Written by Today I bring you a time-delayed simulcast, shall we say, from my Donuts & Desires blog:
A while ago, I wrote a slightly TMI blog post on the politics and poetics of the French language orgasms. Put like that it sounds pretty dry, but it’s not. You can read that blog post here.
Or… I could recap very briefly. Basically, I wrote about this peculiarity of mine, where I have French orgasms on my own and English orgasms with my girlfriend Sweet. With an English-speaking girlfriend, I’ve always suppressed the French because, stupid as this may sound in the context of a relationship AND an officially bilingual country, one does get stamped a snob or a jerk speaking French in English Canada. If the personal is political, the political can sure as hell be personal too.
So that’s the background.
And this is another TMI post on the topic. Be forewarned.
So, the other day my girlfriend was fucking me with a field cucumber. (Told you it was TMI!) After the initial “this thing is fricken huge” ache and moan, I really got into it. More than I’d ever imagined I could. Sweet kind of has a fetish for sticking weird things in me, and I just go with it. (And, let me tell you, English cucumbers do NOT measure up.)
Before I knew it, I was screaming and hollering. Looking back, I think it took a while for me to realize all the words coming out of my mouth were French. At that point, I was on a roll. I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to, and I couldn’t switch languages. I was on auto-pilot, no control over which language came out of my mouth.
So I went with it. For the first time ever, I experienced an entire extended orgasm in French with my girlfriend. First. Time. Ever.
After the fact, Sweet brought it up a couple times. She seemed fascinated, and it was neat to get her take on the experience of switching languages:
Sweet: It was so strange … like all of a sudden you were speaking in tongues.
Me: Oh really? That’s cute. You probably noticed before I did.
Sweet: I mean one second English and then French and I go … “What’s that? What is she saying? Is something wrong? Oh my god it’s French…”
Me: I think it was an entirely unselfconscious orgasm, because when I’m alone I usually come in french.
Sweet: I was just hoping that I wasn’t hurting you and you were wanting me to stop in French and I was missing it.
Me: Ohh yes…hmmm that could be a concern. I did actually think that, once I realized I wasn’t speaking English anymore. I was telling myself, “If you want her to stop, make sure she understands.”
Sweet: Oh I think I would understand STOP in French and if it was really bad you would say that … I just didnt want you to be saying “easy easy … gentle.”
Me: Ahhhh, no I think I was mainly saying YES and OH GOD and LIKE THAT LIKE THAT LIKE THAT and IT’S SO GOOD!
Sweet: The OH GOD and YES I got.
Me: Hehehe.
So that’s the latest on the French orgasm front. It’s funny how I’d never anticipated the whole “speaking in tongues” bit, or even the fact that she wouldn’t understand me and be concerned. All I was worried about was being seen as a language snob. Interesting.
And I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but throughout my adult life I’ve always thought the most romantic gesture anybody could ever offer me would be to learn to speak French. (Sweet? Hint, hint.)
Hugs,
Giselle
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OMG! (or, mon Dieu!) Where DID you get that photo?! Love it.