Wednesday, May 16, 2012

May Is National Masturbation Month and I Am Celebrating!

**First, some meta-blogging—last night I read one of my smuttier blog posts in public for the first time. It felt great, especially the parts where they laughed. I’d been lagging a bit, but the combination of a few glasses of wine and a warm audience was very restorative. I woke up feeling like today was a holiday, a nice spark/sunbeam feeling for my upcoming adventures—gonna try my best to keep them going. Thanks a jillion to the wonderful hostess and audience—I think I know what the next steps are.**

So May is National Masturbation Month, and it coincides with the fact that I have been dawdling through the self-love exercises in Jaclyn Friedman’s What You Really Really Want. One of the things she recommends is to try masturbating every day for seven days. I would have done that anyway, but she says to try and make it special, to really try and push your boundaries. I recommend trying this—even a handsy-from-way-back girl like me can always learn some new tricks. I’m shy to share some of the experiments here, but here’s a favorite recent self-adventure:

On Sunday when Sweetie and I were driving back from a trip, I was feeling antsy because we’d been away from our bed and missed out weekend sex-reading-napping routine. Also I’d been reading Wicked before we left, which I’m surprised to note is pretty hot in places. So I asked Sweetie if she would mind if I took some personal time on the road. She suggested that I wait until after we stopped for gas, but thought it was a fine idea.

As I laid the seat back, Sweetie offered to switch over to music from her usual podcasts, but I didn’t think that listening to the Extra Hot Great crowd talk about The Avengers would have a bad effect. It seemed oddly fitting.

I borrowed her big green zip-up hoodie to put over me like a blanket. I wanted to show off but didn’t want to be too much of a highway pervert. I pulled my white lacy tank top up and pulled my books out of the cups of my shiny pink bra. I flashed them a little bit, letting the sweatshirt/blanket sit just beneath them. I imagined that truckers were driving by and looking down at me.

I was slow and shy, just brushing my nipples with my fingertips at first, closing my eyes and feeling the sun on my face, looking up at the sky or Sweetie. I felt a little guilty for not asking her to join in. I played with my boobs for miles and miles. I loved letting them poke out from my shirt, seeing them stick up like perfect pink peaks in the sun. I love them so much.

Once I reached down into my pants, it didn’t take long at all to finish. I was very quiet, almost like I had to be stealthy so that the traffic wouldn’t notice. I couldn’t find a napkin, so I wiped my hand off on my jeans. Pretty soon, it was my turn to drive, and time to switch the podcast over to Judge John Hodgman.

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