A Biography of Girl's Pleasure

Posted by: Age: 23 Posted on: 0 comments
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This story is actually mostly solo, some with a guy. It's a bit long, but I enjoyed putting it out there for you.

 

I can honestly say that I have been masturbating for as long as I can remember. I don't remember the day that I learned how pleasurable riding a balled-up blanket could be, but it was a discovery I would never look back on. I have vivid memories of being on my childhood bed, humping away on a Strawberry Shortcake blanket that I absolutely cherished. Other times, at school during naptime I would quietly and as inconspicuously as possible rub myself on the wadded-up hem of my dress. At that early age I even remember my mother walking into my room during one of my 'playtimes,' but I just rode away, too little to see what I was doing as naughty.



As I got older, my hobby continued. I recall being about ten years old, and trying to educate a playmate in the joys of this yet-unnamed pastime. My teaching skills failed me and she only thought me weird.



In my preteen years I would find myself receiving a dirty thrill from reading my mother's magazines. These had what I viewed to be fairly explicit advice columns about sex! It was around this time that I was inspired to grab a dictionary and look up words like 'masturbation' and 'orgasm.' Webster could not quite get across the feeling of orgasm, but I was able to understand that what I had been doing all this time most definitely qualified as masturbation, even though I wasn't sure whether or not I had achieved 'climax.' I suppose that because of the relationship of these words to the act of sex, I began to feel guilty after masturbating. The very act was suddenly imbued with a need to hide it, to lock the doors, to turn out the lights and play music to hide the squeaking of the bed.



As time went on my persistence shoved guilt out of the way, but the understanding that masturbation was a private act forced me to find stealthier ways to do it. I always felt that if someone opened my door to find me humping on a pile of blankets, it would be too difficult to explain my compromised position. Still, actually touching my pussy seemed so unthinkable, so I began rubbing myself through my panties. Not understanding the function, or even being aware of the existence of the clitoris meant that I could only climax through some pretty vigorous rubbing, sometimes even leaving me sore.



It was about this time that I did begin to read about the clitoris, and decided that I had to find out about it. Sneaked touches in the bathtub would lead to more prolonged explorations, until one night in bed I got gutsy and went for it. It wasn't until I truly found my clitoris that I felt I'd finally reached orgasm.



I got my first boyfriend at the late age of 20 years old. He was a couple of years older than I was, but amazingly no more experienced than me. It began as an online acquaintance which led to a lengthy and tentative courtship, finally followed by a fast, viciously romantic relationship. Over very long distance phone conversations, talk eventually turned to sex. Whether or not we would have it, what the other knew, what the other's friends were doing and so forth.



Finally one night, he embarrassingly admitted that he currently found himself in a slightly uncomfortable position. I told him that he was welcomed to relieve himself, or that I would let him go so that he could. After he asked, 'Are you sure,' many times, I knew it had begun when I heard the most erotically appealing sigh of my life. He continued to touch himself, breathing heavily into the phone, telling me that he loved me. I couldn't hold it for very long before I urgently reached into my panties, aching to touch myself. I had never been so wet in my life.



'Are you touching yourself?' He breathed deeply into the phone.



I all but sighed my response and he replied, 'Good!'



It was not until after we both came that it occurred to me that he was the only person who ever knew I masturbated and he didn't think twice about it. That night was followed by many more, including one in which we both came twice, the only time such a thing has ever happened to me. I still find memories of those fumbling, naïve and exploratory conversations, spoken in deep, lust filled voices, to be the most erotic moments of my life.



I was never good at the talking part, which was fine because he excelled in it. I loved the way he would tell me what he wanted to do me, punctuated by long moans and grunts. He would tell me how he wanted me to unzip my dress, kissing all the way down my back until he reached my panties. How he would lay me down and remove my panties to find how turned on I was and how he would grind his teeth into my clit. Unfortunately, I later found out he didn't have a clue what to do with a naked pussy.



Though we never had sex and yes, I am a virgin, we dabbled extensively in the world of mutual masturbation. Nothing would ever turn me on more than those initial forays into the sexual world.



Now that I am single I find myself forced to continue alone. In a growing need to experience penetration, I have found how fulfilling it can be to feel my pussy clenching down on the handle of my hairbrush as I cum while pressing my clit. When I feel the need to experience orgasm with others, I find a chat room where men are willing to cum for me. Nothing has ever turned me on more than the sound of a man approaching orgasm. I love the ones who actually whimper, as though they need to cum so badly that it hurts.



When I feel the need to fuck, I still hump sometimes. It gives me the freedom to look down on my body in the act, to see my breasts bouncing, to rub them and pinch my nipples as I approach orgasm. The sight of my own breasts in a nice bra turns me on, so sometimes I will hump in one. I love the sound of my own breath and my own voice moaning.



As I had hoped would be the case, writing this for you has made me a little desperate. I am naked under a terry bathrobe and my hair is still wet from a shower. I've groomed my pussy, which always gets me eager to touch it. I will go to my room, turn out the lights, and lie down. I will open my robe, spread my legs and slowly reach down to my soaking pussy. The first encounter with my clit will elicit a grateful sigh and I will dip my fingers down into my cunt to make the stroking of my clit easier. I like to stroke with my left middle finger, leaving my right hand free to grope my breasts. I will rub my clit just to the point of orgasm and then I will move my finger back down to gently stroke the folds of my vagina. I will possibly insert a finger into my hole, pushing it in and out until I feel I am ready to cum. Then I will return to rubbing my clit until my legs lift themselves up off the bed, my toes curl and that wonderful wave of orgasm comes for me to ride. I will rest for just a few moments, but not fall asleep as I often do.



I hope you enjoy reading this, as I enjoyed writing it.

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