Rape fantasy: yes, I have one

I have been wanting to do a post about rape fantasy for a long time now, but whenever I start the post I find myself staring back at a blank screen, unable to find the words to convey what I want to say… and perhaps subconsciously, a little embarrassed.  A year or two ago I read Garden of Desires, written by Emily Dubberley (highly recommend it!) and finally realised that I am not the only woman in the world who finds herself fantasising about rape.

HavingSexual-fantasy been in a sexually abusive relationship in the past – which included rape – the whole idea of a rape fantasy is extremely confusing to me.  To begin with I was highly ashamed about my fantasy, why the hell would I want to relive that feeling of having no control and of being taken against my will?  More to the point, why would my brain drift to that little place when I was having sex or masturbating, and why did it arouse me so much?

After a lot of research and admittedly a lot of soul searching I came to the realisation that for me (and it seems for most women) rape fantasy isn’t so much about the desire to be raped (I do NOT want to be raped, I want to make that clear!) but more about having control over the situation.  I know, the idea of rape = control for the victim sounds crazy, but it makes sense when you think about it.  The rape fantasy is happening in your head – ultimately it is you in control of the situation – unlike a real rape when the victim is most certainly not in control.

When my brain does ‘go there’ it is never a prolonged fantasy taking up hours of my time, in fact, it probably only lasts for a minute or so.  My fantasy-attacker isn’t always the same person either, but it is always a man who is well known and is in the public eye, never a stranger.  I think my brain goes to the people it does because I know they are widely respected and admired and a lot of them speak out against domestic violence and the like.  Essentially the men who rape me in my fantasies are men who are the complete opposite to the man who did rape me.

Rape fantasy, as I experience it, is purely a mental thing which stays in my head.  I can’t say what triggers it, but suddenly I am in the situation where I am being forced against my will to have sex with < insert man’s name here >.  He is being rough, the sex is hard and fast and hurts – but in that hurts-s0-good type of way – not in the type of way I physically experienced in my ‘real life’ rapes.  Sometimes he’s calling me a slut, sometimes he is telling me I deserve it, or that he knows I want it.  Sometimes he tells me I’m stupid or worthless, but in those instances that is how I’m feeling about myself in general, and I know it is really *me* subconsciously telling myself that I am those things.  The fantasy always stops just before I orgasm, then I am back in reality and 100% alert and aware that it is my wife causing the myriad of pleasurable feelings inside me; it is always her that takes me over the edge, never the fantasy.  It is my loving, safe, secure reality that I eventually enter back into when the post-orgasmic fog has cleared and my brain begins working again.

It is hard to explain, and I don’t know that I’m really portraying what I feel accurately enough!

I have no desire to act out the fantasy in role play, but in saying that I have nothing against those who do!!!  Rape fantasy – when role played – is ALL about consent, and it really pisses me off when people are judgemental bastards about those who partake in rape fantasy role play!  Equally, I understand that not everyone is going to understand where rape fantasy (as a whole) comes from… it’s like any sexual turn on or fantasy, different strokes for different folks, etc, etc, etc.

THIS is part of why I think #AdultSexEdMonth is so important.  It is all about educating people about all aspects of sex.  More than that, it is about opening up dialogue about aspects of sex that are treated as taboo or that simply aren’t acknowledged as being worthy of open, honest, frank discussion.  It’s about normalising and embracing sex and sexuality, it’s about acknowledging sex is a broad topic that should be seen as something that (so long as consent is involved) is natural, normal, healthy and, well… awesome.

from brotherdash.com 'most prominent words or phrases women used to describe their sexual fantasies'

from brotherdash.com
‘most prominent words or phrases women used to describe their sexual fantasies’

Don’t forget about the brain!

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When it comes to sex the focus is generally on the organs and assorted parts associated with it; the penis, the vagina, the clitoris, the anus, the g-spot et al.  I happen to think there is one very important erogenous zone that is ignored and perhaps a little taken for granted – the brain.

First of all I say it is taken for granted because the brain really is the reason we can have a sexual response at all due to the fact it’s the control centre of the body.  The penis and vagina (and associated parts) get all the glory while the brain is just sitting there, unappreciated and taken for granted.  But the brain itself is more than just a control centre – it is a huge erogenous zone, a zone full of often untapped, pleasurable, orgasmic potential.

Being in a long distance relationship for 12 months is possibly why I am so aware of the erogenous potential of the brain.  For those 12 months most of the sex we had was via the phone so a big part of what we had to do was talk dirty.  We had to verbally make one another horny and help the other to orgasm through use of our voices. We’d tell each other what we would be doing if we were together right that moment, we would make up stories, we would do whatever felt right in the moment, just as we would if we were having ‘real’ sex.  Fingers or vibrators were always part of this equation… until this one night.

For whatever reason my wife didn’t touch herself when I was making up a naughty story and before long she was moaning like she would if physical stimulation was involved.  I kept talking, she kept moaning, the story got dirtier, the moaning got louder and soon enough  my story and wife met a climax at the same time.  We laughed, astonished that she had had an orgasm without any physical stimulation involved.  I presumed it was a one off, a rare once-in-a-lifetime kind of feat.   I loved that I was wrong!

When we were finally living together I told her a story one night and again the hands-free-pleasure related moaning began.  I watched and spoke, she moaned and soon came.

After that I decided my wife either had magical powers or that perhaps she had a pair of invisible arms.  Neither would have surprised me.

Then it happened to me!

Only three days ago we were driving back from the beach.  The kids were in the back with our friend who is visiting, they were chatting amongst theselves and so were we.  My wife teasingly mentioned a photograph of a man I think is particulary divine that we’d seen on Instagram a couple of days earlier, the idea of a threesome was suggested and next thing I knew the walls of my vagina were tensing up like they do when we are fooling around in bed.  This image she  conjured up kept building and as it built so did that feeling of pre-orgasm inside me.  Usually when I get this tight feeling because I’m turned on, it disappears after a few seconds, but this time it did the opposite.

It got to the point I was gripping my wife’s thigh tightly, trying my hardest not to let out the moan that was so perilously close to escaping.  Every now and then she’d quietly add to the story, nothing dirty, just suggestive little words of encouragement that to anyone listening would have sounded innocent.  She knew what she was doing though and eventually I found myself digging my fingers into her thigh as an orgasm exploded, from seemingly nowhere.  I had to be silent and it was bloody hard… driving at the same time was also that would probably be considered ill-advised, but I really had no control over the way my body – or more accurately my brain – had reacted.

Moral of the story (besides me boasting about the awesomely unexpected orgasm I had!), test your brain!  Test the brain of your lover-type-person!  Use dirty talk, use naughty stories, think outside the box and come up with ways to test out the erogenous potential of your brain, or brains you have at your disposal (okay, that sounds kind of morbid… but you know what I mean!)

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Sex – so much more than penis-in-vagina

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‘When a mummy and daddy love each other very much, they cuddle closely and daddy puts his penis in mummy’s vagina…’

From those very first ‘birds and bees’ talks we are told that sex is essentially a man putting his penis in a woman’s vagina… and that is it.  We don’t question whether there is more to it or not and we certainly aren’t told that while, yes, sexual intercourse is the act of a man putting his penis in a woman’s vagina, there is actually far, far more to it; a beautifully broad spectrum if you will.

It wasn’t until my late 20’s that I realised the definition of sex isn’t quite as black and white (or penis in vagina) as I thought it was.  It’s not that I was brought up being told ‘sex is a penis in a vagina and nothing else’, it was just something I didn’t question.  Somewhere along the line society, as a whole, developed an inherent belief about what constitutes sex.  It’s something we giggle about as kids, it’s something we’re curious about as teens, something we may or may not enjoy as adults… yeap, good old penis-in-vagina, ‘he puts his what in my where?’ heterosexual penetrative sexual intercourse.

To that idea, I now say a big fat bitch please!

If there is one thing being a woman married to a woman has taught me, it is that there is soooooooooo much more to sex than a hard penis in a (hopefully! essentially!!!) wet vagina.

Firstly – and most obviously – if the two components of sex are a penis and a vagina there is no way my wife and I could have sex – and boy-oh-boy, we have some bloody spectacular sex!  It would also mean there is no way two men could have sex, meaning the only people in the world who could actually have sex would be those of the heterosexual persuasion – oh, and of course those greeeedy bisexuals*… or at least half the time.
(*I know it’s hard to convey a sarcastic tone in one’s writing so if you think I am being serious when I refer to bisexuals as greedy, I am most certainly not… I am simply being sarcastic as hell!)

I had the wool pulled over my eyes as well as, right up until I met the fantabulous woman who was to become my wife, sex was the act of a Untitled-7man putting his penis in my vagina; ‘everything else’ was classed as foreplay, was classed as a build up to the so-called ‘main event’, was merely something to do other than having sex… perhaps because he was tired, or I was tired, or one of us wasn’t in the mood, or you know, perhaps I was a bit sore from having weekend long daughter-with-her-dad sexathon.  I never once really stopped to think about what was below the surface when it came to sex, there was P-in-V and there was ‘everything else’; I enjoyed all of the above, but if there was no P-in-V action – regardless of whatever else happened – I would think of it as having not had sex.

Then I met my wife and it was like a whole new world opened up to me.

The first time we made each other orgasm that is precisely how I thought of it, ‘we made each other orgasm‘ – we didn’t ‘have sex‘.  Thinking about it that way, I was struck by the thought that perhaps I’d never have sex again, I’d simply have a life full of (amazingly overhwelming) foreplay-esque activities.  During our first week together I struggled with how to refer to what we physically did to bring one another to orgasm.  “She fingered me and I came”, “I went down on her and she came”, “I rubbed against her thigh and I came”, “I played with her nipples until she came”.  It was like a beautifully delicious mindblowing cause and effect cycle.

But that wasn’t how I thought about sex as I had known it until that point (ie when I had had sex with someone with a penis).  What was the difference?  If anything, what we did to each other made me feel better than anything I’d ever done with a man.

It was confusing and began feeling like the whole ‘which came first, the chicken or the egg?’ predicament.  What we did to each other felt better than sex, yet… it wasn’t sex, because there wasn’t a penis involved.  Right?

Then it dawned on me one day.  Sex is whatever the hell you want it to be!!!

It might be the typically thought of penis/vagina thrusting/grinding combination ending in an orgasm, but it could also be:
– fingering, either vaginal or anal
– anal penetration, either with a penis, sex toy, finger/s or even (not for beginners!) a fist
– stimulation of genitals using the mouth – the tongue, the lips, the teeth (again, not for beginners!)
– hand job (on man generally, but you can stimulate the clit in a similar way using your fingers!)
– biting, in any way and on any body part that causes an influx of horny feelings (this may be my weakness…)
– nipple stimulation, male or female, rubbing, tweaking, pulling, twisting, flicking, licking, tugging with teeth
– spanking
– use of restraints, ropes, hand cuffs, strong tape, scarves which are conveniently placed at the head and foot of your bed (not that I know  this from personal experience…)

templeIt doesn’t stop at the obvious physical stuff though – or not for me anyway.  Because there is no penis in our sex equation, I don’t tend to think of anything we do as foreplay per’se (can’t resist a good rhyme), rather, I see everything we do – that leads to us losing control in even the slightest way – as sex.  I enjoy a passionate, hunger-fuelled kissing session almost as much as I enjoy my wife working her special brand of magic with her fingers; I love rubbing her bottom gently until she’s whimpering and writhing around begging for more, as much as I love spanking her and making her scream so loud the neighbours would probably consider calling the police.

Sex has gone from being something physical for me, to being something that is physical and emotional, as well as being – in a weird way – somewhat spiritual.  Sex is now more about expressing my love in a variety of physical ways, of enjoying the contact with my wife.  I guess it’s about the connection; the special connection between us and only us, as lovers and wives, as two individuals who are totally crazy about each other.

I guess what this whole spiel is about, is the fact that sex is what you make it.  It should be defined by the individual, couple, trio, quartet (and on) in question.  As a sexual abuse survivor I think it is also extremely important to add that however sex is defined between two or more people, it should be a mutual decision, a decision made with both/all sides of the equation in mind and not serving the interests of one person over the other.

Sometimes life gets in the way… stupid priorities

I wanted to quickly post on here to let you all know I’m still alive but that sadly, life has been getting the way of my writing.

I am in the final year of my degree at university and have a very heavy workload at the moment, on top of that my mental health hasn’t been the best and sadly the last thing I feel like doing when I’m having a depressive episode is writing.  Yeah, that last thing is making the first thing even harder, though, to my credit, I have had some pretty decent pass marks for my assignments so far… here’s hoping I can say the same thing about my exam marks in six weeks time!

Never fear, I will be back though… I am looking particularly forward to June (aka Adult Sex Ed Month) and have a few posts planned, I am presuming I’ll be out of this little depressed funk by then.

In the meantime I have to work out what to do with Miss 8 who decided it would be a great idea to ‘trim’ her sister’s fringe and to improve her own ‘do, the result being that she looks like she has a mullet.  Perhaps I will spend today hiding back in bed after all…

Adulthood, huh.  As a child we dream of being an adult, only to find out when we are adults, that not all aspects of being an adult are as awesome as we thought they’d be.

Such is life!

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Is the guilt ingrained?

Hello-I-m-Horny-T-Shirts

For the best part of two weeks now, I have been incredibly horny.  Not a little horny, not a lot horny, incredibly horny.  I have had sex dreams most nights for over two weeks, I can’t control myself around my wife,  I can’t stop thinking naughty thoughts or plotting naughty scenes for various half-written stories.  I want to orgasm, I want to make my wife orgasm, then I want to do it all over again.

Not something I should be complaining about, right?  Well try and tell my brain that.  I felt a bit (mentally) off most of yesterday and last night ended up close to tears because I felt so damn guilty for being so bloody horny all the time.  I preach about women embracing their sexuality, about allowing themselves to be the sexual beings they want to be, I complain about the double standards when it comes to men and women and sex; yet there I was last night, apologising to my wife for being ‘too horny‘.

I cannot explain why I feel so guilty about what is a natural impulse I have absolutely no control over.  The rational part of my brain knows it’s stupid to feel guilty about such a thing and that in reality, I am lucky that I can feel so horny.  I know it’s a great thing that even after three years my wife turns me on so much and that I would spend all day having sex with her if I could… I know it says a lot about our relationship and our connection.

But still guilt bubbles up from somewhere.

I have to wonder if it is ingrained?  That perhaps over time the sexual double standards and inequality between men and women has i-try-to-keep-calm-but-im-always-horny-1caused this guilt to become a natural part of our psyche.  Women aren’t meant to like sex.  Sex isn’t about pleasure, it’s about procreation.  A woman who likes sex is a slut.  A woman who likes sex deserves to be shunned.  A woman shouldn’t have control over her own sexuality.  A woman needs to fit into certain categories to be considered attractive.  Respectable women don’t have sexual fantasies or desires.  Women can’t be happy with the way they look.  Women need to strive to have bigger _____, smaller _____, smoother _____, longer _____,  shorter _______, wider ______, narrower ______.

OBVIOUSLY there is something wrong about a woman who enjoys sex and has thoughts of a sexual nature!

I hate that I feel guilty for being horny.  For wanting sex.  For fantasising.  For imagining.
I hate that I feel as if my being horny is in some way an annoyance for my wife (even though I know that isn’t the case).
I hate that I am viewing who I currently am as sexual-being, in a negative way.

To a certain extent I feel like a bit of a fraud.  I like to think I am sex-positive and do my bit to help encourage women to allow themselves to embrace sex and sexuality – but here I am – feeling sex-negative, trying to find a way to stop myself feeling horny, wishing that I didn’t enjoy sex quite as much as I do.

When I speak to my wife about it, every conversation includes me saying the five words ‘I feel like a man‘, and I think that sums this whole situation up.  It is okay for men to be horny 24/7 (like I am currently), to want, need, demand sex, but not for a woman.

I guess most of all I am angry at whoever it was all those years ago that said ‘hey, dude – I don’t think women should be allowed to be treated as equals – especially not when it comes to having and enjoying sex!’

If I could go back in time and hammer-punch that douchebag in the mangina, I would do it.

 

* it probably doesn’t help that my wife and I have been having a ‘Channing week’ and have been watching this particular dance scene from Magic Mike far too often (okay, maybe not enough…)

Sex and depression: I think I’m abnormal

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I knew I needed to go on anti-depressants about 18 months before I finally took the leap (well, had the breakdown) and went to the doctor (well, was dragged to the doctor) to finally ask for help.  I hate to admit it but one of the reasons I was reluctant to go on anti-depressants was due to fear they would have a bad impact on my libido.  My wife and I have always enjoyed an active sex life and I didn’t want that to disappear; I didn’t want to go from wanting sex numerous times a week to having sex once a month because I felt guilty for not wanting it AT ALL.

As I saw it at the time (and still do now) I was extremely lucky that depression hadn’t been a libido-killer in itself.  A lot of the literature I read explained a common symptom of depression was a lack of libido and potentially complete disinterest in sex.  For me that was never the case, even at my worst I wanted craved sex with my wife – if anything my libido increased – to the point I almost felt obsessed with sex.

I am the sort of writer who needs to be in a sexual state of mind to write about sex and it was a relief that even if I couldn’t be bothered having a shower, getting dressed, going out into public, I still wanted to write, and I still wanted to have sex.

At that initial appointment when I was put on Fluoxetine, the doctor warned me about a decreased or non-existant libido – and I worried about that – more than worried actually, to the point I considered not starting the medication.  I felt that without my libido, without that familiar part of my being I would become more of a shell.  I might have been depressed, I might have been moody, I might have wondered a few (million) times why anyone would want me… but I was still horny old Bree, I was still spending hours a week writing erotica.  It was really the only part of me that I felt wasn’t broken, as if it was the tiny little thread of sanity that was holding me together.

Imagining life without my libido, without my passion for writing erotica… it was beyond terrifying.  Then I put myself in my wife’s shoes and realised not going on anti-depressants because I wanted to retain my libido – while losing everything else – was plain old selfish, stupid, and just didn’t make sense.

Surprisingly, my fear about losing my libido never had anything to do with worrying that if I didn’t want sex, my wife would leave me.  This, from a woman who, not so long ago, used sex as a way to keep a relationship together.  I knew that if I never wanted sex again my wife would still be right by my side, being the utterly amazing woman she always is… I suppose that was the one positive out of that dark time in my life.  I realised I was indeed truly loved.  Sure, most of the time I had no idea why she would want to love me, but knowing I was loved really was a bright spot for me.

I went on my meds.

I waited for my libido to disappear.  It didn’t.  If anything it increased.

And the stupid thing about this?  I felt like there was something wrong with me.  Yeap.  Most people feel something is wrong if their libido wanes, but I wondered if something was wrong with me because it increased so much.  My wife, as usual, told me I was being silly and I was perfectly normal, but it took me a long time to believe her.

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Around four months ago my meds were upped and again I went through the ‘am I going to lose my libido’ panic, to the point that – yet again – I wondered if perhaps I shouldn’t start the increased dosage and stick to what was[n’t really] working.  My wife pretty much told me to get over myself (it was what I needed her to do, and I know it wasn’t coming from a negative place) and that if my libido did go wonky, we would deal with it.

The increase doesn’t seem to have effected my libido and I have finally accepted that I am one of the exceptions to the depression=low libido rule.

I have thought about it a lot however, and came to realise that for me, sex is part of how I cope with depression.  Some people use exercise as an anti-depressant, I use sexercise.  On a deeper level, I think it is my wife that is my anti-depressant.  Throughout this particular depression journey the one thing I have wanted needed is to be close to my wife.  I might push other people away and go even further into my introvert shell, but when it comes to my wife I need her right by my side as much as possible.  Just being in her presence has a calming effect on me.

With all this thinking about it, I realise that intimacy with my wifey is like a booster shot of sorts… we have sex and I instantly feel better on an emotional and mental level.  I suppose it’s because of the feel-good hormones released when orgasm occurs; I love being flooded with the post-orgasm sensations, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually… that feeling of bliss and awe and… well, you know what I mean.

Sometimes my wife knows when I need an orgasm, before I even do.  I get into what we refer to as the ‘spiral of doom’, my mood plummets at an astonishing rate and nothing gets through to me.  Except those feel-good post-orgasm hormones.  Usually I go and hide in bed, my wife quickly joins me and before long I am deep in the throes – after I orgasm I am like a new person – and this is why my wifey refers to it as ‘resetting my brain’.   This is a treatment method I’m yet to discuss with my psychologist.

Because there is the potential for so many black clouds in my emotional and mental landscape, I have finally stopped wondering why I can still enjoy sex, and am instead embracing it.

Even if it does exhaust my poor wife.

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I am really curious to find out whether or not I am some sort of exception, so if you have experienced depression at any stage I would love if you could answer my poll, you can do an answer for non-medicated and medicated depression.

this has become a bit of a mantra for me... my wife makes me say it out loud when I'm in the depths of depression... slowly I am starting to believe it

this has become a bit of a mantra for me… my wife makes me say it out loud when I’m in the depths of depression… slowly I am starting to believe it

Why women should masturbate – and be proud of it

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I remember the very first time I had an orgasm.  It was Boxing Day, I was in my bedroom reading the book ‘Spring Collection’ by Judith Krantz.  I came across a sex scene and the next thing I knew I was touching myself in a way that felt wrong, but ohhhhh so good.  I must have been 13 and felt very conflicted about what I had done.

I had heard about masturbation before, well mostly about guys ‘wanking off’, a term that would make me giggle and screw my face up… it was yet another gross thing boys did.  From memory I told myself it was a one-off, that I wouldn’t do it again.  A few nights later I was nearing the end of the book and remembered that scene and what it had made me feel, what it had made me do to myself.  I told myself not to flick back – but I did – and as I had done on Boxing Day, touched myself until I had what I was pretty certain was an orgasm.  I felt ashamed but at the same time… relieved… and so relaxed that I quickly fell asleep.

Over the next few years I masturbated with more frequency but still mentally battled with myself over it.  If it was so wrong, why the hell did it feel so good?  If it was so bad for me, surely I would get sick or something?  My fingers would fall off?  My vagina would put up some form of protest?

I knew boys and men masturbated but was truly convinced I was the only person with a vagina who had ever masturbated.  OH MY GOD, there was something wrong with me!  Lock me up and throw away the key.

Eventually I accepted that I was a masturbator, that for whatever reason my brain wasn’t wired properly and maybe I had a ‘guy brain’.  None of my female friends ever spoke about masturbation, the closest they came was using the word ‘wanker’ as a derogatory way to refer to a male (of course I did this… hello, they CAN be a bit wanky at times!).

My male friends though?  Masturbation this, masturbation that, masturbation here, masturbation there, porn this, porn that, hard on, stiffy, boner, steel rod, pole, rockhard-cockhard… they spoke about it a lot and they spoke about it openly.  I remember feeling envious of them.  Sure, I didn’t need to know that ______ had masturbated in his car on his lunch break, or that ______ had masturbated five times over the weekend… but I envied that they could openly discuss it.  It was almost as if masturbating made them more macho in the eyes of the world, whereas if I had admitted to enjoying fingering myself, I would probably get a look of disgust and a few knives in my back.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yes, that delightful male/female double-standard thing stikes again.

Fast forward to 2015.  I am a proud masturbator.  I don’t exactly walk around town holding a placard proclaiming how awesome masturbation is and that everyone should do it, but I don’t shy away from the topic when it comes up. (okay the immature 12yo in me is giggling about the whole ‘comes up’ thing)

Being a little older (okay a lot) and a little wiser (sadly ‘little’ is the accurate word) I now know that  I am not the only woman in the world who masturbates, and I know there is absolutely nothing wrong with masturbating!  Not only is there nothing wrong with it, it is healthy and normal.

From a young age a huge emphasis is placed on us to know who we are, to know what makes us tick, to know what we want out of life, to know what it is that makes us stand out, that makes us unique.  We are meant to dedicate enormous amounts of time to finding ourselves so we can live to the fullest and reach our potential.

Should that not include knowing our own body?  If it is important to know what works for us on a mental and emotional level, shouldn’t it be just as important to know what physically works for us?

Face it.  For most people their adult lives are consumed by sex in some way (obviously to varying degrees).  We are expected to be in the right career, to be on the path that means we can be 100% happy within ourselves… why shouldn’t we know who we are as a sexual being?  If the fate of the human race rests on our shoulders – if babies need to be made, if we are meant to pair off and find ‘the one’ – then shouldn’t we know ourselves sexually?

How do we learn about ANY aspect of ourselves?  Exploring.

How can we learn about what works for us on a sexual level?  Exploring.  Yeap.  Masturbating.

They say you need to know yourself before you can really let someone else into your life/heart/soul/whatever, so doesn’t it make sense that you shoud know your own vagina before you can really enjoy letting someone else into that as well?

Masturbation is great for relationships!  There is nothing better than having a spectacularly mindblowing, coma-inducing, legs-don’t-work, brain-no-worky romp with the one that you love (or that special friend with special benefits) and being able to guide ymasturbation-4574-2121our partner just adds to it.  Humans aren’t mind-readers.  We don’t (always) instinctively know what someone is going to like sexually, and let’s face it, it can be damn frustrating when you just aren’t feeling it because you aren’t getting the right pressure in the right place, you’re not getting it deep enough, you’re getting it too deep, too hard, too fast, too slow.  If no one speaks up it can lead to confidence plumetting.

“Oh my god, I didn’t get him/her off, I am so useless at sex!” <— that type of internal dialogue ensues.

If a woman knows her body well enough – through masturbation – she can guide the man/woman in question… rub my clit in a circular motion, rub my clit softly, rub my clit faster/slower, penetrate me slowly, penetrate me fast, move all the way out and slam back in, don’t move out at all, just grind your hips into mine.

Sexual responses are just as unique as the 6.something billion humanoids on earth.  I don’t respond the same way my wife does, Jane down the road doesn’t respond the same way as her cousin Lucy, Anna loves deep penetration, Margaret loves shallow penetration, June is all about the clitoral stimulation, April can’t handle too much clit stimulation.  Just reading that makes me feel flustered.

Moral of this little (okay, long, almost preachy) story?  MASTURBATE!  Do it!  Tonight!  Give your most intimate self a pamper session – go on, you deserve it!

Spend time focusing on your erogenous zones… the aim isn’t necessarily to orgasm (hey, that’s always nice but it isn’t everything), you want it to be a relaxing, enjoyable, peaceful (??? if your circumstances allow!), you want to come away from it smiling, knowing yourself that little bit better.
Play with your nipples – do you like them to be lightly grazed or tugged on?  slow rubbing or fast rubbing?  squeezing?  twisting? squeezing and twisting? tugging?  tugging and squeezing?  tugging, squeezing AND pulling? touching your bare nipples?  touching your nipples with a sheet/towel/top/bra/etc covering them? no touching whatsoever?
Stroking yourself – do you like to stroke your hips? your neck? your chest? your belly? your ass? inner thighs? with your hand? with something like a feather? a silk scarf perhaps?
Pay lots of attention to your clit – do you like your clit being rubbed in circular motions? side to side? up and down? pressing firmly? feather light touches? what about gently squeezing it between your fingertips?  firmly squeezing? tapping it quickly?
What about your labia – running your finger up and down between your labia? pressure in a particular place? fast? slow?
Internal stimulation – fingertip just inside? fingertips just inside? a finger deep inside?  fingers deep inside? fast? slow? what angle? soft impact? rough impact? gentle? so hard it almost hurts? no internal stimulation? only internal stimulation?

masturbation_Oo_by_Photomaniac_ZIThere is no one way to masturbate and there is no one position to masturbate in… on your back? on your left side? on your right side? sitting up? reclining? standing up? head hanging over the edge of the bed? on your back with your ass against the wall and your legs vertical? on your belly? a variety of positions throughout?  It’s the same for the location (obviously privacy and appropriateness are key here!)… in the bed? on the bed? on the floor? in the bath? in the shower? on the couch?  on the recliner? at your computer? at your desk? on the toilet? in the laundry room? in the garden? in your car while driving through a really busy roundabout after you have been rubbing against your poor drink bottle for the past 15 minutes and it just feels too good to stop (uh… yeah, not a true story… *coughs* really…).

Do it with your fingers, do it with a dildo, do it with a vibrator, do it with a cucumber, do it with the handle of a hairbrush, do it with the fish-shaped baby bath thermometer, rub against something… just do it.  Learn what you love, learn what gets you off, learn the fastest way to make yourself orgasm, learn the most teasing drawn-out way to make yourself orgasm.

Hell!  If you ask me, masturbation is a bloody life skill life-saver.  I was about 10 weeks pregnant with my youngest when I became single… it just so happened my libido went through the damn roof around the same time.  Had I not been able to masturbate chances are I would have internally combusted by the time I reached the 20-week mark!  As someone who was single for very long periods of time between 18-27, I can tell you that being able to masturbate probably saved me from going insane due to sexual frustration.  When I became un-single for the final time the sexual frustration didn’t go away – no – it was worse than ever.  I know, makes no sense – until I mention three little words – long distance relationship.

For 12 months we lived 650km apart and with kids and school, were only able to see each other in the school holidays and only for a week(ish).  We spent a LOT of time on the phone talking… and having sex.  Phone sex, it’s a funny old thing, you’re communicating with the person you love and if you close your eyes you can imagine they are right there beside you.  But they are not.  What you are essentially doing is talking to each other while masturbating.  I cannot tell you how many batteries I went through or just how many orgasms were had over the phone.

We would talk dirty to each other, make up little stories and scenarios to get each other closer to the edge.  It sucked not being able to physically have sex, but I have to say it was a lot of fun to listen to her getting more and more turned on, and then of course hearing her orgasm was especially enjoyable.  I guess you could say that in those 12 months of long distance we honed our masturbation skills into a pretty fine art.  It was a way to keep the spark alive while we were apart but it was also a good way to get to know each other on a physical level; well, as much as one can over the phone!

On a more serious note (because there has to be one, it’s like the law, or something), women shouldn’t be ashamed of masturbating or of the fact they are sexual beings.  Sex is something to be enjoyed.  Masturbation is something to be enjoyed.  Masturbation is healthy and normal – at any age.

As a parent I have strong thoughts about children being raised with a negative attitude toward masturbation and body image.  Children shouldn’t be taught that masturbating is ‘bad’ or ‘evil’ or ‘dirty’, nor should they be brought up to believe sex is bad and something they shouldn’t like. I guess this is such a big issue for me because of our four children, three are girls.  Our eldest is nearly 11 and is going through puberty, while it is a scary time we are also really lucky because she is extremely open with us.

We have had numerous conversations about puberty, about the changes in her body, sharing our experiences as well, in an attempt to make it normal for her.  Puberty isn’t something we keep ‘hush-hush’ and I think she will be better for it (as will all our kids) in the long run.  I think we are doing a good job too because rather than being embarrassed or secretive about what she is going through she seems to be proud of the changes in her body… I love that she can talk to us and that she willingly comes to us.  A lot of our conversations are initiated by her and that is something that makes both of us happy; it’s nice to know we are doing something right as parents!

I just wish more parents were like this.  If we didn’t make children (particularly girls) feel ashamed of what is such a natural curiosty – and if there wasn’t such a stigma attached to the human body, from such a young age – perhaps there would be more more women in the world who were proud of themself, their body, and their sexuality.

End of the day:
Sexual curiosity = normal
Masturbation = normal 
… and anyone who tells you otherwise is an utter douchebag who could probably do with an orgasm or 50!

Klimt_Mulher_sentada

– by Gustav Klimt (1916)