Turning Japanese

I am classically Freudian when it comes to masturbation. I started doing it aged four, and I haven’t stopped yet.

Perhaps less classically, I can remember exactly how I discovered that it felt nice. I was in bed, needing to pee but feeling too scared to go to the bathroom. (I wasn’t scared of the dark, I was scared of the hand under the bed grabbing my ankle.)

So instead of getting up, I performed the entirely useless and universal action of clapping my hands over my crotch. I was lying on my front and squirming around. And it felt good.

I don’t remember it feeling sexual (I was four, for crissakes) but it was certainly compulsive. I carried on doing it throughout my childhood, face down in bed, happily humping my hands.

Then somehow it *was* sexual. I don’t remember my first orgasm but they were a regular part of life by the time I was 14.

Compulsive took on a whole new meaning.

Based on conservative semi-recollection, I’d say I was averaging four times a day, although I have a sneaking suspicion that at its zenith (aged 16–17) the figure was closer to six.

And that doesn’t take into account the joys of multiple orgasms. I have happy memories of making myself come four or five times in a row. (Needless to say, I spent a lot of time alone in my bedroom.)

I reined it in slightly at university, although the life of a student does afford a lot of time for masturbatory pursuits. Sadly this is not true of full-time employment – working has put a serious dent in my wanking time.

Now the average is definitely once a day, and the hair-trigger responses of my youth have been replaced by a process that requires a little time and thought (attributable, I guess, to ageing hormone levels and/or the stress & tiredness of working life).

This post feels slightly odd to write.

Men are allowed to talk about wanking, although often under cover of self-deprecating humour or bravado. No one would be too surprised if a guy said he used to wank six times a day as a teenager. Yet women never admit to the same behaviour.

Why not? It must exist. (I have come to terms with the fact that I am neither a special nor unique flower.) I would be interested to hear other people’s masturbation stories – out of empirical interest and also for the voyeuristic thrill.

Why, post-Dobson, post-grrl power, post-swathes of the internet offering tips, techniques and reassurance, are girls still uncomfortable with the idea that masturbating is great?

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