American Scientist

JUICE: A History of Female Ejaculation. Stephanie Haerdle, translated by Elisabeth Lauffer. 244 pp. The MIT Press, 2024. $19.95.

In the domain of human anatomy and sexuality, the story of the vulva and the fluids it can emit during sexual pleasure has often been muddled by mystery, misconceptions, and cultural taboos. Juice: A History of Female Ejaculation by Stephanie Haerdle and translated by Elisabeth Lauffer renders a unique perspective. Exploring one of the most overlooked aspects of female sexuality, female ejaculation, Juice painstakingly details the historical and cultural evolution of emissions in women and people with vulvas. Haerdle informs readers of the female ejaculation phenomenon while connecting it to the larger story of how female anatomy has been perceived in science and society over the centuries.

Aiming to tell the story of effusions in people with vulvas, the first third of the book shares ancient cultural beliefs from China and India and the philosophy of the modern age. The longest chapter of the book, “Ejaculation and Pollution, Wet Dreams, and Joy Flow,” delves into the ideals of sexologists such as Paola Mantegazza, who believed women were superior to men when it came to ejaculation. Later in the chapter, readers are introduced to Mary Jane Sherfey, an American doctor and writer whose 1966 book The Nature and Evolution of Female Sexuality would revolutionize how we envision pleasure. In the book's final chapters, Haerdle revisits the anatomy of the genitalia through doctors Alice Kahn Ladas, Beverly Whipple, and John D. Perry, whose research focused on surgical and medical procedures performed on the pubococcygeus muscle, which controls the flow of urine, and surrounding areas. Their book G Spot would later spark division in the feminist movement by “establishing new sexual standards (female ejaculation!) and resurrecting old ideals (vaginal penetration, vaginal orgasm!).” The discourse would pave the way for pioneers Shannon Bell, Annie Sprinkle, and Deborah Sundahl, leading to a new narrative as activists of what Haerdle refers to as “ejaculation superheroines.”

The book begins by delving into ancient and medieval perspectives spread through religious literature, which depict the limited knowledge of the reproduction system and the—often mythologized— role of the female sexual fluids. For instance, ancient Chinese literature and tales portrayed sex positively and believed bodily secretion was vital to the “sexual union” of a man and woman. Ancient Greek and Roman physicians theorized that the bodies of women and men mirrored each other. Female ejaculation, if mentioned, was considered an anomaly, rather than a normal bodily function. European medieval theorists would later adopt one and two-seed theories that men and women contributed to conception. During the 17th and 18th centuries, Roman Catholic writings from theologians such as Thomas Sanchez would recognize the female seed as vital for contraception. The Catholic Church would later distance itself from the idea of the female seed, while medieval Christian traditions still found female seed necessary for conception and a sign of female desire. Eighteenth-century male scientists later set the stage for centuries of suppression and misunderstanding by demonizing and dismissing female fluids and ejaculation.

Things get especially interesting when the book’s focus shifts to the modern scientific study of female ejaculation. Pioneering researchers such as William H. Masters and Virginia E. Johnson’s studies of the anatomy and physiology of human sexual response helped demystify female sexuality, but left numerous questions about female ejaculation unanswered, including: Does female ejaculation come from an organ? Do women have prostate glands? Is the fluid prostata feminine a secretion? These questions only fueled the long-standing divide in modern science about theories of the clitoris versus the vagina and the roles they play in female ejaculation—so much so that Ernest Gräfenberg became an advocate of the prostata feminine; his studies identified an “erogenous zone … along the suburethral surface of the anterior vaginal wall.” Gräfenberg would later publish an article about the role of the urethra in female orgasm. He was widely ignored until Beverly Whipple and John D. Perry dubbed the urethra’s role in female orgasm as the Gräfenberg Spot or the G-spot.

In the 1960s, a licensed psychiatrist, Mary Jane Sherfey, discovered links among evolutionary biology, embryology, gynecology, psychiatry, and ethnology through her study of the sexual differentiation in human embryos and evolutionary female sexuality and response. Haerdle writes, “Among other things, Sherfey explains that ‘the mammalian male is derived from the female and not the other way around,’ how male genitals develop from female structures, and why this means phases of arousal (including erection) and orgasm are more or less identical in women and men.” Haerdle goes on to share how Sherfey’s research dismantled the Freudian thought that women’s genitalia are “stunted or castrated” by illustrating the internal part of the clitoris.

Haerdle also dissects popular culture’s role in the general attitude toward female ejaculation. The latter half of the book takes a deep dive into the role pornography has played in this attitude, with its exaggerated depiction of “squirting,” turning what some women viewed as a typical experience into something exotic or fetishized. Separate from female ejaculation, research suggests that squirting is a sudden expulsion of fluid that comes from the bladder and contains urine, whereas female ejaculation contains urine and substances from the Skene’s gland. She also points out that female ejaculation is still largely absent from universally accepted sexual education. In the mid-1980s, Canadian activist Shannon Bell and sex researchers such as Annie Sprinkle would emerge to challenge the “traditional” representation of the female body. It was argued that the term “female ejaculation” was problematic because the term led to the identification of “male faculty.” Sprinkle’s route to demystifying sexual education led her to make what Haerdle describes as a mix of an instructional video and porn. Talking to her viewers and inviting them to join her (Sprinkle) for a hands-on experience, her film Deep Inside Annie Sprinkle unknowingly depicts ejaculation.

At the time, “when I made this movie, a lot of people, including many porn directors, weren’t sure if women could actually have real orgasm,” Sprinkle writes. “And even if they could, they weren’t important, anyways, because there was no sperm! But now I was directing. I wanted to show a real woman’s orgasm.”

There are still women who do not know that female ejaculation exists, and by bringing these conversations to the forefront, Juice calls for a more open and informed dialogue about female sexual health and pleasure.

Juice: A History of Female Ejaculation is a necessary contribution to the ongoing conversation about female sexuality and the body. Haerdle’s weaving of historical, scientific, and cultural perspectives offers a thoughtful critique of how society has often misunderstood female anatomy. The book challenges long-established taboos and advocates for a more informed and open approach to female sexual health, inviting us to reconsider our preconceived notions and foster a more inclusive dialogue. Haerdle’s detailed history of the fluctuation of female ejaculation is a reminder that science is ever evolving and that there is still more to discover about women and people with vulvas.