My daily routine has once again changed. Gone has my debilitating morning sickness that made me massively horny, yet sofa-bound for nearly nine months, filling my days with searching for new internet porn to fuel my hormonally erratic body.
It’s now been replaced with caring for another little person, or increased obsessive activity on Twitter. Add to that I’m now blogging on two different accounts, plus I’m actually reading; proper books and everything! Throw in overtiredness and being covered in vomit and understandably my masturbation habit is fairly low at the moment. It’s at best, a bedtime fumble usually ending in my snoring before orgasm.
I know the stereotype of teenage boys and their constant jerking off but what did teenager girls do? My friends are pretty open about sex and some are just perverse, yet we never seem to cover the topic of self-appreciation.
Do men even talk about masturbation?
I can remember being about 15 years old when I thought I best try and see what this masturbation business is all about. I’d had unsatisfactory sex with a boy that I would continue to do so with for a full year. It wasn’t anything to get fussed about and I’m guessing I didn’t really know what I was doing, alone or with another person. I tried using a few household implements and then pretty much gave up. I have just slumped back against the sofa for a few minutes, debating aloud whether or not to reveal the household items that I used to try and get myself off…
… I have decided it shall remain just for me. It wasn’t a vegetable or fruit though!
After trading in the useless boy for another useless boy, my sex life even though basic, always remained constant. I tried to discuss masturbation with my new boyfriend as I was curious about his technique and habits. He was mortified. He said he didn’t, never really had and never particularly enjoyed it, that he needed to be with another person and alone was somehow, just plain wrong. I tried to tell him of my findings and again he looked horrified.
I felt embarrassed and vowed never to a) touch myself again or b) tell anyone else that I have EVER touched myself.
I wasted several years between the age of sixteen and twenty with this clueless, unadventurous, uninteresting lump until finally coming to my senses.
Maybe being a late starter and not reaching my stride until my twenties was a positive thing. It has become my favourite pastime and more so, required daily to function. I feel my sexual performance has been massively enhanced by masturbation so I find it difficult to comprehend when somebody is threatened by it, yet they have been. I’ve regularly wanked through my twenties but it reached fever pitch at twenty-eight. This rumour about hitting thirty makes you dirty, in my case, is true. My libido went off the chart, my inhibitions vanished, adventurous urges gave me courage to try EVERYTHING and at times, I became insatiable.
Why be threatened by another person touching their own body? I have never replaced sex with it and love partaking in mutual masturbation or being watched as I touch alone. Even after a heavy sex session I will happily bring myself to orgasm again and again and again. Most seem entertained, but one particularly young inexperienced lover sulked out of the house, face flushed, almost furiously insecure than I somehow needed more than he had just given.
Sometimes I feel a little cruel when I’ve text my husband at work (during times I have been absent due to illness and have spent the day, half asleep, curled up with porn) to brag about the number of times I’ve cum so far. Instead of finding it endearing or arousing, I think he just begrudges.
My craving for orgasms and my libido have several times been addressed during rows with the husband as he deems me, abnormal I guess? I’m not even sure. I absolutely know he feels no threat though. I guess I’m lucky that I don’t have to hide away, even more lucky that he will go on an internet hunt for porn for me too. I know he thinks sex in general is too high up my agenda but I’m a basic kind of person.
Eat, Sleep, Fuck and Love. It’s all I need. Oh and Music.
Is it wrong that I put sex ahead of love? I think I could go through life unloved but not go without sex? If I was loved, it wouldn’t be enough without physical pleasure? I can be fairly demonic though about sex and I can only describe myself on occasion as being compared to the Terminator’s driven determination to extinguish John Connor as my NEED to cum. I admit that during frenzied times, I have had to slope off to the toilets at work to orgasm but then I tend to go through phases from normality to extreme and have sought after professional help in more ways than one for potential sex addition. I have been mentally in a place when I found it hard to concentrate during daily routine without 9-12 orgasms per day, needed at regular intervals to clear my head. When I’m in the zone I am constantly aroused, very aggressive and extremely focused like an animal, hunting. This on occasion has gotten me into stupid situations which caused the seeking of help, but during these periods my wanking can fuel the feeling rather than easing the tension.
I masturbate wherever, whenever…
I’ve used such variety of tools to aid, ranging from the usual sex shop toys (used to be a party host for one particular company so had many on hand) and household objects (my favourite being a spoon or paintbrush.) My confession, pretty repulsive I know, but being so desperate to try out a new vibrator and being of the “Terminator” mind set, I used it the demo sex toy then returned it back to the party kit, to be handed around guests. I did sterilise it afterwards!
I’ve been caught wanking so many times by friends and family but I think I have managed to move just in the nick of time. I’ve wanked on camera, for photographs, during telephone calls, in the bath, the shower, the garden and the car in Tesco car-park, after a particularly stressful shopping trip.
I have used masturbation as part of a game, being submissive and letting another decide how and when I can finally cum or how long I have to wait between wanks. I’ve been timed. Given a certain amount of minutes to get myself off otherwise I miss out and lose the opportunity. I’ve even been presented with knickers with the words “banned” and been told to abstain until further notice. I must admit, I had mixed feelings, loving the loss of control and it being handed over to another but struggling to resist my addiction.
I use orgasms to celebrate, to release tension or anger and to invigorate myself but the biggest motivation is sleep. How wonderful to drift off after leg trembling jolts tire your body until your muscles relax and you head is no longer filled with thoughts of the day but filthy flashes or dirty visions. The only drawback being waking up several hours later with your knickers half removed or shamefully, several occurrences, of still having the dildo inside of me (which took me a few moments to realise what the hell was going on.)
During pregnancy, orgasms became my focus. Being absent from work from 14 weeks onwards, my days became filled by clocking up the masturbation miles. Incessant horniness was a factor, also the unproven theory that orgasms would either start off my labour or perhaps at least aid it. I think I was averaging about 8/9 times a day and heavily using internet porn.
I guess the point of this post although, reading back, I can see how it struggles to make it, is I have no clue if I’m normal? I can’t even compare myself to others as no female friends will venture into discussion more than a random jokey comment about bean flicking. I have seen clips from CH4 The Sex Education Show this week where a teenage boy stereotypically asked…”Can you masturbating too much?” I didn’t even see the answer. But should a thirty…three year old woman be able to wank a teenager under the table? That phrase doesn’t really work well here does it?
I guess I don’t care. The Husband shouldn’t and doesn’t either. Maybe it’s just a very big part of who I am now.
So it’s back to the tiredness and having to start over all over again, after giving birth. It’s a weird thing and maybe it is just me, but after having a baby, my orgasm vanishes. It becomes pathetic and feeble and requires practice to build it back to normal. It can just last for seconds or tickle too much but I’m in training and it won’t be long before I’m proudly masturbating more than a teenage boy, again!