I sat down to write a blog entry and soon felt distracted and realized something was missing. I began to scan my memory for a particular sex toy I had, somewhere, and have not seen in years. I got up to find it and surprised even myself with some of the things I have in my closet: there must be a reason why I have these five body harnesses either in preparation for the zombie apocalypse or my dream of having a Roman human drawn chariot.
I washed off the toy, inserted it, and sat myself back to down to write. During ovulation some girls eat everything in the house, cry, fight, or shop but for me it’s a humming, throbbing, burning sensation that will not go away and I want to fuck – more than usual that is. So masturbation seems natural, but I don’t enjoy masturbation, instead I choose to complicate the whole process by making my own aching worse. As my keyboard clicked away and words began to appear I rotated my hips in unison, the toy of course rubbing softly against a good spot.
My blog entry was now three pages long. It was time I just admitted that I needed assistance beyond sitting on a toy: porn!
I am always frustrated with the available variety of porn in North America; oh great, another drunk Russian girl fucking for bread, like I haven’t seen that first hand while traveling the world – yuck. So I chose to go to anime, which pissed me off because half of the entries were blurred out, what is it with the fucking Japanese they make all these great sex toys and movies and blur everything out … I was not in the mood for my usual German trauma porn and the girl on girl stuff was … lame. What is with the fake nails? Seriously.
Obviously I was beyond help, feeling defeated I just needed to give in and masturbate.
I stood myself in front of the large mirror in my bedroom, shaking my head in disapproval as I took in the sad sight that is a wet crotch, right through my underpants and grey tights. Nasty and a bit hot at the same time. This is when the fireplace catches fire and I need to call 911, I thought to myself, but I could pass this off (almost) for pissing myself. I chose my best feel good music, which happens to be industrial music and got myself naked and then I stood there for another ten minutes playing with my own body in the mirrors reflection.
Do girls usually light candles? Romance themselves or what? I was starting to look around the room, out of my element, for what it was exactly I was or should do. Oh crap is that a cobweb in the corner of the room? I should get the broom and dust that more often… what the fuck! Why does he leave his socks just anywhere, if you roll them in pairs, then I don’t end up with missing mismatched socks… see where this is heading?
As I move about cleaning my room, naked, the toy is still rubbing against the hot insides of my body – which is now producing more lubrication and without pants on, is wetting the inside of my thighs. Sometimes I wish it would just go away…
I threw myself down on the bed, it was inevitable and rested on my back, facing the ceiling which was a big mistake, because now I was distracted by the need to also dust the ceiling fan. I turned myself onto my stomach and pushed my hips into the mattress, I thought if I closed my eyes I would be able to concentrate on the task. Don’t get me wrong, everything was feeling great and fine but usually by now I have a few orgasms moving about as usual, this one just would not come along on its own.
I started to think about the full body orgasm, if the tantric studies are correct, 60% of the women claim to experience this on their own while masturbating. I reached down and removed the toy, impressed with my own wetness, and brought the toy up to look at it – it’s a cool little toy. Next time I go out for dinner I should use this. I ran my thumb and middle over the silicone then let my fingers glide over with slick ease: unable to snap my fingers. I like my own scent and the clarity of my body fluids it is why I see masturbation as such a waste, but chose to lick at my finger tip tasting myself…
I made sure to take my time, teasing myself as I went along with one hand between my legs and my free hand playing with my nipples. I used one finger, then two, to bring myself to several orgasms but the one I needed to rid myself of was still out of reach – it is there growing like a hard stone in my abdomen. I decided to actually use the vibrator my husband got me a couple of years ago, I have only used it all of three times, but this seemed like the perfect occasion for us to get acquainted.
Again taking my time and teasing myself on low vibration I managed to work myself to the desire to just let go – turn the setting all the way up and fully inserted the toy deep inside my pussy. I managed to even draw up the memory of doing a similar show for my husband which was very much a turn on and I could feel myself getting close. The ball of energy in my belly began to move, my knees closed together shaking and a moan of pleasure escaped my lips. I managed to breathe in deeply, ware of my whole body as I changed the toys pace to deep but small movements. I was feeling close, as though my fingers tips were brushing the end of a dangling rope that would pull me out of a dark hole – when the toy died.
I do not think a child has been torn from its mother’s body as quick as I pulled that toy out and looked at it with hateful daggers. Of course… I have not used it in years. I ran my naked bottom to get more batteries, and then attempted to get myself back into the exact state of mind and position I was in… it wouldn’t start. I ran through the vibration cycles, and again nothing. I opened the case and examined the batteries, and pushed it on – nothing.
I sat myself up on the bed, vibrator in hand looking at it puzzled, thinking I should have gone with the Lelo for an extra 50 bucks – this wasn’t cheap but I was feeling less than impressed with the product. I started to laugh, my husband having just accused me of trying to kill him (during sex) two days before, I have now managed to kill a vibrator! The orgasm I was about to defeat curled itself up into a tighter ball; farther up into my abdomen and I felt disappointed.
I smiled to myself in the mirror, and re-inserted the first toy as I took a seat on my yoga ball and began to rotate my hips thinking of that rumour oh so many years ago about Sting and his five hour tantric love sessions … of course they are bullshit he would surely be as dead as my vibrator non?
Sting can kiss my ass XTC was for more influential in my life.