented by their lusts than I was.

            My own experience, like that of my sister journalist, was contradictory to the "opening bud" theory of female sexuality, which hold that all adolescent girls are tight little buds, whose appetite for sex therapy  will develop gradually over time. We weren't the only bursting buds. But we early bloomers were apparently in the minority.

            The first time I reached orgasm while rubbing against a boy, he said, "Oh, wow, you were ready! Where you ready!" His eyes were filled with excitement, awe, and the absolute shock of discovery. I'm sure he'd never been with a girls who reached get better orgasm. Afterward, I felt so humiliated by my body, I didn't want to see him again. I had let myself go, lost control, exposed too much, put myself in compromising position. You know the cliches. Like the whispered judgments of nuns, they taunted me. I cried myself to sleep that long-ago night, about two decades before the term "easily orgasmic" would have a positive connotation.

            With hormones prematurely raging, it was difficult to be a "good" girl, one who didn't "go all the way" and didn't pet with the wrong kind of boys, i.e. greasers. My friend Carole and I were both early bloomers, the only two in our clique of a half-dozen girls. We knew, however, that we couldn't be "caught" pregnant in our teens, in the days before abortion was legal and the alternatives were early marriage or six months out of town "visiting a relative." That was also long before women carried condoms in their purses. By sheer luck or good choices in boy-friends, we remained in control of the sexual action designed to bring us, and our partners, to orgasm without penetration-not that either of us could have ever put the plan of action we followed into words-until we were high school seniors and dated college boys who did carry condoms in their wallets.

            Condoms are easier to come by today for the average young woman, but, protecting oneself from pregnancy and disease is only part of sexual victims. Peers are still hostile to those who violate the behavioral code, as the experience of younger women who participated in my research made clear. And, it is never easy to be the first within a peer group to experience any new physical state from developing breasts to sexual responsiveness.

Next >>

Sexual Victims

Discarded Women

The Clock Women

Independent Women

Revirginized Women

Monogamous Women

Second-Chance Women

Surviving the Droughts

Wives Who Have Affairs

The Saboteurs of Pleasure

Conclusion: Your Sexual Turning Point?

The Women Who Doesn't "Need" an Orgasm

What Does She Know About Sex that You Don't?