Long before I knew what masturbation was – or sex, particularly how bodies operate and what goes inside what – I had already watched porn. I remember being four or five-years-old and going to a neighbor’s house because she had “the jiggly channel”…aka the Playboy channel. I’d come over to her house. A lot. A whole damn lot. Back then it had its own dedicated channel, not a shared channel that was only watchable after 10 p.m. My friend was another little girl, who probably didn’t have the same infatuation as I did in watching the jiggly channel. And I didn’t realized just how infatuated I was until one day she wasn’t home. I remember being really pissed, in the way a four-year-old can get pissed. I probably pulled the heads of my Barbies or threw my Dr. Seuss books on the ground. I mean, how else was I going to get my fix of seeing boobs and vaginas? Dicks not so much, gross. I wanted to see a vagina “in action.”
When I got older – maybe 10 or so – I got a TV in my room, and I discovered the long lost jiggly channel. Fuck yah. It was scrambled of course, but I had a great imagination. However, I was too scared to watch it because my parents’ room was right across from mine.
I had an issue of Cosmo and a Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog. I know! Next best thing, right?! If you don’t know Frederick’s of Hollywood, think Victoria’s Secret meets Spencer’s – raunchier, racier, and 1980s’er. In the back of the Cosmo were ads and lingerie you can order; and Frederick’s…well, that just goes without saying. Lots of nipples and chicks giving the “come hither” look. It wasn’t live action pussy-eating, but it would have to do. I flipped through Frederick’s and was instantly turned on by the lace-covered nipples. At that age, I wasn’t sure if I wanted have big tits or if I wanted to touch them. Probably the latter.
This was about the time I remember touching myself over my panties for the first time and it kind of feeling good. I remember circling my lips and finding a spot (my clitoris) that was super sensitive. I focused on this area and rubbed to the left, right, and around it. My body got warm and my heart rate increased. A slow and steady feeling began to swell in me and I didn’t know what was going on; all I knew is that it felt good and that I had to keep going and that it would get better. Finally, I felt the first twitch, like I was holding my pee, and it came in such a rapid succession that I couldn’t stop it if I could.
I was 11-years-old when I orgasmed for the first time. How do I remember this? Because I remember what was on my mind at the time of climax: a girl in my 7th grade English class. Did I fantasize about her, or kissing her, or wondering what she looked like under her shirt? Never. I can say without a doubt that when that first flood of twitching in my vagina first hit, I thought about her. What’s weird is that it wasn’t a sexual thought. It was more like, “I wonder if she did her homework last night?” It was probably a stream-of-consciousness thought that was more coincidence that fantasy. But the bottom line is: my only memory of my first orgasm was not the thought of bodies humping or two chicks eating each other out, but a girl who sat next to me in middle school.
I remember being very private about masturbation, never telling my friends, asking if they did it too. It just never came up. No one had ever seen me masturbate before until I met Ryan. I never felt close enough to anyone to let myself be seen that way. I felt I would be too embarrassed to be seen in such a vulnerable position. Even when Ryan and I masturbated mutually (not separately, but together) it was a new feeling to me. I had to get used to not feeling judged. These days, I could pull up my skirt in the middle of a crowded theater and masturbate for Ryan if we wanted. The comfort level and bubble has left me oblivious of my surroundings. I also am not longer ashamed that I masturbate and enjoy cuddling with Ryan at night and still touching myself to relax and fall asleep.