blowero, depends on the type of orgasm, really. There are “oh, that’s nice” orgasms, “okay, let’s get this show on the road” orgasms, and there are “okay, I’m done now, get the hell off me” orgasms. It’s hard to describe the difference in them, but there is a difference, and it’s pretty important.
The first type are purely physiological responses. They’re what happens when your body responds to what’s going on, but your mind and spirit aren’t really into the proceedings. They feel good, and they relieve a certain amount of tension, but they’re not particularly intense, nor are they very satisfying.
The second type are more intense, but they’re essentially appetizers–tasty, but it’s going to take a hell of a lot of them to satisfy you instead of just whetting your appetite. You have to be pretty into it mentally for these to happen, and the more of them you have, the more into it you are, so the more of them you have and the more intense they get.
The last type…well, you have to have your mind pretty firmly on the job at hand for them to happen. They’re the only ones I’d describe as any way cathartic. It feels like your head has exploded and your brains are trickling out your ears, and your body is so sensitive that you’re going to need a break for a while before anything else happens. Thought and movement are pretty much impossible during the refractory period, and you just want to snuggle up and go to sleep.
Jackaroe, I didn’t understand the concept either, till I finally found a job down here. My routine went something like this: get up, make bed, feed pets, clean kitchen from husband’s breakfast, eat, do laundry, straighten rest of house, go to work for anywhere from 9 to 13 hours without a chance to eat or sit down, come home, feed the pets, do dishes and put away food and clean kitchen from husband’s dinner, put away the stuff he’d strung all over the house, eat, finally sit down for a while, then go to bed so I could do it all again the next day. On my days off, I did the floors and scrubbed the toilets and mowed the yard and hauled the trash down to the curb and cleaned the kitchen after dinner. He came home from the hospital, and flopped himself down in front of the computer. Sometimes he’d cook dinner, but sometimes he never moved until he went to bed. Sometimes he was working 30-hour days, but more frequently he was working 7-hour days and complaining about how exhausted he was. Let’s just say he didn’t get a hell of a lot of sympathy from this direction, and leave it at that.
No, he wasn’t deliberately trying to drive me batshit, but working that kind of schedule combined with pretty much all the household stuff combined with the three weeks or so it took him to “get around to” doing anything I asked him to do was sending me straight round the bend. Everything he didn’t get around to just became more shit I had to get done, and pushed the things I’d like to do further down the list of priorities. Sex got pushed further and further down, till it just left the charts altogether because I just didn’t have the time, energy, or inclination to think about it, much less do it.