If these lips could talk #1
If these lips could talk is a new feature with the aim to demystify and talk about all things weird, wonderful and worrisome when it comes to our bodies, focused on the telling of real-life stories from our readers.
Awkward sex stories, empowering sex stories, romantic gestures gone wrong (or so, so right), funny thoughts that pop up at your smear test, eye-opening period stories, confusing boob stories, those little things that you wonder if other women experience, or straight-up bullshit that you’ve heard.
Whether you're used to talking about these things or not, let's share the 'Oh, me too!' moments and spit-out-your-tea-outrageous stories of being a woman together to start a conversation, share our experiences and normalise our bodies and what they get up to.
This week, for International Women's Day, we're sharing stories that have made their authors feel empowered. These are real stories from real women, in their own words.
Five minutes of O-face
Have you ever suddenly thought of some vaguely remembered childhood TV show? Or a tune you loved, or a café that had the best smoothies ever, but you don’t remember a name on enough specific detail to ever find it again? That’s what the five minute orgasm is to me.
I was fourteen years old, and like most fourteen year olds my main hobbies were anxiously comparing myself to others and masturbating. It would be years before I had access to any fancy silicone assistants. No technology involved – just me and my body. Kind of weird to think I’ve have been doing it in the exact same way people did it in the Stone Age.
I don’t know exactly what was different about that time. I don’t remember trying out any new techniques or any unique inspiration. All I remember is I was masturbating as usual, and then suddenly I was coming. And coming. And not stopping. For five solid minutes.
It’s been well over a decade and despite all my efforts, I haven’t experienced anything like that since. Sometimes it frustrates me to know the possibility is there and yet, despite being having far more experience and information to hand, I don’t know how to trigger it. But I’m still happy it happened.
It made me feel powerful and like I was capable of things far beyond what I expected. That doesn’t happen to teenage girls much. And I swear, someday, somehow, I’ll make it happen again…
Mission Sex-ess: Yes! Yes! Yes!
I’m 19, just got to uni, and so damn fed up of having not had sex yet. Saturday night comes (not that that matters during freshers week) and I’m about ready to get me some. I approach a guy and get talking to him when he tells me he’s lost his housemates and needs to find them – do I want to come with? Well yes, yes I do.
We end up having a drink inside his flat, then outside, and he’s soooo close to my face at this point I’m like ‘Kiss me! Why is he not kissing me!? Ugh, do I have to do everything!’ I eventually suggest that we go watch a film (hell yeah, I know he knows what I mean).
It’s dark, we’re on his bed (step one complete) watching whatever was on his laptop. Still, I’m waiting for him to make a move and getting more and more frustrated that this isn’t happening as quickly as I want it to. Still nothing. So, I pluck up the courage, swing round, grab his face and start making out with him.
The laptop is now on the floor (step two – check!), we’re on top of each other, all manner of grabbing and moaning is happening. It’s going to happen, sex is going to happen! I am so happy. It’s working!
Now, I probably should have also mentioned that I was at the end of my period at the time - nothing heavy, no real blood or nothing, just a bit of gunky stuff (you know what I mean period-havers) – so I have a tampon in.
In the heat of my FINALLY SEX moment, this meant fuck all. I was determined. So, we get down to it, pants are off, and at the first sign of dick I whip that badboy out and right into the bin. I cannot be stopped! Fuck periods! Next thing, I’m on top, and my time of exclusively ridin’ solo is no more.
I actually can’t remember how long it lasted, if we did it again or anything like that. I actually remember less about the actual sex and more about the circumstances around it. What I do remember is that I stayed over, and that I texted my best friend at the time that I was doing a ‘walk of shame’ so she knew EXACTLY what I meant.
The truth is, there was nothing shameful about that walk (nor is there ever any shame in such circumstances). I went out with a mission, and I made it happen for myself. I felt powerful, in control of my body and pretty satisfied. It was awesome.
Living the life down under
While living in Australia, where the weather reciprocated my sex life – dry – I went out with some colleagues from work and ended up back at a house party. Along the way, we picked up a randomer.
Confused by his presence and swimming in Dutch courage, I rather brazenly asked who he was and why he was there. We subsequently spent the whole night talking, clearly flirting with one another. In true Cinderella style, I left the party and him with nothing more than my phone number.
Three weeks later: In a rather sketchy backpacker bar in Brisbane, I run into this mystery guest again. After a night of gyrating and hardcore lip-locking, we fumble our way back to his apartment. Knowing full well the rainy season was about to start, we got down to it and without even a subtle hint, he heads down south and burrows his head between my thighs. Hallelujah.
Fifteen minutes of toe-curling, head-grabbing pleasure, and an orgasm that was well deserved (if I say so myself) he looks up at me and says: ‘You taste amazing.' I simply replied: 'Thank you’ before gently pushing him back down.
Would you like to share a story that your lips would tell if they so happened to talk? Share them with us so that we can open up much-needed conversations and feel an empowering sense of togetherness!
Send entries to: email@example.com. All entries will be anonymous. If you’re story is selected, we’ll contact you to let you know.
Artwork by Julia Misersky. Find her on Instagram @jm.illustrations.