What happened when I challenged myself to 40 orgasms in 40 days

AS PHYLLIS found out, making yourself have an orgasm a day, no excuses, has some surprising side effects.

Author and intimacy activist Phyllis Foundis challenged herself to have 40 orgasms in 40 days.

THERE’S no subtle way to begin a piece like this except to say — orgasms are where life’s at. However you choose to get there, they feel phenomenal, right?

But if you’re anything like me, as you get older things that go bzzzz in the night get replaced by things that go ‘Muuuum!” in the night.

So last month I decided to park the too tired, too busy excuses and have one orgasm every day for 40 days — straight. Hardly spontaneous, but hopefully erotic and possibly educational.

Having now come out the other side of my enforced daily pleasure, this is what I learnt about love, the libido, women, sexuality and vibrators that look like Prince’s microphone.

FOREPLAY IS AN INSIDE JOB

At the tender age of 45, I discovered I need foreplay — with myself! Yes, I had to recalibrate the expectations I have of my own clitoris.

But then I wondered, what does foreplay with me even look like? Sweet nothings in my own ear? Fantasies? Midway through my “challenge” I learnt that foreplay must be an inside job. It doesn’t live and die on marathon foot rubs by Robert Downey Jnr or picturing scantily clad young bucks with oiled-up abs.

All pretty pictures, absolutely, but I realised the most titillating thing for me is … permission. When I allowed myself to relax and turn off the crap-o-meter, breathing slowed down, thoughts followed suit and then … and only then was Robert Downey Jnr welcome to show up with the foot balm.

Oh yeah RDJ, that’s right.

THE 21ST CENTURY HAS TAKEN OUR URGES HOSTAGE

Twelve days in and my libido went limp. Seeking out pleasure felt like a chore. All I could think of was … Must I have another orgasm?!

In my pursuit of pleasure I often forgot one thing — to relaaaax. At night, desperate for sleep, thoughts of “gotta” plagued me … I’m tired but, I gotta have my orgasm.

There’s no pussy footing around the fact; the 21st Century has taken our urges hostage and none of us seem to put up much of a fight. We need to create time for intimacy and alter our mindsets so we aren’t so vulnerable to distractions and excuses like “I’ll just watch another hour of reality TV”.

ORGASMS ARE LIKE LENTIL SOUP

I thought other women would rejoice in this challenge and rush home eager to kick off their own journeys. But dare I say, it was different strokes for different folks.

Shock and support jostled for space with awe and a very fat white elephant in the room. After revealing the source of my new “glow” to a bunch of 40-something female colleagues, smiles froze over and quinoa suddenly seemed more interesting than climax.

Nip n’ tuck talk? Fine. But clitorii n’ cocks? P-lease. It’s lunchtime.

On the other hand my GP buddy was evangelical in her support of my daily Vitamin O as she confessed to prescribing orgasms for her patients regularly.

“I tell them it’s like lentil soup because for a lot of women, having an orgasm isn’t attractive when you’re tired or busy. Lentil soup isn’t appetising either. But after that first mouthful you think, yum. Why didn’t I do that sooner?”

It’s not always easy to get there, but it’s worth it when you do.

As for my girlfriends, they immediately assumed my husband was a “lucky guy” while one friend admitted to “self-service” because her man is too conservative.

“It’s another thing I do for him — I get his dinner, I get my own orgasms.”

ONE SIZE DOES NOT FIT ALL

I’ve had a soft spot for vibrators ever since my first lipstick-shaped version. Oh, the memories. And one night as I enjoyed another battery-powered hit, my vibe cut out and I didn’t have a back up … well, only a couple — one was working late and the other was buried under bras in a drawer. I scrambled for the latter.

At 20cm long and with a multi-speed “engine” to rival a Corvette, my plan B was high-octane stuff; its hot fuchsia body could double as a microphone for Prince’s purple squeals.

But I was undeterred. I fired the ol’ girl up and ... Whoa! Baby, you’re much too fast. Two orgasms sped out more from shock than arousal. Nope. Too much hardware for my software. This Kalashnikov of vibes would be repurposed as a body massager. Oh the irony.

(NOT) SACRED WOMEN’S BUSINESS

So what did a daily dose of orgasm ultimately teach me? That my body is a miracle. From giving birth to giving orgasms it is one generous, talented, well-oiled machine — as if I needed further proof, but what a mind-blowing way to confirm the obvious.

Over the past 40 days I’ve become more adept at finding the point in my brain that releases me into an ecstatic, soundless state of unconditional pleasure. Allowing myself to enjoy my body without shame gave me a thrill no orgasm in this life or the next could ever replicate.

Sure, for some, clitoral joy should be hushed — it’s sacred women’s business. We cloak her in mystery and make self-pleasure a luxury. I say, let’s end the shame so many women pin to their sexuality.

Ultimately, 40 days of 40 orgasms was a delicious celebration of female sexuality and the body that can give us phenomenal joy in so many ways — if only we let it.

Phyllis Foundis is a TV host, writer, producer, TEDx talker and intimacy activist. This is an edited extract from her book, The Joy of Sags, available in September 2016. You can follow her on Twitter.