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☆.｡.:*
You've never had an orgasm outside of the occasional wet dream that you can hardly even remember. When your interest in sex bloomed in your teens you tried masturbating, but it was always embarrassing or you could never seem to edge yourself close enough to finish. Eventually, after some trial and error, you had given up on the concept.
As you got older and finally found someone to trust enough to let into your bed, that person did a poor job, repaying your trust by getting annoyed at your nervousness and the fact that said nervousness wouldn't allow him to orgasm, let alone you. It didn't stop you from trying again with him. And after they found their release, they slung a thinly-veiled insult your way and left. After everything, laying in bed and feeling disgusted and used, you simply cried yourself to sleep.
Sex wasn't something that you were eager to explore after that.
It took almost a year after that terrible experience before you felt like you could try again. However, this time, you felt pressured from the start. You knew the point of sex, beyond the whole physical connection aspect, was for both parties to experience an orgasm. And it's not like your partner never tried to make you comfortable. They tried, putting in the effort one probably should in these kinds of situations, but there still wasn't that spark of pleasurable recognition. You felt guilty, ashamed even, as if you were broken because achieving an orgasm was practically impossible. And when attempt after attempt failed, your boyfriend at the time left without a word.
You almost swore off sex completely after that, but as fate would have it, you got especially drunk one night and ended up in a stranger's bed. You initially thought with the help of some liquid courage, it would loosen you up just enough that you wouldn't succumb to overthinking, but—much like your previous sex partners—the stranger simply used you for their own pleasure and then promptly kicked you out without caring whether you enjoyed it or not.
After that, sex was decidedly not something you wanted anymore. You didn't seek out new partners, didn't masturbate, and aside from the occasional morning with sticky thighs, you hardly spared a second thought about it entirely.
As more time passed, the more persistent those thoughts had lingered in the back of your mind—sex, that is. The thought would occasionally pop into your mind late at night as you stared up at the ceiling, tears gathering in your eyelashes as you wondered what could possibly be wrong with you. Shame and guilt pooled in your stomach, weighing heavily as the intruding thought circled your mind like a shark on the hunt.
Am I not normal? Am I some kind of freak? Am I broken?
The thought was enough to eat you alive because who could possibly be so broken to not be able to reach orgasm. That's supposed to be a second-nature kind of experience, and yet, here you were, programmed wrong. It's like the wires in your mind never connected to that part of your brain, robbing you of that so-called "happy" experience.
