Confessions of a Squirter

Okay, so this is something I don’t mention much. Which is weird because I talk about everything sexual. But when people start talking about squirting around me I usually start finding the walls really fascinating. Why? Cos I’m a squirter. And this might just be what I’ve seen, but once you say that to people, you can actually see them start to imagine your vagina. Girls look at you like you’re showing off or looking for attention. Or like you’re a dirty skank. Guys look at you like they’re seeing you for the first time and you’ve got their attention. Or like you’re a dirty skank. So even though I’m not shy about anything when it comes to sex, I’m a little shy about that little situation.


I started masturbating when I was ten but it was all clitoral stimulation. I didn’t start fingering myself until I was about eighteen. That’s when the squirting started. I’d be knuckle-deep in my vagina and there’d be this splash on my hand. So I went to see my family GP/honorary uncle. My mother taught me that when it comes to doctors there is no such thing as embarrassment. You talk freely, you open your legs if you have to, you don’t let any hang-ups within ten feet of the room. So I wasn’t shy about asking Dr. K, I was just worried that maybe my vagina was broken. He giggled after I laid mintamkese on the table, and said to ignore it, and that it was a thing that happened, and he had dated a girl in Legon who was a nurse in Canada now, and had had three kids with this Ashanti boy from medical school whose cousin was his mate, and this girl from Legon, Florence… Oh, what was her surname? God he was getting old, youth is over before you know it so enjoy it, VV, you hear? and anyway, this ex of his, Florence, every time he went down on her she would pee a little in his mouth and it wasn’t a big deal so I shouldn’t let the splashing worry me.


I left Dr. K’s office vaguely dissatisfied, but I’ve always gotten stupidly, insanely wet when I’m aroused, so I just told myself that this new “leaking” thing was another uncommon trait that I would have to explain sometime down the line. The squirting happened maybe once out of every five times I masturbated and it’s very possible that it would just get kind of lost in all the excess pussy juice and no one would really be able to tell. It was just a half-second splash. I could manage. And I did. For almost five years. Until I fell in love and started fucking people other than myself.


One day my boyfriend is on top, and the details are hazy now, but I think my legs are wrapped around him and we’ve got a rhythm going and he’s gliding in and out, and then he changes direction just a smidge and boom. There it is. It’s a short quick stream and it hits him in the thigh. He kind of stopped, looked down at me and raised an eyebrow. I kind of shrugged and looked around the room with a “Now, where did that come from? Who stole the toffee from the teacher’s table? Reveal yourself cos it wasn’t me” expression. He didn’t say anything, we kept fucking and that was that. Over the course of the next year it happened again and again and again. About the same ratio as when I masturbated, one out of five.


I knew he liked it but I didn’t know it was a huge deal until we were apart for a few months and sending each other a fantasy every few days, over email. He wrote out this elaborate fantasy that began with the two of us cleaning a floor and it ended with “and then you squirt in my mouth.” He wasn’t much of a cunning linguist and I wasn’t, at the time, much of a cunnilingus desirer, so it was interesting that the fantasy included oral in the first place and more interesting that squirting in his mouth was something he was thinking about. I think that’s when it started to dawn on me that this was something that guys were into. Over the course of our relationship the squirting kept happening and it kept getting a reaction. Every time it happened he’d moan my name, kiss me really hard, pull back a little to give me this look, and then start fucking me with more momentum. We didn’t talk about it much; we just sort of treated it like our little private thing.


Sometimes it would be a little splash, sometimes it would be a super-quick spray and sometimes it would be this aggressive squirt of liquid that flew out decisively and hit him in the thigh. Or balls. And if something really interesting was happening, my whole torso would kind of jerk with the squirt and the muscles in my pussy would contract really hard and totally push his dick out. When that happened we’d both look at each other with WTF expressions and then he’d kiss me and slide back in and we’d continue the horizontal azonto we were dancing.


I’m a naturally curious person so since the meeting with Dr. K when I was eighteen I’d been trying to figure out what this thing was. There was really limited information on it back then. No Google. Nothing in the Encyclopedia Britannica, the Larousse or the library. The most I could glean was that maybe it had something to do with pressure. But now it was 2007 and Google was my homeboy. Info on squirting was everywhere. Girls were doing it in pornos. People were writing about it. Some experts said it was discharge from the Skene’s glands, which are these two little glands close to the urethra. They said it had traces of urea in it but was a little sweet to the taste, and slightly viscous, and it was definitively not pee. Some experts said it definitely was pee, coming from the urethra, and it was caused by the pressure of the dick hitting your bladder, but even if it was pee it was nothing to be weirded out by because it was an involuntary response to pleasure which was still mad sexy. Ooooookaaaaaaay. Intellectually, I understood the sexiness of the pleasure thing. But having been raised a squeamish Ghanaian I still wondered if I was pissing on someone’s child.


You see, both arguments made sense to me; I’d definitely had times when it was thick and viscose and just a slightly different texture from pussy juice so, even though I’d never tasted it to check, the Skene’s gland thing made sense. I knew it wasn’t traditional pussy juice because that oozes out of me and this one…for lack of a better word: squirted. But I’d also had times when it was this clear watery liquid that just kind of exploded from my vagina or splashed out of me…so hmmmmm… Was I just a pisser?


I couldn’t be because there was a process to peeing and I wasn’t doing any of that when I was squirting. And because I was so paranoid about the pee thing I had peed right before fucking, a thousand times, and still squirted. It didn’t feel like peeing. It felt more like…really pleasurable sneezing, if that makes any sense. And when it happened? Well that seemed to be a little random. It always happened when something felt good. Always. But the way things felt wasn’t always consistent. It would usually be during thrusting, where everything would be the same old same old, in and out, ooh and aah, but then suddenly something would land differently than it had been landing before.


Either in a slightly different place or with a slightly different amount of force. And I’d just squirt. Sometimes when he first slid in, or when he slid in further than where he was before, the splash would happen. Sometimes when the serious I’ve-meant-you-thrusting started, the squirt would happen. But it usually didn’t come with much warning. I mean sometimes I’d feel this intensity during a particular move, like “If you keep doing this I’m going to squirt all over you” but overall it wasn’t really something that announced itself. The closest I can come to describing it, the water gun kind at least, is like “okay I’m getting fucked, ooooh that feels so good, there, there, there, there, there, there, good, good, good, good, good, good, whoaaaaa!” And the squirting would be on the “whoaaaaa!” It hardly ever happened as I came but generally if it happened it was a good sign that at some point I was going to come. It always felt really good, but I’d never squirted and felt like I’d blacked out and been blinded for a moment. Squirting wasn’t grand mol seizure good. It wasn’t apocalypse good. It wasn’t orgasm good. At least not big orgasm good. It was kind of like a big orgasm’s small brother on its mother’s side who lived in Asamankese.


That is until my first relationship ended and the next one started. You all have heard about this one, it’s the cataclysmic sex one, the talking dirty in Twi one, the waking up the whole hotel one. And that was when the whole squirting game changed. I mean I knew I did it, and I knew it was something my ex was into, and I knew guys were fascinated by it because I’d heard the way they talked about it and I’d seen it in porn (although the stuff in porn didn’t look familiar or real, it was just girls bearing down and actively pissing or pushing lots of water out of their pussies) but I didn’t know it was A BIG FUCKING DEAL.


Until the first time it happened with the new guy. We were fucking, and he was really really big and his dick felt like it was everywhere in my body, like I could feel it in my tummy and my chest and whooooo, it was some higher level tings, and I felt him push even more of that dick deep into me and this guuuuuush just happened. It wasn’t a splash. It wasn’t the kind of thing where I could look around the room like it wasn’t me. It was dripping down his thighs and down his crotch and down the crack of my ass. And he lost. his. mind. He said “do that again!” and I was like “it doesn’t work that way, I can’t do it on command” and he was like “oh” (**determined face**) “let’s make it happen again.” And then he proceeded to fuck my brains out. And for the rest of our fuckistry (our fucking history) every time I squirted he’d say “more, more” and commit the next five minutes to trying to make it rain again.


With him the squirting happened all the time. Maybe one out of every two times. And occasionally it happened when I came. The squirting that happened when I was coming was always the really forceful kind, the kind where his dick got totally evicted from my pussy. The splash kind happened, usually, when he was fingering me. The quick water gun squirt thing happened all the time, particularly when he first slid in. The big gushing happened really often too. Sliding in, hitting it from the back, bouncing me on his dick, slow grinding and playing with my clit, you name it. And then this new thing started, where I’d squirt so hard it would fly over his shoulder and hit the wall or the bookshelf or the shoe rack with an audible sound.


It wouldn’t be the crazy huge gush; it would be this straight single stream with this force behind it. And even though I attributed a lot of the squirting to the sheer size of this new guy’s dick and the things he made my body do cos I was so turned on by him, fucking him sort of contradicted my “squirting is caused by dick pressure” theory. Cos unlike with my ex he didn’t have to be inside me. A couple of times I squirted in his mouth while he was going down on me, there was the time I squirted really hard when he slid his finger in my ass, and then there was this time when he bent me over the dressing table in my room and I was still wearing this see-through sleeveless shirt I sleep in, and he was behind me with his hands under my shirt, tugging on a nipple with each hand, and every time he rubbed my nipples I’d squirt all over the floor. Like clockwork. Fingers touch boobs, VV wets the floor. It felt amazing.


He said the sensation of feeling me squirt was insane. Like, the minute I squirted and he felt it happen in my pussy (turns out my pussy does something internal for a second) it was a totally different ball game. When the squirt juice hit him and he felt that smack of warm liquid on his dick, or his thigh, or his balls, or his fingers or whatever, it was like something flipped in his brain.


One time we were fucking and we were both about to come and suddenly my pussy contracted really hard and pushed him out of me and I squirted allllllllllll over his dick as I came. He just kind of gasped and started shooting cum all over the bed. A few minutes of aftershocks later, he looked down at his dick and was really surprised that he had come because he hadn’t felt himself coming. He’d felt me squirting all over him and I guess intellectually he’d kind of sort of knew he must have come cos he was coasting some wave of pleasure, but he said he didn’t feel the cum coming out of his dick, all he felt was the smack of warm wet stuff drenching his dick over and over and it was so fucking intense it was all he could feel. He couldn’t remember anything else that happened after I squirted on his dick. He just kind of blacked out.


After that, every time we were fucking he’d keep murmuring “squirt for me, baby. c’mon squirt for me, that’s my girl, that’s my girl. squirt all over my dick” and it was the sexiest thing in the world. But I also started to feel a little bad if it didn’t happen. I tried to do it on cue a few times but it rarely worked. More importantly, it didn’t feel very good when I forced it. And honestly, the requests made me feel super sexy but they also sometimes made me feel like it wasn’t really about me, it was some sort of prize he wanted for his own ego. He tended to just get lost in the sauce when the squirting happened and it took him forever to understand that just because I squirted didn’t mean I came. It felt really good, but it was rarely ever the orgasm itself, and it didn’t mean that I was done fucking or that the session had been record-setting and mind-blowing. He still needed to put his back into it. Oh, and doing the same move over and over again cos I squirted each time he did it wasn’t always that fun for me. A little variety would get him more bang for his buck.


His preoccupation with the whole thing was both beguiling and exasperating, and this double-headed snake was one of the drawbacks of squirting for me. Another huge drawback was that the liquid that it produces is so much waterier than pussy juice, at least 99% of the time, and with him I was squirting so much that it was pooling between our bodies and pooling in my pussy and around his dick, and diluting the silkiness of the pussy juice. So sometimes we’d be fucking and it would be amazing but after a bunch of squirting the sex would start to hurt because he was essentially pushing “water” back into my pussy with his dick. Squirt juice, my friends, is definitely not a lubricant; it just thins out the fetri.


Another thing about squirt juice I didn’t like was that it didn’t seem to taste very good. It wasn’t disgusting but it definitely wasn’t delicious. If I squirted in his mouth while he was going down on me it would be hot in the moment, he’d be cool, but if I had squirted a bunch and it was all over my pussy, my thighs and my butt he’d mop it up with the sheet before he put his mouth there. He’d lap all my pussy juice right up, but as excited as he was by the squirting he didn’t want to drink it, which I totally understood. The final drawback to the squirting thing was that it ruined the sheets. And my mattress. And our clothes. And my chairs. And the passenger seat of his car if we decided to fuck there. It didn’t stain but it soaked into everything and it took forever to dry. So clandestine sex and quickies got very complicated, cos if we weren’t lucky and I squirted, the wet spots on the back of my skirt and the front of his trousers would always tattle that we were doing some abofrabones3m.


But drawbacks aside, I’ve kind of gotten on board with this thing my body does. It feels amazing, it makes people happy, I think guys associate it with a lack of inhibition that in turn makes them feel uninhibited, and chale, it’s kind of another one of my body’s many quirks. I think it’s pretty common, or at least that it’s become enough of a fad that people figure out how to make it happen and so lots of women do it, but I always get told by the people I fuck that I’m a unicorn and the squirting is the most memorable thing about me. It makes me feel kind of powerful and when I start seeing someone new it’s always fun to feel like I have this secret surprise I’m going to spring on them.


It’s interesting cos when I was younger I read this story in the Vagina Monologues, where this old lady said a boy kissed her and something gushed out of her and wet the seat of his car and he reacted with such disgust that she thought of her vagina as a place where fishes lived and she made it this dark place in her mind where bad things happened and she called it the basement and never went down there for the rest of her life. It wasn’t till I was older that I realized she probably squirted, and now every time I remember that Vagina Monologues story I want to cry. Cos it’s just luck that I was born in this generation and came from a liberal family and was a naturally curious child who didn’t internalize body stuff, and I had a doctor that was as cool as Dr. K, and I met guys who loved it. Cos if I didn’t have that exposure, if the first guy it happened with had called me “a bush girl who wee-weed on people” or whatever, I might have had a lot more shame about it. So I hope everyone it happens to knows that it’s an okay thing and that it just means their bodies react intensely to stimuli.


Still, there are a lot of things that I wish were different when it comes to squirting. I wish it wasn’t such a curiosity for guys, and they didn’t get so caught up in the instant gratification of it that the sex turned into a conquest where they had to reach Mount Everest every single time. Because once you squirt with a guy, they’ll act like you run over their puppy with your Mini Minor ky3nky3ma if it doesn’t happen the next time. I wish guys didn’t measure their performance by it because I’ve had some amazing orgasms in sessions where I didn’t squirt once.


I wish it hadn’t gotten so eroticized and fetishized that girls faked it in pornos and gave everyone some preconceived ridiculous notion of what it was supposed to look like. I wish women these days didn’t internalize all the porn bullshit and feel like they weren’t fulfilling their utmost sexual destiny if it wasn’t something that happened for them. I wish it was kinder on my sheets and my seats and my clothes and it didn’t leave a wet spot on the bed that no one wanted to sleep on. And most of all, I wish it was something I could tell people about without turning into some kind of circus freak in their eyes. If only I could wear a T-shirt that said “Hi, my name is VV and I have small eyes, and I like dramatic jewelry, and I write sometimes, and I’m bad at maths cos I read it like a book, and my favorite author is Toni Morrison, and I’m a squirter,” and not have any of those statements stand out, I would be the happiest girl in the world.


By Voluptuous Voltarian. Original post on adventures from