together. The look on her face of surprise and discovery is priceless. Oh, sweet freedom.
I even like the quirky scene in The Squid and the Whale where Frank, a frustrated young teen masturbates in a library and smears his cum on the shelves. Rebellion? Protest? Anger? Assertion? That audacious act says so much. God I
love honest moments.
After surviving marriage to a man who wouldn’t touch me “down there” , my own furtive, singular encounters escalated, over time, to full blown private celebrations. Three cheers for that mid life crisis that made me rediscover my own hand to pussy moves:
“A stroke and some well placed rubbing and Bam! She was there. She was surprised and delighted at how easy it was. Like a consolation prize. After birthing and breastfeeding, she no longer had her tight little body, but everything was magically tuned up and revving to go. Maybe there was something to that mythical midlife hormonal peak. It felt like a peak. It sounded like a peak. It smelled like a peak. She loved to sniff her fingers. She was now a veritable perfume factory. Oh, she threw herself diligently into experimenting and found that she could make herself orgasm four times in a row before she began to feel so lightheaded that she made herself stop. She was a shiny new car, of the fancy kind, testing the limits of her speedometer, and riding with the top down.
When the kids were at school, and her husband at work, she made efficient use of her time. She played wild music and danced while she did the housework, shaking her hips urgently. It was as if some hidden energy that lay dormant demanded release. After all, she had been holding it in for so long. She did a striptease for no one, letting articles of clothing drop seductively as she went about her daily chores. She sat in front of the mirror, with legs spread, and painted a little miniature portrait of herself. It was a beautiful thing and she was excited to realize that she found it to be beautiful.
Sometimes for a little variation, she would go for a walk in the park, and allow herself to converse with an entirely imaginary and decidedly male companion of her own design. He was always sympathetic, very sexy, and utterly attentive to her. Imaginary Lover Boy not only listened, but also wanted to know every single fascinating thought in her brilliant mind. Not one of her feelings was ever silly or inconsequential, and he always held her hand. Once she didn’t even wait to drive home afterwards. She simply climbed into the back of her soccer mom mini van, and not wanting to be seen through the tinted windows, pressed herself down as low to the seat as she could, the way a mouse or a bug will try to disappear into the ground when it senses you are near. She could easily pretend that her fingers were her imaginary lover’s as she pulled the bit of cloth underwear aside so she could sink them into herself. Her movements were frantic. Frenetic. Compulsive. It was all so utterly shameful and she was so completely unashamed. Her body was making its needs very clear, and she, the well-trained Mom, was answering its cry.” *
Though fucking one’s lover be joyous, playing with yourself or watching your lover do the same is , well, not only refreshing, but immensely edifying. It’s as pure as picking your favorite flavor of ice cream, singing in the shower, or slipping on your favorite pair of jeans. There are few things as telling as what turns you on when you
are alone at play. And if you are lucky enough to be with a partner who unselfconsciously plays with his dick while you watch, the goddesses have smiled upon you. Self trust and self knowledge engenders more of the same. In the words of William Shakespeare: ” To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.”
Image credits A Near Miss, by Gil Elvgren Weighty Problem, (Starting at the Bottom) by Gil Elvgren Well Built R-Roof! by Gil Elvgren
* excerpt from unpublished work by Jicky Smith