**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.
