Learning to Love Myself

I was always taught that touching yourself, being intimately familiar with any part of your body, was shameful. Your body didn't exist to bring you pleasure. You simply existed. However, I was curious, and took on this 'shameful' challenge. I was curious about this "masturbation", and why people considered it to be such a dirty, scornful thing. For many nights, I would wait until it was quiet, and unceremoniously take my pants off. I have small inner and outer lips, that flow gently together and frame my opening. I would study myself in a small mirror, and didn't understand what the big deal was. I would prod at my entrance with a finger, and unsatisfactorily begin to work.  It wasn't until much later that I would begin to shed the aura of shame, although I am still quite reserved. It still feels... wrong. But the danger of that feeling has the power to get my heart beating just a little bit faster, and my head starts to get dizzy. It's self-love, isn't it? Sex with myself? How could it be wrong? Is it not a subconscious statement of my own feeling towards myself? These thoughts grant me the freedom to fondle my breasts. Feeling my nipples harden, I pinch them. A jolt catches my breath in my throat, and I begin to roll them between my fingers. I sigh, a wonderful sigh, long and drawn out, as my tongue begins to search my lips. My soft breasts begin to stiffen, my nipples hard beneath my fingertips and air.  It's at this moment that my mind begins to race. I feel wild and uninhibited; there's a need, and I need it to be filled. I need to be filled. One finger slides down into my slick, warm slit. It lingers for a moment, before slowly stroking my inner vulva lips, teasing my entrance. With one stroke, however, my finger stops to circle around my clit, my hips vibrating to meet my hand. Lifting my finger, a strand of wetness stretches itself from my hand to my pussy. I scoot myself towards a mirror, curious to see my pulsating pussy, engorged with it's carnal need that is driving me mad. I watch as I slowly insert one finger, letting it disappear, then watching it reappear as I withdraw. Slick with my thick, clear discharge, I taste it. Would this be the taste of another woman? The thought drives me even more wild. I look at myself in the mirror, and say to myself, 'Look at what I've become. Look at what I need.' and it pushes me farther. I tear a pillow off my bed and mount it. With wide eyes, I stare myself down in the mirror and start bucking my hips. The sensation is incredible, flowing through my clit, electifying my nipples, and I toss my hair back. I need to get a grip. I know just the thing.  Returning to my mirror with a small black box, I shimmy the top off and remove it's contents. The purple ben-wa balls inside will be perfect. Spreading my legs wide so I can see, I take the first one and slowly massage my slit. This one has a weighted bead inside. I jiggle it against my clit and stifle a moan, although I am home alone. Holding it steady in my hand, I sit up on my knees and move my hips against myself, forward and back, rhythmically and shamelessly humping until this ball is slick with wetness. I slide it inside. There's a second attached, but I pause to watch my juices drip out of my pussy after the insertion of the ball, and come to rest on the second. I take my finger and slide this wetness around the second to make it slick, then insert it in as well. A whimper escapes. I move, and the bead within the ball moves as well. What a delightful sensation. But I will not be experiencing release just yet. I have something even better in mind for later.