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Found Guilty: Girl Admits to Masturbating!

October 18, 2009

pc-282I started masturbating when I was really young. I was five years old and I’d hide under the couch in the basement and dry hump my stuffed toys. Oh ya! Good times. I wouldn’t use my hands, because that somehow made it “worse” and I mean worse, because I inherently felt guilty about what I was doing. Using props that were exterior to me was a means to detach myself from masturbating, and I gotta say the stuffed toys worked every time. 

I don’t know why I felt so bad about it. My parents weren’t the repressed kind. I was never taught that it was bad, but then again I was never taught anything about it at all. Let’s just say that the reasons why remain a mystery, since I have no recollection of them. I suppose I just picked-up on the general attitude we have towards sex and masturbation in our society. 

It wasn’t until I was a little older that I discovered the magic properties of water pressure. Just thinking about it makes my PC muscles clench all by themselves. It was one of my girlfriends who turned my on to the idea when we were swimming in her Dad’s pool. Those water jets opened a whole new world to me. What’s funny is that a few years later when I mentioned it to my (then) friend and she acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about and that if anything she had just showed me that the water jets “felt weird” when they massaged her “stomach”. The capacity for denial in most people still amazes me to this day. 

I don’t think I was ever outright caught while masturbating, although there were definitely some very close calls that remain ambiguous in terms of what exactly did they (the person walking in) see. I started to hide my stuffed toys, because I found that they smelt like pussy and they somehow became symbols of guilt. Bunched up blankets, rolled up socks, carpets, couch armrests, they all served at one point or another to get me off.

I’d take a bath and place the little dissolving bath soap right under my vulva, because I liked to way it felt and one day when I wasn’t paying attention, it dissolved completely and I freaked out because I thought it had gone inside of my vagina. I was a bright kid, despite that little tidbit of information, and it just goes to show how little we know about our bodies. 

When my grand-father was dying of cancer, I cried every night for a week, because I felt guilty that I masturbated. It makes no sense when thinking about the reasoning that was going on in my little ten year old head, and it was obviously some kind of misplaced grief and guilt about his impending death, but still, I felt BAD about giving myself pleasure when there was so much pain around me. At least, that’s the way I look at it now. 

The first time I talked about masturbating was with my best friend Marianne when I was about eleven or twelve years old. I had bought her a vibrator at a novelty shop (as a joke) and she gave it back to me, because she didn’t like the way it felt. I only used it a few times, because I was paranoid about the sound that it made. Eventually, I threw it into the woods near my Mom’s house. I still wonder if it’s there when I pass by that little stretch of forest. 

Eventually, throughout high school I became more and more open about it. I had some very sexually open friends and that made it a breeze to talk about. Now, I’ll talk about it whenever or wherever, I simply don’t care. I’ve lost all sense of shame, thank god, and it’s the easiest subject for me to broach in the world. The only people I might refrain from entering into this conversation with are my parents. I would still find that absolutely uncomfortable and I don’t think that that is a bridge I ever want to cross, I’m pretty comfortable with our unspoken agreement to never talk about sex.

It’s a contradiction, I know, especially when I believe that kids and their parents should have a more open discourse about sex, but I don’t think I’m quite there yet with my own parents. It was hard enough telling my Dad and my Mom the name of this blog. Surprisingly, my Dad had a much better reaction than my Mom. She hates the name and to some extent the content, while he started talking to me about The Vagina Monologues. 

2 Comments leave one →
  1. October 18, 2009 8:56 pm

    Hi there, Olga!

    As I’ve read, you’ve described very well this processus -not story, not history- about your masturbation. If fictional, doesn’t matter. Btw, an elegant post. So, let me say a few words about the content:

    1. “When my grand-father was dying of cancer, I cried every night for a week, because I felt guilty that I masturbated.” Yes, that’s something that happens, and happens because of that sort of Guilty, derivated from the impossibility, when child or teen, of separate facts and events. That’s not bad, because the flux of affections is in its highest level, and all flows with a great and sane speed. But that Guilty has 2 heads: By one side, the guilty of pleasure related to the fact of masturbation as, for example: Is what I’m doing Dirty? Correct? Femenine? Do I deserve this pleasure? and so on. This is the crystalization of the f* dominant and puritanic moral which also flows in our societies. The second head turns to the plane of an inminent death and an inmanent enjoyment (not pleasure) and how we could accept them at the same time. Of course, if we focus our thought-&-imagination with the event “granfather-death” we charge our thoughts-&-imagionation with sad affects. But what I see positive here was a really personal grow, because you were facing the -not yours- death, composing your body with an extra help, the masturbation. You fought the sad affects produced by your grandfather’s body -as event- in order to have a break, take air, breath if you want, by the enjoyment way. And it’s really nice.

    2. And, well…parents have never the last nor the first word about sex/masturbation. Masturbation could be perfectly define as the creation of a little territory where pleasure is recombined with enjoyment in orden to re-stablish an aequilibrium in your body.

    Hope what I said were not offensive to you, but it’s what I’ve thought when I’ve read your post.

    Greetings from Spain.

    Toni aka bufu.

  2. October 19, 2009 4:22 pm

    Toni (Bufu): Thanks for commenting. It’s funny who you bring up the process of telling a story that isn’t fictional, but that it doesn’t matter either. I like that idea a lot. That’s why I especially like theatre, because good plays ride that line quite well.

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