There is a certain irony to writing about orgasms when I have ceded control over mine to the sadist and am allowed very few indeed. Even then, they are still his, elicited for the pleasure he derives from observing my responses and relishing the sounds of my moans and whimpers and indescribable noises followed by a rising sequence of squeezed squeals and then soul-shaking sobs.
Oh, he does enjoy the sounds I create for him.
But I'm not writing about those orgasms. And some might not even think to grant the noble name of Orgasm to what I am about to describe. But there is no question that this is what they are. There is the pleasurable stimulation, the rising tension, and then a physical manifestation of release. Sometimes there is even an unguarded escape of noises at the moment of climax. However, there is nothing obviously sexual in the activity. There is no cock deep inside me, no hand caressing my clit, no fingers pinching my nipples, no mouth melding into mine.
You can't see the lover who forces such a response from my body.
My molester is music.
Now here I'm afraid I have to be a little evasive. For the reaction I'm revealing is caused by a specific family of instruments. My friends, who are totally oblivious to my kinky alter ego, are well aware of my love for these magical arrays of strings. Some have heard me describe how the music strikes me in the womb, and my very best friend has been with me as the tremors flash through my helpless body. I'd hate to have one of our crowd Google the instrument and come across this post.
I will say that they are multi-stringed folk instruments. Lots and lots and lots of strings. Requiring lots and lots of tuning. And when everything is in harmony, the whole world vibrates. If you really want to discuss it further, please e-mail me privately.
What I said about the effect on my womb is not metaphor. It really happens. As the sounds and the joy and the exuberance and the lushness of the tunes and harmonies and ornaments swirl around me, they set off these little contractions in my womb.
And I always use that term.
It seems much more primal than the other one.
So the contractions start and the tension spreads through my body and I am high on the ecstasy of the music and I'm grinning ear to ear except then suddenly I'm not grinning and I get that look - you know that look - not exactly a grimace here in the middle of a concert but my eyes change and the texture of my face changes and my lips part and my breathing... I'm not sure what my breathing does, by that point I'm not observing very well and then all of a sudden it happens.
A sharp shiver shakes my body from top to bottom.
If you were sitting next to me, you couldn't miss it.
You might pass it off for a sudden chill.
But it was quite the opposite.
Things became much too hot.
Among the world's stringed instruments, there are those equipped with what are known as sympathetic strings. These are not played directly. They are neither bowed nor plucked. They just hum along. When properly tuned, they respond to the song of the stimulated strings, forming a heavenly backup chorus. An example in Western music is the viola d'amore; folk instruments range from the sitar to the gudulka and the hardingfele.
My womb contains a set of sympathetic strings.
And when I hear my favorite music played, I have no choice.
Written by invitation for little girl's project orgasm. You can read about lg's own orgasmic experiences here: parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6. Then check out today's post for links to the many courses in a big, potluck project orgasm holiday party. See you there!