"I Can Only Cum With Guys I Don't Like."

By Ramón Larsen

So this is a fascinating one for me, and it doesn't get a lot of airtime (though according to the woman in the quote, it is a "known" issue).

Years ago, I began an extended relationship with a gorgeous, slender, waif of a girl - bright, brilliant, sparkly, and puckish. She was a thing of a beauty and a delight to be around.

I had been searching for months for a sub I could "work with" and who was able to receive my boudoir guidance and revel in it rather than retreat in terror at the power of her basest yet most profound emotions. And there she was. . .

I've written elsewhere about our extraordinary first night together, after hours of flirting for a "work" project, we finally ditched our chaperone and got down to it.

She had two squirting orgasms within about 5 minutes. She would later confide in me that the first one embarrassed her so much that she had to take a little walk to regain her composure. So in terms of actual "work" to get her off, we're talking less than 2 minutes.

I, of course, was delighted. She had just come off of several Los Angeles style flings, all of which she found miserable and unfulfilling, including an extremely unwilling blowjob with a major but has-been celebrity in town. When I moved her head towards a repeat performance, she demurred, saying, "I don't like to do that." However what she didn't like was an implied tit for "that" exchange where she felt obligated to suck the guy's dick because he had done something (usually eat her out) first.

And of course, she was right. This sort of sex tabulation score card exchange is anathema to real passion and the absolute murder of authentic desire.

At the time, I simply told her, I'm not asking you for some kind of exchange. I'm telling you to get down on your knees and suck my cock because I told you to.

This was a new experience for her, and she took to it like a fish finally able to breathe freely when released into water. Extended blowjobs would become for her (like so many sexually satisfied women) a favorite past time over our entire experience together. Such is the power of leadership in bed, that a submissive woman relishes the direction so much that her "service" becomes her greatest thrill and an unbidden treat, honestly more for her than for you.

(In fact, during an off moment in our relationship, she attempted to "tat" me by calculating how many blow jobs she had given me and what I needed to do to even the "score." I quickly fixed the situation by explaining that "The blowjobs are for you, and I let you give them to me." After a second's blushing, she agreed, and that was the last game of sexual table tennis we ever played.)

But back to those two, beautiful squirting orgasms. Over the course of that first night together, she came I don't know how many times. I was thrilled that I had finally found someone whose discovery of her submissive impulses was a point of personal fulfillment, not dread, and I envisioned a long period of rewarding sex for us over the coming months.

And mostly we had it. Except for one massive sticking point:

She never came again.

She left the next morning on a trip and came back a week later, after which we feasted on each other mercilessly for days on end. It was fantastic. And to be honest, I don't remember if her cumming stopped that week or the next time we would experience an extended fuck fest, but the day came (heh) and quicker than either of would have wanted to.

Because over our first extended liaison together, she had already started to develop feels (as I have written elsewhere, when the sexual dynamic is right, the feels start early and with a ferocious intensity). And then one day, I asked her if she had finished, and she looked at me squarely and said the line that would haunt me forever:

"I can only cum with guys I don't like."

Now, truth told, I have a long history of healing and fixing the women that cross my beds. It's a natural impulse for me, and I have a pretty extensive toolbox of modalities (that actually work) to get myself and others past certain limitations. And this was nothing if not a certain limitation. But during that phase of my life, I had made up my mind to hold the role of lover only and not lover/healer, which was indeed my own certain limitation, because with a little bit of tweaking, we probably could have solved this one and quickly.

But we didn't. And over a decade later, I checked in with the girl, who had now become a rather skilled healer herself, and I asked her if she had ever cleared up this issue. Surprisingly she said, no, but hopefully that conversation catalyzed a bit of digging that could relieve her of what one has to admit is a colossal limitation.

Anyway, why am I bringing this up?

Well I recently ended another relationship with a talented lover (who had the statistically unfortunate demerit of being a sex educator), someone who from our first night together experienced a vast repetoire of cervical and other internal orgasms. She was a true delight to fuck and watch the slew of sensations pour over her from the myriad orgasm triggers that were her guiding light in life.

During our first two months together, she was the orgasm queen, at one point posting on her Instagram that the only thing keeping her from greater fulfillment was her own physical exhaustion and lack of fitness to continue past a certain point.

But a funny thing happened after we came home from an extended vacation. She experienced an emotional opening that was so dramatic, it pulled me back from ending the thing then and there (it wasn't a great trip). She walked into my room and announced that she had realized she had been under the influence of a man-hating shrew of an Instagram guru and that it had severely compromised the non-sexual side of our relationship. In a moment, she opened up like a flower, revealing the true woman I had always suspected was there but never fully showed herself to me until that second. And of course I reversed course and rededicated myself to developing my connection with this beautiful creature whose affections trebled for me in an instant and opened what I expected were vast new avenues of sexual and emotional connection beyond what our miraculous first couple of months had delivered.

But there was a hitch.

A few days later she told me in a moment so beautiful I will not share in public that she loved me. I had been on a month long non-orgasmic stint while taking a course she had recommended. I broke my "fast" then and there and fucked her for over an hour. But at the end, she was frustrated, even angry, that I had (finally) cum - but she hadn't.

What was going on? The orgasm queen had dried up from her vaginal orgasm prowess.

This concerned me of course, so much so, that I did what I normally do in such circumstances: nothing. When there is a problem this big, fast fixes are almost never the answer. But rather, patient allowing of the deeper truth trying to emerge to reveal itself is the more reliable (if far slower) approach of (my) choice. As Einstein said, "A problem is never solved on the same level that it was created." A massive issue like this pointed to a deepening of growth in my girl that would provide a "solution" that was impossible if she were to continue along the same "level" she had until that point.

And as I lay there, managing her outbursts and confusion, my mind shifted immediately to the "I can't cum with guys I like" girl from so many years before. Speaking scientifically, the control group remained the same from a week prior when she was cumming like a bandit. The variable, of course, was that she had since fallen in love and confessed to it out loud. And it wasn't too much of a leap for me to go from "I can't cum with guy I like" to "I can't have vaginal orgasms with guys I love." (Clitoral orgasms were not an issue, though as a sex educator, she felt horrified that she could not practice what she preached, i.e. the overwhelming superiority of internal orgasms for women.)

This problem metastasized over the next few months and was likely a significant contributor to killing the whole relationship dead (and it died a violent death). But as I continued to process it, I thought over and over about this phenomenon, how common it might be, what its causes were, and what might be done about it.

To me it seems somewhat obvious: when a woman reserves some of her emotional power (in withholding affection) for herself, she is emotionally safe. No matter what happens - if the guy leaves, if the guy "cheats," if the guy xyz's, she will have a corner of herself in her back pocket with which to rebuild. For her, keeping this psychological trump card shields her from what she imagines to be total annihilation.

And it may not be her imagination.

As I have written elsewhere:

So if you continue to hard game her, to be out of reach, to subtly flaunt all your choices, there are no more petals in her flower to open, and she starts to wither. She withers not out of disgust or lack of arousal but out of a genuine fear of losing you. You are now stoking her deepest fears of never being enough, of loss of provisioning, and loss of her entire self that she has given up to you completely. And this fear no longer titillates and seduces her. It outright destroys her.

And as above, I have to admit that while the woman bears a lot of responsibilities for the traumas and control responses that lead to her inability to fully surrender to a man, the man bears a certain responsibility as well to provide her with enough emotional safety - and feelings of commitment - that her primary directives will eventually feel safe opening this much to him.

Normally I write for men (as in the linked article above), and so I place as much responsibility as possible on his shoulders to provide adequate and authentic "comfort game" to give her the proper emotional cushion to continue to open her fullest bouquet for your enjoyment and for her deepest fulfillment.

But I won't lie: neither of these women were top shelf psychologically healthy (though lovable and highly fuckable just the same). And there were many emotional hitches and baggages that were beyond my reach in terms of them unfolding their deeper trusting selves. So again, it's a mix.

And today I want to explore mainly the feminine end of this phenomenon and what causes (beyond male emotional continence) there might be for the clenching of their orgasmic potential right at the moment where it would bring them the most fulfillment.

But that is the rub (quasi heh), because that deepest fulfillment comes only from exposing the deepest parts of yourself to the pleasure of surrender but also the pain of rejection. To be rejected at that core self - particularly after reveling in the love and pleasure of orgasm flowing through it - is a pain I don't think any man can imagine. We have all been hurt, rejected, and worse. But there is something in the male constitution that thrives in overcoming insults to develop his greater fortitude, which fortitude only enhances his résumé of fuckworthy traits for waiting females.

But for females, rejection is not a building block to a stronger you.

It is total.

They don't have the ego strength (and this is not a bad thing - it is the thing that makes their vulnerability so precious and protection-worthy) to endure massive insults to their being, even on the more superficial levels of flirting and dating. Women are masterful self-rationalizers (liars) when they don't get the results they want or expect from a man, and they will turn circles over one another (what Heartiste called the"self-rationalization hamster wheel") to fend off devastations to their self-perception.

They will do this if you don't talk to them when you "should" ("he must be gay/loser/weak/in a serious relationship"), they will do this if you don't look at their asses when they are in their "special" please-want-to-fuck-me shorts, they will do this in almost any instance when they are wrong, at risk of being rejected, or at risk of having their fragile self-esteem dinged by the harshness of fact.

And again, this is just how they manage day to day insults to their vanity to protect their souls. Wrestling with rejection for self-betterment is your job, not hers.

When you go deeper with a woman, we go way beyond vanity. We go down to her connection to her God and to her very being. She will not simply feel neurotic for a week (or longer) that "he wasn't admiring me because I have this huge pimple on my chin!" She will feel - or at least she risks feeling - a pain so deep she will never recover herself, be able to love again, or be able to fill her biological directive to procreate with the best man she can fine.

I keep searching for a word better than annihilation, and I keep coming up short. For her, to be rejected at this core level is neutron bomb level erasure of self. It is the ultimate terror.

And of course, where the ultimate terror lies, lies also the most complete ecstasy a human can feel. And if any kind of human can feel this fullness of ecstatic love, it is given to women kind to do so.

I have loved women deeply, very deeply, and I have felt my own shattering when things go awry, and it is awful. But I can still not imagine the depths of ruinous pain that I am positing above. And I can also not imagine the depths of pleasure, of completion, of capital T spiritual Truth a woman must encounter when she finally surrenders that last bit of her love, her loving orgasm, to a man she worships and adores. It is as high a risk/reward calculation as may be humanly possible, and while it saddens me that these two women dared not go there, I can certainly understand why.

With a guy they "don't like" or a guy who is controllable, safe, and tamed, then there is no real risk. She can cum with a certain abandon, because it will never touch her soul. It's the downside of her weak sexual "fulfillment" from these sorts of men, but it is also the massive upside of boundless ego protection. What a life of choices it must be for a woman. . .

How does she decide? How much can she soften her most traumatized spaces to allow for her "leave it all on the field" orgasmic surrender whilst in love? I wish I knew.

All I can do at this point is speak to the fellas: Be ready for this. If you can't love her or you don't love her enough for her micro antennae to tune into true safety in surrendering all of herself to you, you are not going to get there. In a way, you may as well call it quits then, downgrade to fuckbuddy level connection (probably not possible if she's already tipped over into real love), or hunker down to see if you can muster a love for her that will endure long enough for her to feel the safety she needs to get there herself. The thing is, you can't fake this stuff. This level of connectedness to bring out the hottest sex may just be the provenance of either one night stands or true soul mates. I don't see a lot of room for in betweens.

And maybe that's how it's supposed to be. The level of soul connectedness we are talking about here is genuinely otherworldly. And without a proper container, it threatens to burn us all into oblivion like a live wire dipping into our bathtub after a storm.

Sex, love, and oblivion have been bedfellows for a long time. Men dip our toes into it all the time with obsessive love. The romantic poetry literature is chock to the gills with tales of men drowned (literally ) in their own unrequited loves. And indeed many men chase the oblivion as a way out of the vicissitudes of more mundane lives with the Liebestod being a worthier exit to their imaginations than the slow death of the office troll.

My amateur diagnosis, therefore, is that for females in the throes of genuine heartfelt love for their men and (would be) masters, the full release needed for the waves of orgasmic bliss to flood into the newly discovered nooks of real love is a bridge too far. They either choke back the affection or they choke back the bliss. And of the two, the bliss is the easier sacrifice, though in time, its lack will corrode the love just the same. Life sets the rules that we can not cheat it forever, and we must live our own fullness eventually and heal or swallow whatever we need to to have our cake and eat it too.

I would also say, as I have also said elsewhere, that in the case of the latter dame, the sexuality studies were likely - as they are with every sex professional I have met - a prophylactic bulwark against the feelings of real love.

Self-pleasure studies, teasing (i.e. stripping) studies and outright whoredom are all contrived as a way to either "not need no man" or to simply exploit the men outright for lucrative gain. In any event, control must be maintained at all times against the ravages of love and the crippling (but life fulfilling) vulnerability it wrenches out of otherwise emotionally "independent" women.

So the bigger the fortress of sexual expertise, the greater the love that needs protecting. And in many cases, if protection against said love becomes a lifelong career, the woman deprives herself of the "mini" heartbreaks that prepare her for greater trust in her own heart as she matures. The missed opportunities for growth in love for the "professional" leave an underdeveloped love in her that is almost childish in nature, making it 1000x more vulnerable to (legitimate) annihilation fears in the face of a full blooded, Dominant man, the only kind of man capable of withstanding her control ploys and stealing her heart against her very will. Thus she holds out ever longer, thus increasing the explosive power of love required to open her heart, thus increasing the risk even more for devastating heartbreak the next time around. It is a ratchet effect of contracted feeling.

What a conundrum.

And I wish I knew the answer.

But it may also be the fate of the woman who made a deal with the devil early on to try to cheat life by attempting to cut out fully half of it by short-circuiting the complementarity of the male pole to the female. We all wish we could do it: snip out the trickier parts of life that hurt us or that we don't like very much.

But life is bigger and smarter than that, and in the end, it demands of us that we live it FULLY without keeping any part of it tucked away in our back pockets. And in the end, this is how we want it to be, no matter the pain it causes when we try to pinch the hose out of what we imagine to be self-preservation. In the end, it is ego preservation and the "deathly" flow-through of life's power doesn't so much kill US as kill our fears by throwing them back in our face, long enough to re-establish the flow of lifeforce that we were robbing ourselves of all along by attempting to "manage" it into oblivion. Like all great purges, the healing - the return to wholeness - comes right in the catharsis where the dreaded "other" is restored, in our case the acceptance of the female NEED for male complementarity, dominance, order, and love.

What a tough pill to swallow, when we think we've solved the life problem with just a little bit of pruning. (Interestingly, I think many males think that they can "solve" life through masturbation, that they can solve their horniness problem by dumping seed willy (hah!) nilly over the lies of pornographic hottie mirages. This "solution" is a trap just the same, as the life force gets sucked out of a man in the process, and he is alive but dead at the same time. And these men, through their lack of "practice" with flesh and blood women will almost invariable fall into the male trap of the obsessive, tragic love of losers over their idealized "Lottes" - as terminal "oneitis" undoes them all the same as all of their pent up "solutions" seek to become undone by the ONE flesh and blood female who manages to pull them out of the television screen and into life, only to ruin him utterly because his own devil deal didn't pay off the way it was supposed to).

And here's a little bit of mythological instruction on the choking off life phenomenon. It is highly non-PC but emblematic of the ancient world view that was wise beyond measure and utterly indifferent to post-Christian (to say nothing of post-woke!) moralistic outrage. Stop now if you can't stomach such things. Carry on if you seek the deeper wisdom the ancients had to teach us:

In ancient Greece, there was the story of the earth goddess, Demeter. She had been raped in her youth and therefore had "man issues." As her daughter, Persephone, started coming of age, Demeter did everything to protect her from the "evils of men." In fact her goal was to keep her daughter a virgin by any means necessary so that she wouldn't have to experience the violence, insensitivity, and likely heartbreak of coupling with a man.

However, as much as it made sense for the mother to try to protect her daughter from the tragedies that had befallen her, the rest of the gods did not like this arrangement. Her mother, after all, was depriving her daughter of the fullness of her sexuality, motherhood, wifehood, and indeed keeping her "out of life" entirely. The mother's fear and desire to protect her daughter was becoming a controlling noose that was strangling her life away.

So in the end, a conspiracy was born, between Hades, god of the underworld and Aphrodite, the goddess of love and sexual passion. They determined that Hades would abduct (and effectively rape) Persephone and take her as his queen of the underworld.

The mythological layers are rich here, but we will focus on just a few. Firstly is that when you try to repress nature (growing up and expressing your sexuality), you create enormous back pressure. Nature can no longer go the normal path (prom, some clumsy groping in the movie theater, bad sex in the back of the car. . . ), it has to take a more forceful approach to fulfill its calling. The "rape" of Persephone is simply the backlog of sexual charge forcing its way to the fore by any means necessary.

It is also interesting that a female goddess, Aphrodite, is involved in this. She has no moral compunction against the savage rape and abduction. She is the goddess of sexual passion, and her demands for such were not being met, and so more drastic measures had to be taken to "get 'er done." And with the help of the dark underworld god, her plan was enacted beautifully.

(Note: how many of your virginal friends who were the daughters of man hating mothers go through a similar over-the-top sexual initiation, either through criminal element, darker elements of society, actual rape, or any other transition to womanhood that involves more "force" and intensity than necessary. I have seen this numerous times with female friends and lovers).

There is a lot more to the famous Persephone myth, but the lead up to her ruling in the underworld, eating the famous pomegranate seeds, and the mourning of Demeter and the creation of the seasons, often gets short shrift in the mythological retelling. But in reality, it's the whole point.

The restriction of the sexual energy, the attempt to "correct fate" by cutting the daughter off from the alleged 'dangers" of male sexuality, only leads to greater and greater pressure for the sexual impulse to express itself, resulting in the fiercest and most violent sexual experience a woman can have (for the most part), rape and abduction.

I tell this story now to draw parallels to the efforts of many sex worker women (also with man issues) to Self-Demeter themselves and try to "cure" the man problem for them, either by sexual mastery, sexual dominance, or emotional withholding (or all of the above). The results can vary - certainly many of these women eventually encounter violent men who destroy the fantasy of self-sufficiency. Many of them lead lives of quiet misery as motherhood and social acceptance elude them and as they feel the very real sense of emptiness that comes when they "win" at the game of life by being completely unbowing to the will of a powerful man (the same way male masturbators feel empty when they solve their own "girl problem" by wanking to fake images of porn).

And some of them make the mistake of tripping into a love affair with a truly dominant man, the kind of man their heart can not help but open for, the kind of man they long to give themselves up to, the kind of man who makes them feel they can finally surrender control to and release into the fullness of their womanhood. But then the bill cums due. The deal they made to close off their hearts in exchange for the safety of (imagined) control must be honored, and their vaginas pay the price. Their bodies fail them the moment their heart betrays their arrangement, and they can not find their release into the fullness of their pleasure while at the same time preserving the fullness of their love.

That reward is reserved for the truly surrendered woman, the deeply feminine woman, the un-tainted woman who never felt the fear of men that would cause her to make that devil's deal in the first place. Dare I say, it is the fate of the virginal girl, too innocent to know any better than to give in to the guidance of her heart and pray that it tears open for a man who will give in to his own heart's swelling to protection and cherishing that should be what her own opening evokes in him.

This is the perfect ying yang balance, and the longer I live, the more it seems almost like a Platonic ideal that we may never reach. But there it is. . .the north star of our loves, the guiding hand of our instincts to procreate, thrive, and experience our deepest pleasures and fulfillments in our bodies while we live.

In reality, everyone makes compromises. That kind of innocence is almost the stuff of fairy tales today. But nonetheless, it can remain our north star and guidepost to the journeys our hearts were meant to take before the divers distortions so freely cut short nature's true path.

In the end, life is not meant to be "won." It is not meant to be solved. It is meant to be lived, and that involves risk and eventual death no matter what we do. That's the whole point. Our arrogant attempts to be As Gods, to crack the code and live immortally without fear of suffering or death - as good as that sounds, it takes all the life out of life (which is why the Gods of mythology themselves are so bored that they continuously meddle in the affairs of the much more interesting mortals).

What compromises, what distortions, what Mephistophelean deals have you made to keep your heart from exactly what it needs the most? Are you brave enough now to cancel the contract, to revivify your heart with the innocence that can set it free? Or will you live on the see-saw, sacrificing now your love, now your sex for the delusion of safety and control?

That may be the greatest challenge yet for women, particularly in our modern era where they are bred for man-hating independence before they even know what it means (as most men are bred for a life in the masturbatorium long before they even realize the grave they are digging for themselves).

We have "solved" so much of life in our technological era - and I wouldn't want to live at any other time in history. But the seeds of our hearts will always force themselves through the cracks in the sidewalk, refusing to be paved over in safety forever.

Life must live. No matter the VR miracles we are about to experience, life demands to be felt, and we will induce no end of "irrational" suffering when we attempt to thwart its assertion in our lives. As we get colder and colder, more and more independent of nature, more godlike in our impermeability. . .that is the time more than ever to let life live through us, to not be fooled into thinking we have "won" and "finished the game."

People, the game does not finish. It drives us and drives us forever and ever. Best to learn it, to master it by surrendering as much of ourselves to it as we can stand. And then as the life courses through us, the candy land of our future imaginations can be enjoyed for what it is, not substituted for what it never could be - a life lived, on its own glorious terms, waiting to give us everything we can't find in all the tricks of our mind to salve our fears and conflicting wants. Life, pure and simple awaits us - and will never leave us until one day it does. Until that day, grasp it and ride it hard until your dying breath.

Post Script (2025): Reading this again, I realize that I had ignored one important bit of advice for men. I really didn't want to "go there" in terms of the best directives for male fulfillment because this notion hints at an unsolvable problem in human life.

But heartbreak upon heartbreak has taught me to heed the words of my best mentors that I had hoped I could escape with my own clever mix of ingenuity and patience: choose women wisely. Don't put your dick in the crazy. Don't mess with damage women.

Sigh.

This is, I hate to admit, some of the best advice you can receive. And I know that from having ignored it so, so many times.

As my best sex mentor used to say, "Choose Daddy's girls." These are the girls who unabashedly love and adore their fathers, who have learned to trust his guiding hand, and that his love will be there forever. The level of grounedness and self-esteem these women possess takes away 90% of the work of having to "undo" decades of queasiness and insecurities well over and above what God has gifted to women to tempt the savior mechanisms of noble men.

Looking back over my own roster of conquests, the lack of this self-possession is what has made it impossible for so many women to hand that possession over to me. They simply don't have it to give. They only have the quivering shell that has been covered up by hot pants and nipple piercings their entire lives.

This is an avenue for my own self-exploration. Surely it is easy enough to blame the thousands of cultural cues that have bred women "for the streets" and the fact that fully 80% of the remaining Daddy's Girls left in America are so comfortable with themselves that they have given way to obesity and indifference to the efforts required to actually capture the attention of non-daddies.

Whereas the girls who have mastered the art of male attractions generally have the biggest chasms to fill in their souls, so there is no bottom to be filled by male attention. Women's sexual desires are indeed insatiable, but the pathological filling of the soul void is different than the ever growing desire for more pleasure that rests on a core of satiety that the high self esteem woman possesses.

So this may be the answer: that the majority of modern women can't and won't e saved. That damages of fatherlessness, early feminism, and endless whoredom have pushed authentic love forever out of their grasp. What a horror for the world. But lack of fulfillment is nothing if not a hallmark of our very era where the promise of technological simulacra threatens to con all of us out of our very lives. And in this, women's love is both baby and bathwater, thrown away carelessly and indifferently by the nerds who will never receive it anyway in the hopes of evolving out of their own needs which must be distracted away from at every opportunity, lest their pent up rage crush civilization itself. But in a way, it has already done that The revenge of the nerds through technological wizzardry is an escape for them, not for the rest of us. Holding a woman who loves you in your arms is a kind of satisfaction no glorified toaster oven or whiz bang technology can ever provide. But that privilege is limited to the few and primarily for those who aren't preoccupied with ironing the now for the future and sacrificing the female heart in the process.

I don't like the idea that there are impossible causalities of the technological revolution and the dissolution of the family that had the est chance to cradle a woman's heart until it could stand on its own and surrender itself to a worthy man. But as my years on earth run out, and most of my efforts to correct this ill have failed in the long term, I fear that my better guidance must be that: choose better women if you want anything more than technical mastery in your sex. For the heart, undisguised by virtuosity sucking, this is the only lasting answer.