Bex Talks Sex Starting the Conversation
I don’t remember when the first time I discovered what masturbation was, but I know that I was aware of the concept long before the practice. I don’t have any stories of four year old Bex being scolded for slipping their hands into their pants at Thanksgiving dinner, or a tale of twelve year old me getting intimately acquainted with the jets in a hot tub. I don’t even remember the first time someone told me about it, I suppose I just always kind of knew it was something people did, even if I didn’t know the specifics. What never occurred to me, was that I was people, and it was something I could do too.
I remember art class in seventh grade, I sat just close enough to overhear what the cool kids were talking about. Today, the boys had focused their attention on the prettiest girl there, with her long black hair and denim cutoffs. They were pestering her, as preteen boys are wont to do, asking her over and over “how many fingers” she could use. I listened close, hoping they would say something else to give me a hint of what they were talking about, and how she was keeping all these boys attention. It was years before I realized what they were actually asking, at the time all I could tell was that the answer was definitely dirty, and for some reason I wanted to be able to brag about how many fingers I could use.
I remember in sophomore year of high school, when my history teacher canceled our test because the school had run out of printer paper. My two closest friends and I exchange sly smirks and nudge our bags under our desk, hoping no one noticed the bulging folders of paper inside them. We had spent our afternoons for the past few weeks in the library, scrolling through LiveJournal pages printing out the filthiest smut we could find. Some stared our favorite TV characters, others featuring members of Motley Crue, or Gun’s n’ Roses. Some was cute and romantic, some explicit, and one featured a goth being fucked with a crucifix in a confessional1. It was all very gay, and very hot, and I never jerked off to any of it.
Junior year I had my first girlfriend, she used grind against her teddy bear while watching Disney Channel, every night at 9. We used to take turns taking charge, I already knew I was interested in playing with power but I didn’t know enough to recognize that I was very clearly already the top in that relationship. During one of her brief stints of dominance (which seemed to get shorter every time) she instructed me to jerk off. This was a new thing for me, so I did what I figured you were “supposed” to do, and shoved my fingers inside of me, knowing nothing but “how many fingers can you use?” and the fact that it felt kinda good if I curled my fingers forward.
I got up to 3.
The first cis guy I fucked didn’t make me come. It’s not surprising, I had never made me come, but if I was doing this sex thing, I was damn sure I was going to make sure I was doing it right. Rumor had it, “doing it right” included orgasm. I sat on the floor of Borders, reading everything I could find in their Sex & Relationship section, and they all said the same thing: If you want to have an orgasm, learn to do it solo first, then you’ll know how to teach your partner. “But I don’t like doing it solo” I’d whine “I just don’t enjoy it as much. “It’s a waste of time.” “I feed off of my partner’s energy.” …and a million other excuses.
I bought my first vibrator in freshman year of college, a plastic slimline from Spencer’s Gifts. It was important that I own a vibrator, I assumed, because that was exactly the kind of thing adventurous, sexy adults do. I was 17. I’d slide it over my bits just to get used to the sensation before slipping it immediately inside of me. I wondered why it felt better on the outside of my body, when sex was clearly about penetration. I watched mediocre porn and tried to match the movement of the toy to the activities on screen. That was also the kind of thing sexy, adventurous adults do.
The process of buying that first vibe made me curious, there were so many options, and because I’m a nerd I wanted to understand all of them. The best way to do that, it seemed to me, was to use them. A vibrator gave me my first orgasm, and nearly every one since. As my sex toy collection grew, so did my masturbation habit. Finally it was something I actually enjoyed, finally I had learned how my body worked.
I always thought of masturbation as a replacement for sex, something designed to replicate it as closely as possible. Instead, for me, masturbation is a separate practice entirely. Partnered sex is all about our dynamic, it’s in my head, its nerve-wracking in the best way, and its performative without being inauthentic. Masturbation is relaxing, my arousal is intense and in my body, I am perfectly attuned to my own needs, and able to experience pleasure without any regard for the world around me.
Today is the first day of Masturbation May, and although a combination of dysphoria and the impending end of the world means I’ve probably jerked off less than 20 times since November,2 I have a new We-Vibe Wish, a sparkly new Carter, and a new favorite Bonus Hole Boys scene to watch. I think I’m going to go celebrate.