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There’s something so sad and humiliating in imagining a person locked away in a dark room, hot laptop balanced on chest, turning the volume down low, scrolling, scrolling, choosing, watching, escaping, coming. But my proclivity for solo pleasure has strong, stubborn roots.
I lost my virginity to a water faucet when I was twelve years old. Drew to thank for this life-shaking experience; it was their late-night radio show “Loveline” on L.
He sees me and I see him seeing me and we are in new territory.
But then he says, “I kind of wish I hadn’t asked.” It’s all I need to hear to send me into tears. * * * Addiction to porn and masturbation is often grouped under general sex addiction because they all have to do with escape via titillation, pursuit and orgasm, but I’ve always felt more pathetic about my predilections.
I’m careful to keep my breath from becoming a pant, even as my pulse quickens, but this takes much concentration. I have masturbated in this way next to the sleeping bodies of all my serious, committed partners who came before my husband.
This orgasm is a controlled, measured, calculated experience.
“Go on.” I take a deep breath and proceed to tell him, first slowly, then progressively faster about the scene. Both are waiting to take on fifty horny men…” and on and on.
He’ll think he doesn’t satisfy me, and men do not like feeling inadequate, especially when it comes to matters of the bedroom. We fucked all the time, but even still, I wanted more, something only I could give me.
In some cases, as expected, it was because I wanted more sex than they could give me.
We’ve just had sex and although I am naked too, it isn’t until this moment that I feel just as vulnerable as him.
While it might seem absurd to some, I know immediately this is a moment of great significance for us.