Rubbing One Out
As a kid, my preferred method of masturbation was rubbing up against something. I would grind against my stuffed toys, rolled up socks, pillows, what have you. I was rather young at the time and didn’t think anything of it, besides somehow “knowing” that this activity was to be done in private. I even remember crawling under the couch in my grandfather’s basement to rub one out.
In elementary school, I continued to masturbate, but on top of keeping this activity on the lowdown, I also became more aware of the general feeling surrounding it, which was “it’s bad”. I started to hide the more commonly used toys. After all, it’s not like I threw teddy in the wash and quite frankly he kind of smelt like sex. Surely, a telltale sign of my masturbatory delight.
Picture me a little older, I’m entering the teen years and by now I’m starting to understand sexual innuendoes on TV and in movies. I’ve even read a book or two that have described masturbation. I’m no longer subject to my OWN experience of masturbation, I’m silently comparing my experience to the ones I hear around me and I begin to wonder if the way I get off is normal.
Every time I read or heard about masturbation, I was never told that you could get off by rubbing your genitals against something. It was my little secret and I thought I was acting outside the norm. I even convinced myself that when the time came for me to have partner sex, that my style of movement (circular) wouldn’t cut it during heterosexual sex, so I changed it to an in and out movement that mimicked penetration.
When I was just a little older, some friends and I tentatively started to talk about masturbation among ourselves as something people actually did, as something WE actually did, but I never in a million years would have imagined actually telling anyone HOW I made myself cum. I can’t tell you the exact moment I was free of that barrier. Maybe it was the fact that I had some pretty open minded friends who spoke freely about themselves or maybe it was simply a matter of growing up and becoming more comfortable with the person I was, but as you can see talking about it no longer bothers me. I might not always be comfortable in any or in every given situation, but I’m not ashamed or embarrassed to talk about that discomfort. Isn’t that amazing?