every night

Although technically masturbation isn’t a thing. Like all sex, it’s an activity. And I do have me some fun at the activity centre!

I love masturbation! I love it in concept. I head-over-heels, swoontastically love it in practice. I’ve got it BAD for my hands, yo. And my toys. And a few specific household items.
I’ve been wanking for a long time. So long I don’t remember a time when I didn’t masturbate. So when I tell you that masturbation is made of awesome, I’m speaking from lots of experience. Don’t believe me? Just consider the following benefits:

1. No one ever masturbates and thinks ‘Dang! That was the worst part of my day!‘

2. It’s 4:00 p.m. You’ve just come home from work. The kids will be home from soccer at any minute, you still have to make dinner and you’re horny as hell. Ping! Try masturbation – for a quick and healthy fix.

3. Masturbation is the thrill of exploration in the comfort of your own home.

4. Masturbation releases endorphins, which relax the muscles. Try it as part of your post-workout routine.

5. Masturbation releases endorphins, which provide pain relief. Try it the next time you have a headache.

6. Yearning for frisky times with someone who isn’t your long-term, monogamous partner? Don’t want to negotiate an open relationship? Infidelity not your style? Fondle your sexy parts and enjoy a hot, fantasy tryst, courtesy of masturbation!

7. How hard is it to convince you to have sex with you?

8. Granting your partner’s request to watch you masturbate triples your chances of getting applause.

9. It’s 1:00 a.m. You’re still tossing and turning and you’ve got that big presentation in the morning. Try masturbation: a safe, natural sedative!

10. Masturbating can reduce the risk of cervical infection and prostate cancer. Three cheers for healthy nethers!

11. Some flexible folk can masturbate orally! Even if you’re not one of the lucky few who can get your tongue to your promise land, you can see videos of it online. Trust me – that shit’s pretty cool.

In conclusion, masturbation rules. So when this work-a-day world has gotcha down, get a hold of yourself – literally and take a few moments for some self-stimulation!

Nadine Thornhill
Adorable Undies

a surprising paradox

November 5, 2017

Bride

Although most boys figure out how to bring themselves to orgasm by age thirteen, half of girls don’t have their first orgasms until their late teens, twenties, or beyond. Teenage girls widely agree that they get the message loud and clear that masturbation is something boys do, but girls don’t, can’t, or shouldn’t. The cultural focus on intercourse tells young women to expect they’ll begin to experience sexual pleasure once they have sex with a man (whether or not they’re even interested in sex with men). Nearly all teen boys, on the other hand, experience sexual pleasure long before they get their hands – or other body parts – into a partner’s pants. Despite the massive advances in women’s equality, young women’s sexuality is stuck in a surprising paradox. Young women are sold provocative clothes but aren’t taught where to find their own clitoris. Many girls give their boyfriends oral sex, but are too uncomfortable with their own bodies to allow the guys to return the favour. It’s still a radical act to say that women need and deserve access to information about their own sexual pleasure – not just about the risks and negative consequences of sex.

Dorian Solot
I Love Female Orgasm: An Extraordinary Orgasm Guide

Virginity

October 22, 2017

I’d like to think that I took my own virginity
One tired night in my closet with my vibrating toothbrush
I told Marques that he was my first
Along with Caleb
and Alex
and Francisco
and Ashlyn
Even when I was 13 and I discovered the wonder that was (and is)
my vagina, I figured that my virginity should be mine.
My vagina is special to me.
It grants me the delicious explosion if I talk to it just right
I fall in love with myself a little more each time I caress it.
The bond that I have with my vagina will never be broken.
My virginity is in fact
mine

Olive Waverly

There’s a strong urgency in masturbation.
The longing for there to be another human body
pressed up against your own, so much so you envision
it vividly in your mind, painting hundreds of
thousands of scenarios until you find one just right
for your hand,

for your body.

It’s not about pleasure, but about that momentary loss of place and time,
a further commitment to your imagination but
to your loneliness as well.

Tatiana Arredondo

Masturbation

October 14, 2017

There is an image
Working to free my mind
From violent dawns
It probes at the backs of my eyes
It tells me I am prostituting myself
Here in my bedroom
In incestuous union with myself
I hallucinate and fantasise about
Doctors sons, butchers boys
Teenage thieves, deserters
Drug pushers, scandalous rent boys
Vagrants, pimps, prostitutes
And silk lingerie and don’t care.
I sit destitute of thought
An insane dissonance of macabre music
Playing out melodies of an image in my mind

Edgar Whitman Wilde

preventative masturbation

August 5, 2017

“Along with heavy drinking, I do preventative masturbation four or five times a day so that I can go out in public.”

This all sounded oddly familiar. Then I reassured myself: I might have shared some of his symptoms, but that can be said for most psychiatric illnesses.

“Why do you think this has happened to you?” I asked. “Maybe you should see Oliver Sacks. It could be neurological. Like the man who thought his wife was a cocktail waitress.”

“I don’t get any sex. That’s my problem. I’m thirty-one; I haven’t had sex in nine years.”

What could I say to comfort him? Nine years was a terribly long time. One hardly goes nine years without doing most things, except maybe trips to the Far East…

Jonathan Ames
Wake Up Sir

Voyeur

July 23, 2017

23rd July

Living here with so many ghosts I feel like a caretaker of the restless dead – a protector of spirits who haunt my life – so that I’ve become my own haunted house, attempting communication with partially glimpsed movements at the edge of perception, or the sound of a creaking stair, or a noise in the attic which might only be the patter of falling rain…My ghosts can be cranky on occasion: they can whisper words, the meaning of which I’m unable to determine.

It’s been a long time since anyone treated them well –

#

So the Saturday evening play-party. With our friends from the local munch, people possessing the emotional bandwidth to comply with our safety standards, while sharing similar aesthetic tastes to ourselves.

Like a small film club, are we, eagerly awaiting the main attraction: crisps, freshly roasted nuts and popcorn are liberally distributed to ‘the audience’ in small china bowls. Missy A has been naughty and is to be disciplined while we watch. Furniture has been moved to accommodate this tableaux.

Seeing Missy A bent over a chair with her skirt hitched up is breathtaking. Hearing a hand slap against her buttocks, is so very arousing – how could it be otherwise? Savouring the slight trembling of flesh with each fresh impact. Her yelps of discomfort –

Then E rising to join T who is tiring. E has a riding crop. She takes T’s place. Her skin-head hair cut is intimidating. She uses the crop with consummate skill –

Yelps become cries. Missy’s poor glowing bum is criss-crossed with red stripes –

Missy’s now estranged husband used to take her to play-parties in the boot of their car. Almost nude, gagged and handcuffed, even in winter, she would endure this humiliation without complaint. His treatment of her became harsher and harsher, until she finally left him eighteen months ago.

It should serve as a lesson to us all, how quickly such consensual abuse can become pure abuse –

I’m reminded of Jean-Paul Sartre and his theory of emotions as ‘magic’. Because Missy has simply exchanged one sadist for another. The new man in her life allows his fantasies free rein. She is, it seems, one of life’s natural victims –

E’s skill with that crop is superlative. Her strokes are hard enough to mark Missy’s naked bum but not to break the skin. I can’t take my eyes from Missy, her tear-filled eyes, parted lips, writhing as if in the grip of some invisible power. Sex is inherently ritualistic, a symbolic act whose meanings extend beyond itself. And there can be no doubt that Missy’s submission is sexual, that she takes pleasure from E’s practiced flogging of her backside. And every face in ‘the audience’ is slightly flushed with sexual excitement as they look on. And my own arousal is equally obvious –

Finally, aftercare. Caresses, kisses, gentle stroking. A smile on Missy’s tear-stained face. She experienced some sort of climax near the end of her ‘punishment’, and all the tension is now drained from her.

I finish my popcorn (which incidentally is homemade) as E takes Missy upstairs to the bathroom to fix her make-up.

‘I hope they don’t wake the ghosts,’ I say to no one in particular.

And no one, as expected, bothers to reply.

#

Hamlet experienced an encounter with a ghost and it ended in massacre. Macbeth was confronted by Banquo’s ghost during a great banquet, and lost his peace of mind forever. It’s more than likely that Shakespeare’s ghosts are simply psychological manifestations of guilt – imagined apparitions, in other words.

But what of my ghosts?

Trish, for example?

She used to love me reading out loud to her. At bedtime I always had to read to her or she couldn’t sleep. On occasion she would perform an act of fellation upon me as I read –

She once described herself to me as ‘Terribly thin’. And her body, I must admit, was like a sabre slash in silk. As flat chested as a boy, was she. ‘You’re fine,’ I’d tell her. ‘I love you as you are.’ And then laid her back and performed cunnilingus on her for almost an hour –

I read her ‘The Story of O’ and we both got turned on by it. It was Christmas Eve I remember, and Trish guided me between her buttocks. I gently sodomized her for the first time while she masturbated herself.

We talked a lot about art, writing, music and cinema. One time I told her about André Gide, his enormous influence on the young, which sprang from his teaching that one’s only duty is to oneself, that one should never be ‘encumbered’, either by material possessions, memories or other people –

‘Often the best in us springs from the worst in us.’

And so I read ‘Isabelle’ to Trish, and we both visited le chateau de la Quartfourche with Gerard Lacase, and accompanied him on his quest for Isabelle in the grip of ‘amorous curiosity’.

Books, reading, more reading and fucking. ‘Why don’t you read me something you’ve written?’ she asked. It was a bridge too far for me. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Never that. It’s all too awful.’ But she insisted, so finally I recited some of the poems in ‘Summer Births’ from memory. And while the words spilled gently from my mouth like little lost souls, Trish fondled me erect and masturbated me –

Trish had always had a thing about India. For her it seemed a magical, mysterious, exotic place. One day she announced she was finally going to go there. She’d saved the money. She was going for six months – longer if she could!

And so she drifted from my life almost as casually as she’d drifted into it. And now she keeps company with the crowd of ghosts occupying this place; a spectre who loves to hear me read out loud late at night –

i lie in my bed sometimes with ear buds in listening to porn without watching the screen on my phone. i pretend it’s you and some whore fucking in front of me to shame me … it makes me so wet i have to touch and finger my cunt then when i cum i rub all my pussy juice over my face and body….usually i cum again then.

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