Stamped: January 23rd, 2007 | Toggle Similar
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I wrote this a few months back for a magazine I used to contribute to but I never turned it in and I don't remember why not. I was going to read this at the Smut show last night but my other piece was too long. So I'm posting it here now. Why?

Because everyone likes to talk about masturbation!!

Everybody does it.

My first time, I was twelve. A beautiful Saturday morning, lots of southern sunshine streaming through my bedroom blinds. Mom rustling around in the kitchen, the sounds of my brother’s cartoons drifting up from the living room. And me, a skinny slightly gawky preteen nestled beneath mounds of blankets, relishing every moment that was The Weekend. Of course as I lazed, my thoughts inevitably turned to Him. Bryan Kelly. I gave him a nice once-over in my mind’s eye, savoring every inch of his thirteen-year-old hotness. In my imagination the fact that I was a good four inches taller than him didn’t matter, after all, there weren’t many people in my class taller than me. In my fantasy we end up next to each other at a school pep rally. He whispers into my ear that he’d like to see a little more of me and suddenly we’re in the locker room and he’s kissing me and I’m kissing him and it’s amazing and I need to touch myself to make it feel more real and
OH MY GOD

A feeling like nothing else washes over me. I’d played out the locker room scenario a million times but until that fateful Saturday my hands had never ventured south of my developing breasts. But now, now, I felt absolutely amazing. My legs were still shaking in the aftermath of…of whatever that incredible feeling was.

Then came the guilt.

I lay quietly for a moment, my heart racing. As the white hot shock of the pleasure faded away, a deep dark cloak of guilt took its place. I just touched myself. And I liked it. And that, according to everything my mother and father had ever instilled in me about my “privates,” was most definitely Wrong. Privates are meant to be covered and no one can see them. I’d rarely even looked Down There. But now I’d crossed the line. I felt around and it felt good and since I was a nice Christian girl who went to Sunday school every week, I knew that anything that felt good physically was definitely a sin and currently my seat at the right hand of Satan was getting extra hot and ready.

It’s too bad temptation is such a bitch. There was something so liberating about what I did behind closed doors, in the sanctity of my bedroom, beneath the covers, with just me and my imagination.

Masturbation. Even typing the word out seems dirty. Constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure someone doesn’t hear you say it. And it’s one of those things that’s never been “okay.” For all of our modern liberations there is still that one dark little secret that we all like to pretend we don’t have. Why is this? Our bodies are our own. Why should we feel embarrassed at touching any part of it? There is no stigma attached to a woman who admits to biting her nails. But if that same woman admits to a regular regime of masturbatory actions, she is immediately singled out—Not Normal. The reasoning behind the guilt I associated with masturbation as an adolescent was deeply rooted in both the church upbringing forced upon me from birth until college and in the fact that anything of a sexual nature was simply not discussed in my household. I feel that the first key to making masturbation acceptable for the norm that it is lies in actually talking about it and letting it out of the black box society has put the bolt on. It is also my firm opinion that we should embrace our bodies and what they are capable of. Touching oneself is nothing to be ashamed of. The act of giving yourself pleasure doesn’t make you a slut or a freak. I’m not saying that masturbation should be something that’s practiced for all to see. It’s a private act, an intimate act. But it’s an act that should be enjoyed if one so chooses without any kind of psychological repercussions.

After all, it would be a total shame to not have an outlet for those locker room fantasies, huh?

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