We’ve all done it. Now, we’re sharing your anonymous stories about the first time you discovered, hey, I can make myself feel kinda good down there. (Even if you didn’t exactly know what you were doing.)
I was first aware of this funny “throbbing” when I made my Barbies make out and when I listened to Ace of Base. The first time I ever “stimulated” myself was by wriggling my legs around (almost frog-like) in a chair so that the hard seam in my jeans would rub against me. I definitely have a memory of doing this while riding in the car with my mom, not exactly knowing, myself, what it was that I was doing…and I really hope that she didn’t either.
I was nine and had a poster of Cindy Crawford in a yellow bikini on my wall. After admiring it, I took a shower and realized the shower head felt really good down there. I thought me coming was my body having enough water and pushing it back out (lol). Also, I’m a guy. Odd that the shower head introduced me to masturbation.
Hmm, where to start?? My list of lovers is long, from the bathtub faucet, to the over-sized stuffed bear my parents loved to remind me I’d had “since I was a baby,” to just a good old fashioned pillow folded up the right way. I’m pretty sure I always knew, whatever it was that I was doing, was meant for private consumption so, thankfully, none of this was awkwardly done in public, but I certainly got A LOT of practice in this department before the age of 12.
At some point I realized that if I rubbed around just right in my chair I could make myself feel pretty great. I was too young for anyone to have explained to me what exactly was going on, so I very innocently attempted to make a male classmate act out the same motions in his chair so he could feel as good as I did. He tried, and (obviously) it did nothing.
In the bathtub as a kid sometime under the age of 8, I realized the washcloth felt good covering my privates and felt even better when I rubbed.
I was the kid who dog-eared and underlined every scene of romance in my YA novels. But it took me and my repressed Catholic upbringing 15 years to figure out that if I rubbed myself over my underwear, it would feel good. Of course, I learned of it through a text outside of the mainstream: a Batman lesbian fan-fiction. God bless that explicit porn without plot that taught me how to get myself off. Hollywood can call me for the Carey Mulligan sequel on sexual awakenings. It was “An Education.”
Throughout my adolescence, I was afraid of my body and my sexuality. I would break up with boyfriends in high school if they tried to do anything more than kiss and I’m pretty sure my first boyfriend in college broke up with me because I wouldn’t have sex with him. My next boyfriend somehow managed to break this cycle of self-unawareness. He eased me into sex by teaching me how to pleasure myself. Since then, I have been a lean, mean, masturbating machine.
When I was younger, I would sometimes get really bored reading books in bed. I would masturbate with the hard seam of a book. It was a good intermission.
As a 5 year old, I would drag myself across our sofa because ‘woo’ that rubbing felt good. My mom would politely ask what I was doing, and I got the feeling that this activity was frowned upon, but continued to go on sofa sliding on my front side.