On the surface, it sounds like a blessing. I squirt a lot. For some, that might sound exciting or even enviable. For me, it’s becoming a private nightmare that’s slowly eating away at my confidence, my sexuality, and my ability to connect intimately with others. At first, I didn’t think much of it. It started gradually—just during sex or intense pleasure. But now, it’s gotten to the point where even the smallest touch, a kiss, or the slightest arousal can trigger it. And while people are usually intrigued in the beginning, the excitement fades fast once reality sets in. I’ve watched relationships dissolve because of this.
The first time, it’s playful. The second, it’s still tolerable. But by the third visit, I can already feel the shift. They stop texting. They don’t pick up when I call. They don’t say it’s the squirting, but I know. I understand their frustration—wet beds, soaked furniture, the awkwardness of it all. It’s not s€xy anymore. It’s work. It’s messy. And it makes me feel like I’m too much. It’s not just partners who are affected—I am too. Even when I’m alone and feeling aroused, I stop myself.
I avoid touching myself because I know what comes next: water everywhere, exhaustion, and cleanup. Just last night, I tried ma$turbating on the floor instead of my bed. I ended up lying in a pool, mopping for what felt like hours. The pleasure wasn’t worth the aftermath. I’m sincerely tired. Tired of being hyper-aware of my body’s reactions. Tired of holding myself back from intimacy. Tired of feeling like something that’s supposed to be fun has become a burden I didn’t ask for.
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