Last week I walked up three flights of stairs into a swanky spa on the Upper East Side lined with suggestive rose collages and purple-foiled gelt for the ultimate rejuvenation. No, I’m not talking about a facial or massage; I’m talking about getting needles in my nether regions, something few people with relatively satisfactory sex lives would ever consider.
But, as evident by what I’m about to tell you, I didn’t let the strangeness of it all phase me, and instead shed my jacket, plopped onto the plush white couch, and clicked through a consent form for what was sure to be an adventure, if not a solution to mediocre sex. I was just that ready to inject my clit and G-Spot with my own blood on a quest for the best, most toe-curling orgasm ever. Am I doing this in the name of journalism? Not totally! It’s also in the name of mind-blowing sex. Here’s how it all went down.
So, what exactly is an Orgasm Shot (O-Shot)? If you’ve ever heard of Kim Kardashian’s infamous vampire facial, or if you were intrigued enough to read my story on it earlier this month, you’re already halfway to understanding.
Like a vampire facial, an O-Shot is a Platelet Rich Plasma (PRP) treatment that’s geared toward rejuvenating the sensations in both the clitoris and G-Spot, and it is the second brainchild of Dr. Charles Runels, M.D. While PRP had been regularly used in sports medicine since the 1980s, with just about every injured athlete since then receiving PRP shots, it wasn’t until 2011 when Dr. Runels introduced the treatments to the world of cosmetics in the form of his trademarked Vampire Facial, that the wonders of PRP really started to catch on. As soon as he saw the booming success associated with his Kardashian-approved facial, he pioneered the O-Shot to pump vaginal tissue full of the same regenerative blood cells known for getting some of our favorite athletes off the bench and back on the court.
The process of an O-Shot, while non-surgical, involves first applying numbing cream to your clit and your G-Spot, so as to not create any traumatic memories during the experience. From there, a doctor draws your blood, spins it in a centrifuge, retrieves the platelets (the regenerating tissue in your blood cells), and pumps them back into your erogenous areas only after, this time, injecting the already-numb area with a heavy-duty local anesthetic.
Sounds painful, right? As someone who flinches so much at the dentist that I require laughing gas if a novocaine needle comes anywhere near my gums, I thought so too, at first—but more on that later.
But Why?This was the first question to pop out of all my friends’ mouths when I told them my latest assignment. Here’s the thing, once you get past the terror of needles lodging themselves into the most sensitive part of your entire body, there are some pretty awesome benefits which you can look forward to, especially if you’re incapable of orgasming from penetration or during sex as a whole due to whatever reason.
While I’m able to get off with what the lovely Kayden Kross geniously (and hilariously) describes as masturbatory planking (a method of laying on your back and clenching every single muscle from your abs down, until you feel like you’re going to get a charlie horse), paired with a hand of assistance in the clit department, I always thought it would be gab if it wasn’t so much work. Especially since, as a person with situational anxiety, the inability to come has led to countless inner debates over the years wondering if it’s somehow a sign that it’s not meant to be with whomever I’m with at the time, as if an orgasm is some kind of glass slipper. When in reality, like Ms. Kross doesn’t hesitate to point out, “a lot of men come at a clit assuming that it’s immediately ready to be rubbed hard and fast without any foreshadowing. Have you ever tried to jerk your limp dick off hard and fast?” Precisely.
So, to find out once and for all if I should have faith in my body being able to deliver without personal assistance, or just continue to stick to my own tricks and stop expecting someone else to make magic happen, I tapped VSPOT MediSpa’s Dr. Carolyn Delucia, OB/GYN, for the low-down.
She told me that PRP injected into the genitalia increases blood flow, nerve function, and collagen production. “In turn, this improves sensation and function, heightening orgasms and improving erectile function,” she says. That’s right, men can get in on this fun little experiment, too, only for them, it’s referred to as a Priapus Shot. (I can imagine just about every man in my life simultaneously cringing at the thought right about now.)
To sum it up: An O-Shot, however cringe-worthy it may seem, is painless, requires zero downtime, and results in, apart from what’s already been mentioned, everything from increased sexual desire and natural lubrication to greater arousal and stronger, more frequent orgasms. In other words, if you’re with your partner and, no matter how hard you try, a “stars collide”-type orgasm isn’t possible without doing it yourself, then this seemingly painful treatment could be totally life-changing.
But how long would it last? Since PRP is known for its regenerative properties, and because these benefits sounded nothing short of pleasantly pornographic, I had to ask if there was any chance of my platelets going all sci-fi, renewing my ability to orgasm like a lizard who had lost his tail and grown an even better one back. Much to my dismay, while these injections promote new tissue growth within three months, the effects of the procedure only last as long as it takes the particular patient to age the new tissue, though Dr. DeLucia points out that the longest-lasting reported O-Shot stretched on for seven years in benefits, while the average ranks in around one. In other words, it’s hard to know what exactly you’re setting yourself up for when clicking through that iPad waiver, but with a treatment tagline claiming that “better sex is in your blood—literally,” how could you not be at least a little curious?
Much like when I was preparing for my Vampire Facial at Skinfluence, I had naysayers and non-beauty-believers giving their two cents as I prepared for my appointment. In the days leading up to treatment, my roommate, a 30-something man, chimed in repeatedly by grabbing his bits and cringing in pain telling me quite simply that his “dick hurt just thinking about it,” while my best friend cringed at the idea of what I was about to undergo, considering she couldn’t even fathom the PRP facial. I didn’t even bother telling my mom because, while I have no problem divulging such sensitive topics, I could only imagine how panicked she would be about the half-hour procedure. So instead I called her on my walk over to the spa with five minutes to spare to share my location at the very last minute in case, you know, this went terribly wrong. I hung up, took a deep breath, laughed at myself a bit, reminded myself that I’m that person who will try anything once (except for, you know, normal things like varying cuisines) and went in.
All of which takes us back to me sitting on that plush white couch, surrounded by those delicious chocolates. While I attempted to distract myself with sweets and reading anything in sight, the closer I got to 5pm, the more I began to feel my nerves. When Dr. Kathy Aligene, M.D., FABPMR, walked out to greet me, she instantly noticed and asked if I was afraid of needles. Nope? Well, what about blood? That’s a negative. It all came down to fearing that the vitality of easily one of my favorite body parts could be forever changed—and what if, however unlikely, it wasn’t for the good? At which point, I was reassured that there have been no long-term negative side effects, but that there was a possibility of sensitivity for a few days.
At the time, I remained unfazed.
The Real Life Reactions and ResultsRemember how I said needles and blood don’t faze me? Yeah, well that was before I saw the whopper that made its debut to draw out what looked like two to three times as much as was used on my face during the Vampire Facial. And since I’m a genius who figured drinking pomegranate cherry sparkling water had to count as adequate hydration, I was insufficiently hydrated. One thing led to the next, and after watching my blood sputter into the tube slowly, as opposed to the fast stream typically seen during my monthly donations from my college days, your girl almost passed TF out. At which point, I was given more chocolate and, this time, Champagne, to calm the nerves, and told to bend my knees. At last, I felt better and could relax while the first round (a topical number) of numbing was smeared inside and out.
Then, of course, out came the dreaded anesthetic needle and the realization that said needle was about to invade my bits. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel a single thing. I continued to feel nothing (painful at least), apart from the slight pressure I was told to expect when my platelets were injected into both areas of stimulation. Easy breezy.
Dr. Aligene peeled off her gloves smiling, signaling that it was over and done with. I, of course, wondered if my clit looked as large and in charge as it felt, and she asked if I wanted to see. I mean, duh. After being both shocked and satisfied with the proof of my procedure, she told me that I couldn’t have sex for three days to avoid any infections due to fluids seeping into the tiny needle incisions. Thinking that I had worried for nothing, I internally sighed and rolled my eyes at myself before standing up to dress and leave and… OMFG.
To put it as PG as possible: You know that scene in The Ugly Truth where Gerard Butler has control of Katherine Heigl’s vibrating underwear and he continually buzzes her before losing the buzzer to another guest who doesn’t know what it is and repeatedly keeps hitting the button, leaving poor Katherine on the verge of simultaneous tears and orgasms without actually ever getting off. Yeah… that was me for the next six hours.
In a case of what I can only imagine blue balls feel like, I would just apply some pressure and get on with it. The only problem in this little scenario is that I couldn’t feel a damn thing apart from what was internally happening inside my clit. As a result, I had trouble walking, going up and down stairs, sitting down and sitting still, all of which my best friend had the pleasure of getting a real kick out of while I FaceTimed her through it all, simply because I felt like I was going to explode with every movement, at about any given minute. Yeah, “short-term sensitivity,” they said.
Okay fine, technically in the world of medical treatments, six hours really isn’t that long. But in the world of edging, come on.
That night I fell asleep to numbness and woke up feeling fine, albeit slightly bruised. Knowing I couldn’t play or engage, I kept it hands-off to give this miracle treatment a chance of actually working as promised. While I abided by the rules, certain things, like wiping, were unavoidable and I learned very quickly that I might want to adopt some sort of male shaking method because, fuck, that shit hurt.
By day six, my bits were back to feeling normal, albeit still engorged. It was officially time to put the treatment to the test. I got out my favorite Chakrubs amethyst dildo, clicked into some amateur, and made magic happen. And I mean magic.
The first time I went straight for the G-spot since that’s my stubborn area. Sure enough, without a single finger getting near my clit, there it was, an orgasm that was deep and throbbing and toe-curling like never before. Okay, so that was settled. But, what about my clit? Same thing. While I was already fast in that area pre-treatment (at least, when I’m in charge), the extra blood flow made for an almost instantaneous explosion, which only makes my imagination soar as to what my sex life’s about to be like in the year to come while this treatment does its damn thing.