Teaching Myself to Pleasure Myself

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Teaching myself to pleasure myself

Unlike many people, I didn't really "touch myself" much as a child. Oh, I'll admit to being one hormonal little thing as a kid. I don't remember how old I was when I developed a fascination with "doing it", but I can distinctly remember being about six and staring at my ken and Barbie dolls and trying to figure out how they were supposed to "fit" together, and watching sex scenes on my mom's soaps with rapt attention. But I didn't touch myself, I didn't rub up against stuffed animals, pillows, or anything of the sort until I was older, and I didn't do it with the active thought of giving myself pleasure until I was a late teen.

I was by and large a mental person as a child when it came to self pleasuring. I got very good at virtually thinking myself off at a very young age (I never quite orgasmed, but it was and still is definitely highly pleasurable). I'm a writer by inclination and I have a vivid imagination, so I was able to produce some highly vivid fantasies that provide me a very high degree of arousal. I was and still am absolutely shameless in my fantasy life; I go through periods where certain things and themes fascinate me, I fantasize about them, exploring possibilities, then I move onto something else. The vast majority of them are things I'd never want to experience at all in real life--orientation wise, I consider myself quite straight, but for a while there I was utterly fascinated fantasy wise with the idea of having sex with another woman. I wondered vaguely if I might be gay or bi.

For physical touching, I used to find rubbing myself against certain parts of my desk (discreetly) to be rather pleasurable, but I think I only did that for about a month before I got bored of it and forgot about it. We used to take swimming lessons in elementary school, and I found the water jets that kept the water moving to be very pleasurable, but I never actually got off from it and I never thought about ways to replicate that feeling at home. It was just sort of a nice little bonus from when had swimming lessons.

I was about twelve when I started to lay against a bundled up blanket, slide it between my legs, and rock slightly as I was trying to sleep. I never did get off from this, I don't even remember getting particularly wet, but it went nicely with the XXX fantasies that were going on in my head as I was trying to sleep, and it seemed to help me get to sleep faster.

I was a little older when I started to play with writing erotic stories, maybe fifteen or so. I've been an avid writer since I was thirteen, so it seemed only natural that I eventually started trying to write out the scenes in my head. I was really bad at it (I was a virgin, still am in that I've yet to have actual intercourse), but it turned me on alarmingly, and left me absolutely aching for something...I didn't quite have a name for just yet.

For someone who spent a great deal of her free time fantasizing about sex, I was remarkably innocent. My fantasies got more vivid as I got older, under I literally ached, and one night when I was about sixteen, when I was having a particularly vivid fantasy, I ached so bad that I couldn't stand it, and without so much as thinking about it, my hand slid down between my legs and began to rub fast and hard against myself. I moaned low and deep, and kept doing that, until I was gasping, and so overwhelmed by the sensation that I couldn't anymore.

I was literally shocked, and utterly terrified by what I'd just felt. I knew what it was, of course. And I felt deeply ashamed, much to my dismay. I was in a confusing time of my life, where I didn't know who I was, or what I believed in. My best friend at the time, while a wonderful human, was a devout Christian who believed quite firmly that you could go to hell by doing any number of seemingly pleasurable, or at least innocent, things. And I was influenced by her views, naturally, so I thought I'd just done a shameful thing, a horrible thing.

I tried not to touch myself like that again, except now that I'd felt that pleasure, it was addicting. I experimented with touching myself for a few years, learning how to use my hands effectively. Gradually, as I got older and more sure of myself, I lost that shame element, and began to just enjoy what I did.

Although, since I was still living with my family, and after we moved was sharing a room in the house we're renting while my parents look for a house to buy with my brothers (a large room, but still, I could never quite and still can't bring myself to masturbate while they're asleep across the room), I had a great fear of getting caught. Ironically, my biggest fear about moving away to college was that it'd be harder for me to masturbate comfortably with so many more people around all the time. Especially since the bathroom had become my favorite room in the house, since it was the one place I knew I could be alone, lock the door, and be as noisy as I liked thanks to the very loud and effective bathroom fan drowning out my noise. I didn't quite know what I was going to do with *gasp* communal bathrooms stealing that escape. Luckily, I selected a college that was so close to our current house that I didn't have to figure out how I was going to masturbate in a room full of people.

At eighteen, I started to wonder why I'd never really come to an orgasm while masturbating. I enjoyed it, sure, but eventually I got so sensitive and shaky that I couldn't keep stroking myself anymore. I hadn't climaxed. I simply couldn't continue. In hindsight, I think I was afraid to, was afraid of the loss of control that orgasm would bring me. I tried not to brood about it too much, but it started to frustrate me. I knew that orgasm and sex weren't always what they were cracked up to be; I was still a virgin (and as I think I might have already mentioned still am) My boyfriend changed all that when I was nineteen. We're long distance, and communicate primarily on the Internet and by telephone. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my boyfriend to death (which is why I put up with the long distance hassle), but I'd become very comfortable with who and what I am, and ached for something more physical. We started having cybersex (luckily he has the experience that I lack). I touched myself while we did that, and found that worlds better than just fondling myself even during my most vivid fantasies (something about knowing another person, the man that I love and lust after, is enjoying it as much as me, that what we're doing, what I'm saying, is turning him on so badly he can't help but masturbate to relieve his own frustrations, turns me on immensely).

Even that didn't make me come, though it started to give me a step in the right direction by making me curious and frustrated enough to start looking for a way to give myself even more pleasure. I became very curious about all aspects of human sexuality, started to read up a lot on it online. I learned, there, about using a massaging shower head to act as a sort of vibrator. Since we had one, I decided it was worth a shot. I'm so glad I did. I had my first orgasm using the shower massager. I found that, before, I'd been concentrating far to hard. One night, late while the rest of the house was asleep, I was pleasuring myself with it, moaning as I lay on my back in the tub, and I felt this incredible building of tension within myself. It grew greater, and greater, then BAM! I sort of laid in the shower getting sprayed by hot water and gasping hard for breath for a good solid five minutes after that. It'd felt sooooooo good. I was utterly addicted.

I found other ways to bring myself to climax after that. I purchased a massager, and some KY (so I don't have to worry about *ouch* clitoral burns). I enjoyed it, but found it somewhat lacking until, out of a fit of desperation while cybering with my boyfriend online one night (really wanted something in me, bad, but couldn't bring myself to stick something.....exotic....in myself) I took a fresh tampon, still in it's applicator, and started to slide it in and out of me. I figured what the hell, it's made to go up there anyway, so it's not very likely to break in half or give me a nasty infection....

Now, by itself, that was pretty boring until I learned to hit my G spot with it. Even then, it's not enough to make me come all on its' own. But add some liberal stroking with a hand on my clit, and it took on a whole new dimension of pleasure. Add the massager on my clit, and godddd.....I get tingly just thinking about it The one thing I find disappointing is that I can't fantasize and masturbate effectively at the same time. Fantasies still has a cherished place in my vivid self-sex life, but in order to really enjoy masturbating, I have to give my full attention to the task.

My boyfriend is utterly fascinated by my masturbation, and likes to hear, in detail, what it's like for me to touch myself. He'd almost rather do that than have phone or cyber sex with me, which is touching but sort of frustrating, since I masturbate so much better when he's "helping" me. He's totally comfortable with that side of me, and that I do that, and next time he comes to see me, I'm looking forward to giving him one hell of a show (as well as, hopefully, taking care of the minor problem of my virginity, though somehow having sex doesn't seem like quite the big deal that it used to, since I know that I can give myself an incredible amount of pleasure without any help from anyone).

I really think, honestly, that the world would be a happier place if people learned to stop shunning the sexual part of them, and accept it for what it is, a part of them that can give them such great pleasure. I think it'd be *much* happier place if people realized that sex with a partner isn't the only way to get that pleasure, that they can give it to themselves, and shouldn't feel shame in doing so.

I know so many of my female friends who feel a great deal of regret in rushing into having sex with men (or women, as their preferences lie). I'm glad to know, because I got over my fear and shame of touching myself, that I won't have that regret. I want to make love with my boyfriend because I love him, I genuinely want him to be my first, I want to let him that close to me, and I want to be that close to him.

I know I don't need him to have an orgasm. Hell, chances are pretty good he *won't* give me as much pleasure as I can get on my own. But that doesn't matter. I don't need him for that. I have myself. And that's a very powerful, and liberating feeling. --AA

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