I am the great-granddaughter of Clarinda Randolph.
She is no one any of you might know, but I want to call her by name as many women, unlike men, are not named in stories of history. She divorced her husband in the 1870's, an uncommon thing to do in that era. By looking through the lens of time, I believe that Victoria Woodhull inspired her to take that rare stand. Woodhull was another uncommon woman of her day. She ran for president in 1872, was out-spoken about her belief of free love, and divorced in the same decade a few years before my great-grandmother did. Woodhull's divorce was big news in the newspapers at the time.
Masturbation has been a big part of my life, always. Orgasm, on the other hand, the real true knowledge and feeling of it and when it first happened, is far more vague in my memory.
I feel sure I had orgasms in my teen years and even in childhood but none standout as this one particular night in 1973 when I was 20. I was reading The Sensuous Woman, a popular book at the time, by “J.” I took to heart her message that said, “In order to really know your body's sexual response you have to masturbate to orgasm as if you are practicing for football, every day, vigorously and for hours.”
For a little over 10 years my most common way to “come” was squirting or ejaculating, whatever term you prefer and if you believe it's a real come or not.
It started when a lover of mine, after he and I had had a delicious day of outdoor exhibitionist sex at one of our local nude beaches, didn't let up on my pussy's ravenous hunger for penetration. He deftly worked a curved tip dildo in and out of my vagina while I writhed happily on the back seat of his volvo. I massaged my clit with whatever lube we had at the time and mixed it in with a little bit of wine for a Bacchus aromatic effect.