Thanks to an endless barrage of televised advertisements for Cialis and Viagra, every man knows what to do if he experiences an erection that lasts more than four hours: try jerking off one more time, and if that doesn’t work, put on an extremely loose pair of sweatpants and waddle into the nearest available Urgent Care center, where you will become another chapter in their ever-expanding “Hilarious Walk-In Cases” file, right next to the guy who had both a live ferret and a broken light bulb stuck deep inside his anus.
On the other hand, thanks to the well-documented tendency to view women’s medical problems as less serious, and more likely to be some manner of psychosomatic delusion, we have never been told what a woman is supposed to do when she experiences an orgasm lasting more than three hours.
Unfortunately, the story of the victim of this epic 180-plus minute sensory overload (identified only as “Liz from Seattle,” in published reports) really reveals very little that would be helpful to the next sufferer of an overly-long O.
We learn that Liz tried jumping up and down (which is, perhaps, the equivalent of “try rebooting your computer” within the Orgasm Tech-Support world), gave drinking wine to calm down a shot (whisky might have been a more effective choice) and otherwise tried “just about every possible thing I could do to stop having an orgasm.”
Honestly, it’s a bit hard for me to relate to Liz as a g-spot tornado victim, since my problems with orgasms tend to run in the opposite direction: too brief, too fleeting, and too often followed by me saying something like: “Seriously? You’re already done? Too sleepy to keep going?? Fuck!”
OK so maybe after several hours of sustained orgasm, I’d be contemplating a vow of celibacy and the myriad benefits of spending the rest of my life in a secluded convent, but still…. I’d like to find out what endless cumming feels like, the hard way.
Would my eyeballs eventually get sore from rolling back in my head? Would I be able to walk the next day, or would my calves need more time (and non-sexual fluid intake) before they stopped cramping up? Would the earth beneath my bed open up and swallow me whole in Heavenly retribution to my unfortunate tendency to spit out random combinations of the words “fuck,” “me” and “Jesus,” while I’m cumming?
It’s probably just my ego talking, but I think I could handle it. In the world of men, some have what it takes to get through the BUD/S training that the Navy Seals subjects them to, while others are broken by the experience. OK, so a three hour orgasm isn’t quite the same thing as doing over five days of continuous training while functioning on a total of four hours sleep over those days, but I sincerely believe I could be the GI Jane of Poughkeepsie, or even a pioneer in a new form of cardiovascular cross-training known as “POP,” or the Protracted Orgasm Protocol.
If nothing else, “Cum Yourself Thin” would make one hell of a compelling marketing slogan, no?
