My best sex ever was... when I didn’t come

Misha* found that she didn’t need an orgasm to have the time of her life

Despite my best attempts at denying it, my boyfriend and I had reached that stage in our relationship where sex was infrequent and mostly unimaginative – by no means bad, but not like it used to be. We went from having sex multiple times in a night to once every few weeks. Then, one morning, we had the kind of session that still makes me tingle whenever it enters my mind... yet I didn’t even have an orgasm.

It must have been dawn, and the sun was just peeping over the horizon. I was half-asleep and half-awake, like my brain could tell I wasn’t sleeping but my body hadn’t quite got the memo. My boyfriend and I were both lying on our stomachs, with our bodies slightly tilted towards one another and our faces nuzzling. Out of nowhere, we started kissing slowly. It almost felt drowsy. Then the kisses became more passionate – in that way that lets you know the best is yet to come.

My boyfriend climbed on top of me, pulled my knickers down past my knees and propped me up so I was in a low doggy position. My legs were bent and my bum was in the air, but the rest of my body was still pressed against the mattress. I felt heavy, still soft from the sleep. He crouched over me so I could feel the weight of his entire body; his thighs touching the back of mine and his dick cradled between my bum cheeks. He started to kiss the back of my neck, my ear and shoulders – that alone made me so wet that lube would have been overkill.

He slipped inside me, went deep with the first thrust, and we started to f*ck from behind. At first, it was slow and intimate, like he wanted me to feel every second of him entering me, pressing his lips on my back, digging his fingers into my thighs. Then, we moved into cowgirl position, and I started riding him. Our bodies were still glued together and we kissed passionately the whole time. I’m not sure how, but at one point he was on top of me, and he hooked his arms under my knees so that my legs were behind my head. The tempo sped up, and what had started out as romantic became sweaty, fast, and dominating.

After he came, we both fell into an even deeper sleep than before. When we woke up hours later, the sun higher in the sky, we were in the same position: lying on our stomachs, faces nuzzling, like the whole thing had never happened.

It was the best sex I’ve ever had, but there was no orgasm for me. To be honest, I rarely come. But that day, something shifted: after a decade of having orgasm-less sex, thinking that there was something “wrong” with me, I finally realised that having an orgasm wasn’t a marker of sexual “success”, nor is it the be-all and end-all of sex. That morning proved that a lack of climax doesn’t indicate a lack of pleasure. Orgasm-less sex still gave me everything I was craving: spontaneity, rawness – and a total loss of control.

“Orgasm-less sex still gave me everything I was craving”