*Maria from Mommy Melee is funny, pretty, talented, and as sweet as pancake syrup. Basically me, but to the Nth degree. :P I discovered her recently, and she instantaneously became one of my must reads. I don’t know what I’m going to do when she gives birth soon. *
Moving out of my parent’s house to college meant a lot of things to me. But more than anything else, it meant that I could finally buy a sex toy. Yep, that’s right. I was more excited about owning a vibrator than I was about potentially drinking/learning/dating/etc. I was a horny dork, what can I say?
A few miles out of my old college town lies a highly infamous and awesome trucker-frequented strip club called the Café Risqué. Said strip club happens to also contain “ADULT NOVELTIES” so I headed on down there with a likeminded friend a few weeks after school started and we picked up matching hot pink jelly-style dildos that were approximately 15 times bigger than they needed to be. Also, they smelled like lighter fluid. Bizarre.
I held onto this thing for my first year of school, rarely actually doing anything with it since it was A. huge and B. huge and C. didn’t actually transfer vibration well, which is kind of what I’d bought it for.
As I grew older and wiser I learned that small, hard objects make the best vibrators. They transfer sensations well and you don’t have to throw them away when your parents come back to school to help you move home for the summer.
Some time between then and now, I came to be known as “that girl that talks about her boner a lot.” It’s true. In college, I was also that girl who would be all “what the hell you’ve never had an orgasm before?” I took a handful of friends to sex shops for their first forays into purchasing happy, buzzing little friends. (One of my best friends bought one to match her purple car. How awesome is that?)
I like to wank. I think it’s important that women understand what makes their ladyparts tick. I think it’s important that women have at least some kind of language to explain what they like, what makes them feel good, and what they want.
It took me well over 18 years to get to that place. I was raised Catholic. Around eleven years old, I sat with a young male priest and felt absolutely divinely obligated to tell him that I touched myself. Now I ask you: How fucking retarded is that? No. Seriously.
When I was a child and young teen, just hearing jokes about masturbation gave me fits. Stomach aches. Sleeplessness. Cold sweats. God was watching me. He knew. My parents knew. There was something wrong with me. I really, really liked doing something really really wrong and I’d been doing it for a really, really long time.
What kind of epic failsauce agenda drives a young woman to question something totally naturally if not vaguely pervy? (I’m not here to knock the Catholic Church, but yikes on a stick, let’s focus on bigger issues than masturbation when we’re narrowing down the tenets of our faith, yes?)
As a proud masturbatin’ lady, I now enjoy lulling myself to sleep and while I’m not about to extol the virtues of self-love to my mother-in-law, I try to at least be open about it in the right company.
I wank to sleep, and take my wanking slow.
Out of sheer laziness, I kind of just toss my current favorite helper (a yellow German woodchuck-shaped silicon vibrator, no joke) under my bed at night.
Sidenote, said German woodchuck-shaped silicon vibrator was purchased at Good Vibrations, a highly-recommended female-focused online shop based out of San Francisco.
Problem is, I bought the bright yellow toy three years ago. Before I had a kid. Before I had a toddler. Who now likes to dive under my bed, fish out the woodchuck, and go running around my room in circles waving it over his head yelling “Make it go, Mama!”
I’ve come full circle. On the shopping list: A box with a sturdy, childproof latch.
