That’s right: I am the Usain Bolt of squirting, the Tom Brady of liquid expulsion, and the Michael Jordan of fluid volume. Unlike these respective G.O.A.T.s, I didn’t prepare for this title my whole life. In fact, I never wanted to squirt in the first place.
Squirt is the colloquial term for the fluid expelled from the vulvovaginal area during a period of sexual stimulation or pleasure. To get some answers to some burning questions out of the way: No, squirting does not require an orgasm, but can certainly accompany one. Most people with a vulva are capable of squirting if they have a good relationship with and understanding of their vulva and pelvic floor, but not everyone squirts, and it isn’t inherently better to be able to or not be able to. Squirt is not the same as pee. It is squirt! That’s why we call it squirt and not “sexy pee.” And squirting is not peeing. It’s a completely different physiological function. There are also some studies that point to ejaculate and squirt being two different things, but research is ongoing.
If you would’ve asked me in my 20s if I would not only set but defend my own record for volume squirted in a one-minute period, I would’ve asked you, “What the hell is squirting?”
Seven years ago, in a cramped apartment on St. Mark’s in Manhattan, I first became aware of fluid release during a sexual experience. It was a pivotal moment in my life. I developed feelings for someone for the first time, I thought I might have my first serious relationship, and I discovered something I had no idea my body was capable of.
That first time I squirted wasn’t a result of anything special. It was your run-of-the-mill, purely external oral sex. I was only aware I squirted because my partner told me. When we finally had penetrative sex, I didn’t need his alert. There was enough evidence from the poor mattress I totaled.
I never wanted to squirt. I wasn’t trying to “hit that spot” or achieve new pleasure. It just… happened.
That relationship unfortunately ended shortly thereafter, so I did what any heartbroken, sexually frustrated person would do. I locked myself in my room and masturbated until I was able to replicate that same sensation. If my body could do this on its own, what else could it do? Curiosity killed the cat — or in this case, my pussy.
In the weeks that followed, I set my body through a series of challenges, continuously amazed at my new discoveries, from setting a fountain stream from one end of the bathtub to the other — to squirting while standing, sitting, without orgasming and sometimes without any stimulation at all. I fell back on this new skill as a way to satisfy those who passed through my bedroom. It made them feel like excellent lovers even though it had little to do with their skill. It was a fun party trick, even if I didn’t orgasm. I was seeking satisfaction from feeling desirable instead of prioritizing my own pleasure and comfort.
After the initial novelty wore off, this supposed skill became my sexual hindrance. It wasn’t a cute little one-off spurt. It was a never-ending, high-pressure hose. Technically, I can halt my squirting, but it also means stopping my pleasure.
All of this collided with my burgeoning career in sex education and my termination from a waitressing job. With the skill of squirting, the talent of teaching, and my lack of steady income, my squirting class was born. Initially, this was in response to an overwhelming cis-male focus in squirting education where the language centered on how to make your partner squirt, which treated the squirter as a passive recipient who does nothing besides let go and relax.
There needed to be more. Rather than taking a formulaic approach to squirting, finding the right spot or amount of pressure, I guide my students at their own pace, focusing on sensations and finding the kind of stimulation that feels good to each of them.
Then I came across a factoid that a scientist had determined that the maximum amount of liquid someone could squirt was 900 ml. What started out as a joke of singlehandedly crushing the statistic quickly turned into a very possible reality when I discovered there was no standing Guinness world record for the largest volume from squirting. So, I applied. Turns out, I wasn’t allowed to compete for the record due to the explicit nature of the record, as Guinness is a “family organization.”
With some digging into other sexual records, it was determined that if I set my record to Guinness standards with enough witnesses and journalists, I could call it mine. I chose the shortest amount of time allowed — a one-minute period — using only the assistance of one’s hand — meaning no partners and no toys.
That was my skill. Not only was I a high-volume faucet, but I could do so without external aid. I never penetrate myself nor orgasm. Those aren’t part of the record stipulations per say, but it is imperative to the point I want to make with a record.
Even though it didn’t matter how much I squirted to set that initial record because there was no preexisting record to break, my ego wanted to hit a liter. Before that historic day in February of 2019, I had not measured my squirt. Sure, I did squirting performances at venues in NYC like The Box and House of Yes, but I had never collected the fluid. So, when 1250 ml of my nectar filled two separate measuring cups, even I was astounded at how much my body could contain and expel.
Holding a squirting world record opened me up to as much scrutiny as it did publicity. This time, the proverbial floodgates opened with conversations from countless individuals about sub-par squirting experiences, stories of shame, partners pressuring them, and even concerns of other high-volume fluid producers.
Imagine the information we could have shared if there was a place to gather. Imagine the towels we could have saved and mattresses spared. This turned the conversation back to squirters instead of their admirers. Somehow, our experience of squirting had been made entirely about other people, whether the individuals who engage with us sexually or the people who debate the validity of our bodies’ capabilities.
Despite what science says my body is capable of, I squirt voluntarily, without correlation to orgasm. I set out to create this record partially because I am extremely competitive but also to start a conversation, using good old-fashioned shock and awe.
After six years of squirting and being the poster child of squirt — or the face of squirting on faces, if you will — no matter how many times I engage in the “is squirt pee?” conversation, there is no answer I give that will satisfy the masses who are typically comprised of people who don’t squirt. Sometimes, I wonder if their investment is from wanting to explain why their body doesn’t do it or because their power is threatened by not being responsible for someone’s bodily response. While I have my theories about the fluid, its contents, and where it comes from (and a new study theorizes it is partially made of urine but is not urine), I’m tired of giving this much attention to the pee conversation because who fucking cares. Don’t like it? Repulsed by it? Fine, move along. No one is forcing you to hook up with people who squirt.
I don’t squirt for the crowd, for my lovers, or for you. I squirt for me. I didn’t set this record for anyone else. After years of my body and its behavior being made about others or up for public scrutiny, I’m making of it what I want. It may be a far-fetched and over-the-top method of reclaiming my body while shifting the conversation, but it works for me. So when I embarked on defending my record in September of 2022, it was not due to my record being broken, but because I am that competitive ― even with myself.
When I set the initial record, I wasn’t competing against anyone. But this time, I had to contend with my past self. I bested my record by 100ml: 1350ml in the same 25 seconds. My spectators went from excited to shocked and finally concerned. I guess it is not as fun when it is a full swimming pool.
I produce an impossible amount of liquid during sex, even when I don’t want to. At times, the task of having to explain to lovers, hold their hands, deal with egos, accusations and manage cleanup is so daunting that I forgo sex altogether.
Squirting is a manner in which my body reacts. Sometimes I love it, but I appreciate having the space to hate it, be frustrated, or wish it away. Owning my body’s experience — in all its messiness — is freeing. The public can have its opinion on my world record; whether they think I’m focusing on something silly or faking it or they make it entirely about their desire is irrelevant. This is something I’m choosing to honor and celebrate about my own body in the hopes that others can find peace with theirs — even if it means hating it a little.
Lola Jean is a sex educator, fetish wrestler, headmistress of 7 Days of Domination, and World Record Holder for Volume Squirting (solo), who provides the No Frills Sex Education we both need and deserve. Lola brings a refreshing understanding to sex, sexuality, and kink to push individuals past what they think they are capable of.
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