A Touch of Self-Love

I’m curious, what is your relationship with masturbation? As I’d said in the Creating the Sexually Liberated Woman post, I have been masturbating a long time, however, my thoughts, approach, style, perspective, and even my technique has evolved over time.

Female masturbation is not talked about very often. I’ve heard great things about its many health benefits including a couple I’ve observed on my own: stress relief and sleep aid. Masturbation has spiritual benefits as well. In my personal experience, it fosters an intimate level of self-awareness, sexual confidence, and self-love: physically and psychologically. Friends who know me know I have no reservation about telling someone that I masturbate should they ask. Asking me when’s the last time I masturbated is no different than asking when’s the last time I drank water. They each occur at roughly the same frequency. . .roughly.

There is an art to masturbation. Something like an artist applying paint to a canvas, waiting for each layer to dry before applying a new coat or color, and then finally leaving Her signature. Yes, the evolution of masturbation is much like this. With each new revelation and the increase in frequency, I feel closer to creativity, closer to the Goddess.

Feelin’ Myself

Growing up I was taught that although inappropriate, it was normal for boys to touch themselves and masturbate as a means to release their sexual urges while going through puberty. I guess girls don’t have sexual urges. Anywho, we’re certainly not allowed to release them.

As a girl, I was taught that a vagina is a smelly place, that my cycle was a disgusting punishment bestowed upon women by god and that I should never touch down there unless to clean, wash, or wipe. Funny, I do not recall being taught very much about other people touching. But since it was such a dirty and smelly place anyway, I wasn’t very comfortable allowing others to touch. If they “knew” what I “knew” why would they want to touch it anyway.

When I was a girl about eight years old, every night after my bath, I’d place the big mirror over the closed toilet lid, squat down over it like I was gonna go, only my legs were a bit more opened, and admire the way my vulva looked. It was mostly dark pink like someone had taken a drop of black paint and mixed it with pink. The color looked bright against my brown skin. On my inner labia major there was a dark mole. Surprised, I remember thinking, “Oh, moles can be down there, too!?”

I suppose it was surprising because the skin of my labia is not like the skin on my face, chest, or hand which are the other places I had moles. My labia minor were fleshy and slightly wavy (it’s more wavy, now); the color formed an ombre effect from pink to light brown as it extended to the outer edge of my labia. I had no good or bad thoughts; just pure fascination.

Usually, I would get dressed and place the mirror back behind the gas stove, but one day I forgot. My grandmother scolded “What took you so long in that bathroom? You know other people have to bathe. You got this mirror on this toilet like you been looking up your ass.” That likely could have been enough to shame me into never taking a peek at my vagina again.

The Peeping Tom

In third grade, while using the restroom a girl peeped inside my stall. When I walked out all the girls were quiet and staring at me. Eventually, I asked, “What?” And one girl told me that another had peeked into my stall and said I was nasty because I was playing with myself. Given the limited restroom time that we had, I doubt that I was actually playing with myself. Perhaps I was touching myself a bit longer than she felt appropriate. Either way, I can’t recall. I do remember that they seemed to be staring at me like I’d committed an offense punishable by death as they awaited my response. I simply replied that she was nasty for looking into my stall. They all agreed and that was the end of that.

After I got my cycle, I didn’t look at my vulva for a very long time. I didn’t masturbate for a very long time either. Whenever I did, which was rarely, it was stealthy, over quickly, detached, and impersonal. I eventually learned that masturbation is absolutely inappropriate for girls however, boys were always “beating their meat”, having wet dreams, and after school porn watch parties with jacking off contests and this was completely normal. It was more acceptable for a guy to touch you than for you to touch yourself. No wonder men fetishize women masturbating.

Sophomore year in college, I began masturbating regularly, again. I had my own, private room. I didn’t have to worry about doing it sneakily in the bathroom or waiting until I thought everyone was asleep or concerning myself with who might pop in on me. And while I had really, really great sex during this period of my life, there is no intimacy quite like the intimacy of pleasuring one’s self. That release had been a long time coming; All puns intended.

Love Yourself, Touch Yourself

Now, masturbation is a sacred ritual and while I enjoy using toys, I mostly prefer to use my hands. I love the way I feel; the way I swell as I become aroused; the way my vulva becomes a frictionless surface, the way my body pulsates through my climax, and as I reach resolution. I am both comfortable and open with masturbation. I masturbate at least three times a week whether I’m having sex regularly or not.

Masturbation is my way of showing love and appreciation to myself. I use it to complete my stress cycles and release excess energy before bed. Night time puts me in nesting mode. When I’m preparing to masturbate, I like to lie with my back slightly arched, legs opened and relaxed. I explore the entire surface of my bare mons and vulva. With my fingers, I slowly slide two inside my vagina to smell and taste. I love the way I taste and smell. No one knows my body better than I do. I roll my hips in full circles as I climb higher and higher, pinching my nipple between my index and middle fingers as I squeeze my breast in one hand the other between my legs. My relationship with Desiree is a slight obsession. I love her so much. I like to express my love in others ways as well. Here’s a portrait of her I recently drew.

self portrait

Self-portrait “Desiree”

My favorite things to use during masturbation are coconut oil and my imagination; no penetration. I enjoy exclusive clitoral stimulation only. I have the sexiest imagination. Although, I don’t have access to another imagination to compare. All I know is once it works its magic, no lube necessary.

Occasionally, I like to have more elaborate masturbation rituals which involve Marsha Ambrious, Trey Songs, some sexy mirror dancing (this girl is talented with these hips), incense, and crystals. I’m such a romantic and there are few things I enjoy more than not waiting for someone else to romance me. Especially given the fact that I am more single than I’ve ever been yet I’m having my most accepting, self-intimacy sex life ever.


A Touch of Self-Love

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