Masturbation, Ejaculation and What I’m Gushing to Tell You: Part 1
Let’s face it, I’ve been an avid masturbator since I was five years old and I always knew it was something I shouldn’t talk about. I was never really sure if it was acceptable to touch myself even though it felt so good. I assumed everyone did but realized early on that it was meant to be done in alone time only. So for of my childhood years, I hid my dry humping habits and would feel a rush of guilt and shame after I finished doing the deed. It’s funny because that guilt and shame still creeps in after I orgasm even in my adult years and even though my relationship with self-pleasure has totally become acceptable for me to share with the masses.
Back then, I knew that if someone walked in on me masturbating or if my mom found the evidence of me tampering with her Kama Sutra books or watching her steamy VHS gang-bang porn, I would get in so much trouble. Seriously, I’m not even sure how I learned how to masturbate. I do remember vividly watching R-rated movies with my parents like Fatal Attraction and Pretty Woman, noting where the scenes were when I felt a little tingle in my lady bits and going back when no one was home again and again so I could fast forward to that exact scene and hump my pillow until the rushing relief of an orgasm would come over me.
I remember when my self-pleasure finally turned into dual-pleasure. I was about seven and I used to have weekend sleep overs with my best friend. We both had single moms as parents and were left home by ourselves a lot. Somehow, one faithful night we ended up in the bed grinding and dry humping in our Rainbow Bright pajamas. This little dry hump fest felt so good with each other we continued on regular basis each of us dry humping the other until orgasm. That huge rush of orgasm relief I’d been feeling all by myself turned into us pleasing each other. It was never super sexual though-at least we never were intimately making out or tenderly touching each other’s bodies. We just humped it out until an anxiousness from within was felt one of us came. This continued for quite some time until I was forced to move away as my mom found a new boyfriend who lived in a different city. My access to my dry humping bestie was no more. Sad face.
My journey with masturbation continued from there and I knew exactly what an orgasm felt like going into my adolescence. I suppose this is what came as such a surprise to me when I started dating and being physical with boys. None of my hook up ended in orgasms. Mind you, I wasn’t having full blown intercourse yet, just a lot of making out, oral, and finger banging. I just couldn’t cum. No matter what the teenage (and sometimes twenty something) boy did with me, the O-Face would not happen. Even after I finally had the long awaited copulation I had saved myself for until I was 17—no orgasm. I couldn’t even cum with my serious college boyfriend who was super-hot and who I was madly in love.
It was so bizarre that for most of my childhood years I had been able to hump a pillow or my stuffed bear and orgasms poured out of me but the moment a person had their finger, mouth or penis inside me, nothing would cum to fruition. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the experiences and felt very much in my power during these physical interactions. I just heavily relied on masturbation to feel the ultimate release and was convinced self-induced pleasure was how everyone got off.
After a few months of sex with my serious college aged boyfriend (and still no orgasm) an even bigger challenge arose; physical trauma to my lady bits. About a month after my 18th birthday and right before my freshman year of college, my 20 something boyfriend (yes, the same one I gave my V-card to) and I were on a road trip all over the East Coast touring with a band we were obsessed with when the unthinkable happens. My left labia minora is torn in half during a late night drunken romp fest in a pitch dark tent at a remote campsite in the Pocono Mountains. Literally, I had to be rushed to the emergency room via an ambulance after which a doctor stitched me up for 2 hours and then had me questioned by a counselor who had only seen trauma like this in cases of violence against women. Words of advice: never mix an un-lubricated condom, several bottles of wine and a totally dry pussy with an overexcited penis owner. It’s the perfect concoction for disaster and I still bear a labia scar to prove it.
The doctor advised me to have no sex for at least six weeks to give my vulva the chance to recover. Six Weeks! I was convinced I’d have to wait a year or two because it looked like I swallowed a soft ball and it was slowly trying to fight its way out of my body via my vulva. I had to walk with my legs bowed way out with the help of a cane because if anything came in contact with my vulva it was EXCRUCIATINGLY painful. It felt like I was getting punched in the vulva by Mike Tyson all day every day for the next four solid weeks. I never wanted anyone (including myself) or anything to touch my lady bits again.
Listen to Episode #76 Great Sex In Relationships after Trauma with Tara Harrison, LPC
Thankfully the pain did eventually subside but unfortunately, so did my sex drive. Mind you, there were many other factors affecting my sex drive at the time to name a few: I shared a super small dorm room with another human, every time I was aroused or had penetrative sex my vulva would painfully swell up for days, I was stressed with loads of term papers and course work, and I was on hormonal birth control-a known deal killer for arousal. Needless to say, there wasn’t a whole lot of space in my life to feel sexual.
To make matters even worse, there were rumors churning around campus that my boyfriend was cheating on me. Multiple sources approached me with information on his acts of infidelity and my insecurities around worthiness went through the roof. It was a sexual depressing time for me for sure…I actually dubbed it the “Great Sexual Depression” as my pussy, my sexuality and my soul was starving and there was nothing to eat.
In other more important news, this was short lived!! I think my “Great Sexual Depression” lasted about 6 months in total. I mustered up the courage to dump that cheating boyfriend who validated his asshole-ness by telling me no one would ever love me because I was scarred and broken (what an idiot). I became best friends with my dorm-mate who was a badass artsy feminist powerhouse and she showed me what independence felt like. I started appreciating the scar on my labia instead of shamming it, and I switched my birth control to something that didn’t make me feel like the world was ending and I needed to eat all the mac and cheese in Minnesota to compensate. Things were looking up. I even started feeling aroused again which was something I hadn’t felt in some time. I felt like I was returning to my old self. It was so exciting--I was back and [possibly] better than ever!
Enter my first lesbian experience…
I think being emotionally wounded and physically scarred by a penis owner had me fully desiring something outside of the hetero box. I knew vulvas and vaginas all too well. I mean, I had access to one my whole life. I was well acquainted with its nooks and crannies and knew the ways to stroke and caress, fondle and rub, massage and pet, hump and grind. Plus, I was over the complexity of the opposite sex. In all honesty, the penis terrified me quite a bit. I had some serious penis PTSD! So it was time to dive into something I knew all too well. And maybe, just maybe, it was always intended for to be with a women (hello daddy issues!).
I never expected my first lesbian hook up would be with a close friend. It just casually ended up that way and stayed that way for almost two years. I had known her much of late childhood. Her younger brother was my middle school boyfriend and had gone down on me in high school when we tried to date again. He broke my heart and I always imagined us getting back together because his family liked me so much. So I knew her well but just as friends. She was an incredible person, an artist, an athlete, a no nonsense tom boy who didn’t take shit from anyone. When we were together people always asked if we were sisters. I loved that! It was so comforting.
Our first hook up was inadvertent and alcohol induced. We were passed out in a friend’s bed after a boozy college keg party and I, feeling closer to her than ever, initiated and went in for a long kiss goodnight. We made out for a while then dry humped in our clothes and it was over. Casual and not talked about. I think we both thought it was a drunken mistake. We spoke nothing of the incident. Then, on another drunken night, it happened again. Until those first and second and third incidents turned into several more unintentional episodes. It took us a long time to discuss what was happening between us as neither of us had ever dabbled in a girl-on-girl relationship.
Listen to Episode #44 Sexual Mastery: Pussies, Vulvas and Yonis
We decided to keep it quiet and stay closeted as her family were pillars of the community and super conservative and mine were too detached and closed minded to make aware. I felt a sexual awakening that was new, deep, and uncharted. It was incredible.
Enter my first adult orgasm with a partner…who just happened to be a vulva owner.
[Check out PART 2 of this blog and get the juicy details of how I learned to let go and orgasm/ejaculate with a partner!]
