Today’s guest post comes from Holly Hughes, a writer and intuitive healer based in North Carolina.
I wish I could masturbate like a cis man. I imagine it’s super freeing to be able to lean back and knock out an orgasm. If nothing else, it must be a huge stress reliever.
I’ve never even considered sitting at my office desk and pleasuring myself. Is it even possible? I mean, the way I need things to be set up – curtains drawn, door closed, pets out of the room, and privacy – there’s no way I believe I could give myself pleasure while seated on a vegan leather office chair.
I didn’t own a vibrator until I was thirty. Sad but true. There I was, naïve in all things vibrating, and determined to get over it. I asked a friend to come with me to a sex store, so I’d be less intimidated. My friend had firsthand knowledge of the world of pleasure I was about to enter, and I felt safe exploring the black-lit sex shop with him.
As we crossed the threshold, my eyes first went to the cage, the bondage and leather on display. This was all much more daring than my skimpiest Victoria’s Secret lingerie. It was sexual in a way I hadn’t experienced. Some of the devices and apparatus made me giggle, others were appealing, and I wondered how I missed out on so much fun.
The store’s staff were informative and helpful. I’m sure I looked like a newbie as my eyes ran over everything on display. Fortunately, the staff were happy to ease my nervous curiosities. One employee led me into a room farther back, where various sizes and shapes of vibrators were displayed. She demonstrated how to turn them on and the features that made each one unique. Some were curved, others had ridges, moving internal parts like beads, or multiple controls. She placed each one in my hands, allowing me to feel how hard or soft the silicone was.
At this point in my life, the only penis that never failed to give me an orgasm (or several) belonged to my ex. When we were together, I used to jokingly plead with him to make a mold, so if we ever broke up, I could still have it. It was just the right length and had the most spectacular curve that never failed to hit my g-spot. Years later, I still wish I got that mold.
Back to the sex shop. After inspecting numerous vibrators of all sizes and shapes, I settled on a lavender rabbit. It had multiple speeds, and the color made it less intimidating. It remained in its box under my bed for months until one night when, alone in my room and feeling frisky, I decided to try it out.
I opened the box, added batteries, shut my cat out of the bedroom, and closed the door. Then I got naked, got under my covers, and turned the vibrator on. I was shocked at how loud it was. I tried muffling it under a pile of blankets. The noise was a complete turn off, and I was sure my neighbors would hear it through my thin apartment walls. Needless to say, there was no orgasm. I packed the rabbit back up and shoved it into my bedside table drawer.
Months later, I tried again. This time I ignored the fear of being heard masturbating and simply enjoyed the experience.
Fast forward a decade or so, and I’ve explored and discovered the type of lover-in-a-drawer that does it for me. Now the biggest hindrance to my ability to enjoy time with it is being a busy entrepreneur, mother, wife, friend, and author. The idea of a little stress relief is always appealing, but I still need to be left alone to enjoy my own devices. I have no doubt my husband doesn’t have the same issue. He’s able to just lean back in his office chair and pleasure himself.
My typical self-love routine (and I really hate that it’s a routine, but it’s true) starts with digging out my vibrators from the drawer under my bed. I keep them safely hidden beneath an ugly holiday sweater and my old thermal underwear, just in case my daughter ever goes snooping in my belongings. I check to make sure the toys don’t need new batteries. I have one now that needs to be plugged in.
After I make sure I have privacy and a working instrument, I lay back and enjoy a favorite fantasy or two, mostly having to do with Taylor Kitsch or Benjamin Walker. And bam! Stress relief and orgasm are had.
But most times, things don’t go quite that smoothly. Today, for instance, I really wanted to relax before going to get my mammogram. My husband wasn’t home, and I had thirty minutes before I had to leave. So, I broke out my favorite toys. One had no charge, so I had to make do with my backup. I got comfortable and was about to begin when I heard moaning coming from next to the bed. Then I heard the thumping of my dog running up and jumping onto the bed to snuggle next to me.
“No,” I said. “Get out.”
He looked at me with his big brown puppy-dog eyes and refused to move. Now naked, I picked him up and put him on the other side of my closed bedroom door.
Before I even made it back to enjoy any sensation of pleasure, I heard a meow, meow, meow. Our kitten was on the other side of the door.
This was the first time I ever wished my vibrator was louder and could say things like, “Don’t pay attention to the cat. You’re so sexy. You feel so good.” But I couldn’t make my mind tune out the cat meowing or the dog scratching, so I yelled, “Shut up!” Nothing like pets to ruin the mood.
It’s not as if I get this chance for alone time often. And honestly, when I do, I worry about my husband walking in. Not that he’d mind at all, it’s more about wanting to be left alone to enjoy myself without anyone watching or participating. Isn’t that what masturbating is all about? Self-pleasure? I know my man doesn’t have the same needs or issues, or even gives any more thought to masturbating than, yeah, now’s a good time. No need for soft lighting or routine. I wish I could masturbate like him.
I imagine many cis men can rub one out in a minute or two, but my body doesn’t work like that. And there are times when I know that, no matter what I do, my orgasm won’t come. That even though I know how to pleasure myself, my body won’t cooperate. This happened to me after the birth of my child, and was especially true after my hysterectomy. I felt like Samantha from Sex and the City, wondering if I’d used all my orgasms up.
Thankfully, of course, that wasn’t true. But it did take me longer than I care to admit to enjoy sex again after both of those life-altering events. My insides felt so different. I felt the changes acutely and I was afraid my husband wouldn’t like them and would find me less desirable. I’m thankful to my sex toys for helping me heal and find my pleasure again.
But there are always days like today when I think it would be nice to sneak off and not have so many obstacles to masturbating. I imagine, like peeing standing up, there are advantages to masturbating while sitting up in an office chair with the lights on and the dog laying by your feet. As for me, I’ll be waiting for a quiet and private moment to pleasure myself with my always ready boyfriend-in-a-drawer.
Holly is a freelance writer and intuitive healer living in North Carolina. When she isn’t working you can find her getting ready for Halloween or dancing. Check out her website and follow her on Instagram!