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I bought my first vibrator today. It was quite the shopping expedition. I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted, but I thought I better get to it. After all, I had just celebrated my 40th birthday, and with it I had this epiphany that I had experienced every decade prior.
Looking back to my first decade…at age 10 I got my ears pierced. It was my first physical decree as a baby-woman…then soon after followed my period and a whirlwind of raging hormones. At twenty, I celebrated the friendships I had made, the lovers I enjoyed, philosophical questioning, educational pursuits, drinking and drugs. At thirty, I pronounced that this would be the decade I wouldn’t take shit from anyone anymore. When I turned forty, I decided it was time to celebrate life, laugh more and have fun.
I was happily married, had two wonderful children, enjoyed a fulfilling career and was blessed with many outside interests. However, due to my hyper-religious and puritanical upbringing, I was raised to think that masturbation was somehow “evil” and would ruin any “normal” relationship I had with a man.
Now don’t get me wrong – – I was very sexually active, and had been for most of my life since my teens. I always had a willing and able-bodied partner on a regular basis, more-so than most (or so I am told). I considered sex a sacred experience, and I devoted a lot of time and attention to keep it interesting, fun and exciting. However, I had a personal hang-up about self-pleasuring. Whenever asked about it I would always say that I didn’t “need” to because I always had a willing partner that satisfied me. So, I just never tried it. That’s right, you heard right, I never even tried it. And I didn’t need to because I had all the pleasure I thought I required. Orgasms? No problem. Multiple orgasms? Pretty much every time. So why play with myself? Totally unnecessary. OK — just to set the record straight, I did touch myself. But I never finished the novel so I could give the book report. I only read the first chapter, then closed the book and went to sleep.
Then something changed. I can’t exactly put my finger on it (and please forgive me for such an interesting choice of words) but I honestly think it was all about turning forty. In my life, I had already been through more than my fair share of sadness, grief and loss. I took life so seriously and worked so damn hard. I was intense — far too intense for such a young woman. But as hard as I tried to change, to loosen up, I couldn’t. It was part of me, part of my DNA. Then, during a stressful personal situation, someone who cared deeply for me pulled me aside and said, “Don’t be a victim.” I was stunned. Me, a victim? No way! I was strong, tough and could do anything I had set out to do. Why did this friend think I was a victim? He was way off course, and had my head spinning in uncertainty. I made the point of stepping out of my shoes and into his and looked down at myself. I couldn’t believe what I saw. I was once a woman that stood tall and proud, dressed to kill, and commanded attention wherever I went. But somehow I had allowed myself to change. I was now the plain Jane type, always wearing non-form fitting clothes. I had stopped wearing make-up years ago and I had stopped trying to look attractive. I didn’t do anything “girly” as far as appearance, and almost preferred canlı bahis şirketleri being hidden from the gazing eyes of men. I had become a wall-flower, someone in the background. It was safer, easier and didn’t require any work. I had not seen myself become that person while I was living in their skin, but once accused of being a victim, it forced me to see what the hell my friend was talking about. And you know, I think he was right. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I had somehow morphed into someone that wouldn’t allow herself to have fun or enjoy life. You could see it by the way I dressed and responded to others. And at the center of all of it was the willingness to serve and give and please but the inability to be served and to be a good receiver. I had difficulty enjoying anything that was completely intended for my sole pleasure.
So that’s how I ended up in the sex shop sizing up the various dildos, vibrators, anal toys, stimulators, creams, oils, clothes, magazines, costumes, and other customers, of course. I had been in sex shops plenty of times, but always to buy gag gifts for shower presents or for someone else, but never for my own use. Would people know that I was buying this for myself? What would they think of me? And more importantly, what exactly should I buy? Where would I keep and use this toy?
I slowly started at one corner of the store and worked my way around every shelf, every display until I came to the personal vibrator section. They came in all shapes, sizes, colors and styles. Who knew? Since this would be my first purchase for myself, I thought I should take the time to read what each one did, and how they were different. After some quite interesting and very educational reading, I decided to buy a discreet pen-sized metal vibrator that looked like a Mont Blanc pen when closed. I could carry it with me and use it at any given moment. How clever! I could keep it in my night-stand and pull it out after the kids were asleep and all was quiet. I could use it in the car, while commuting to work or appointments. I could also keep it in my desk drawer at work, and use it during one of those stressful deadline related work moments, just for some instant sexual relief. OK. Sold! That was simple!
But I also wanted something with some moving parts….so I bought a pink Dolphin with a long strap hanging off the tail. The Dolphin’s beak wiggled when inserted and the lower body was slightly twisted, and it had fins that moved. This battery operated toy was intended for the ass (and mine was a virgin), and it could be worn without detection from others. I tried it in my pussy first and soon found out that if I squeezed my girly parts and clamped down on it while it was inserted, it would wiggle and give me the most incredible pleasure. I had to make sure it was slippery wet before inserting it in my ass. Then I would wear it to sit at my desk, and I would be the only one aware that it was inside me.
Once I sat at my desk with my pink Dolphin in my pink asshole (I’m so color coordinated!) while I used the discreet vibrator on my clit at the same time. I was grateful to have a somewhat private office. Once I did this while I was on the phone, cooing and groaning and purring with a business colleague that was listening on the other end, while I was in all my canlı kaçak iddaa pre-orgasm glory. Sweat was beading up on my forehead, my tits were tingling and pulsing, my lips were swollen and engulfed. I wanted to be fucked hard, and my ass was tender but exploding with pleasure. My friend had to excuse himself to go to the bathroom, for some private pleasure, and to take his story to its happy ending.
So I decided to walk around the office a little bit and see how it would turn me on. I zipped up my pants, clenched my ass-cheeks, and opened my office door, only to see everyone going about their daily routine. I slowly and carefully started walking to the fax machine, only to hear the vibrator in my ass come on with each step. It was incredible. I was wearing my poker face, walking across the room, while I could hear this faint noise humming deep inside me. The Dolphin’s beak was wiggling just perfectly inside me, and the fins were digging in to my flesh. I could only stand it a couple minutes, because I wanted to scream out in pleasure, so I quickly returned to the safety of my private office and sat down on my chair….which only helped it move deeper inside my ass. (Good thing there was a long cord on the end!) I decided to wear the Dolphin for the rest of the day — wondering when I would cum and what an anal orgasm would feel like. Could I work and cum simultaneously? Could I pull this off in secrecy? I answered email, talked on the phone, assigned projects, all the time this Dolphin giving me anal pleasure and making me hot and hungry for more. Sadly, however, the batteries wore out before I did. (Note to self: buy extra batteries.)
Since the Dolphin was two parts, I started getting concerned that all my gyrating and clamping down might separate the parts and I would lose the top half of the mammal inside me, so I headed for my bathroom to remove my new best friend. This proved to be more difficult than I thought. My ass had swollen up from all the pleasure and stimulation, and pulling it out was painful and tricky. Those damn fins felt like they were cutting the skin inside my ass, but in a way, it felt kinda’ good. I put my hand through the strap, bent over and slowly pulled it out. I kept thinking to myself that I wished my first anal experience was with human flesh, something soft, warm and conforming, not a hard plastic toy. After a couple seconds of careful slow pulling, out it came. I almost expected to see blood dripping from my ass, down the insides of my thigh onto the floor, but nothing. I washed it carefully, and myself, got dressed and returned to my desk, with a sneaky little crooked smile glued to my face. Had I pulled it off? Nobody noticed or heard it? I had successfully mixed pleasure with work, with a dash of pain. This was something I could get used to.
So I have enjoyed my new toys, and look forward to adding more to my personal pleasure arsenal, but I do have to admit that I still wanted to return to the all natural way to achieve personal satisfaction. I have come to view Sex toys like microwave ovens. Instant gratification. Masturbating with your hands is more like a Convection oven. Set the temperature, preheat the oven and let it heat up. When it is finished cooking, it is moist and succulent with all the juices intact. Delicious! I think, given the opportunity, canlı kaçak bahis I would prefer being an Oven over a Microwave.
One night while I had insomnia, I flipped through all the channels only to find a late night porno flic on cable. The exaggerated breasts of the woman and the supposedly hot looking man fucking her in rabbit style really excited me, even though it was cheap and completely unromantic. It was like a train wreck. I didn’t want to enjoy looking, but I did. And furthermore, it got me totally hot. I found myself not being able to look away. My breathing increased and I wanted a hard cock in me right then and there. Since my poor, tired husband was fast asleep, I decided it was time to see if I could reach climax on my own, sans toys. So as I watched the rock-hard porn star fucking the perfect Barbie-doll woman, I started exploring the soft folds of my cunt. The labia lip edges were so soft and just the slightest touch of my finger felt nice and made me spread my legs wide open. The folds were like velvety rose petals. I loved touching them and feeling their softness. I have to tell you a little secret. My pussy lips are larger than most I have seen on other women. I have affectionately named them Butterfly wings because they wrap around a cock so nicely. I pulled them out and apart and I could feel my hole opening and closing, winking under the sheets. My legs pulled up near my shoulders in an automatic response. I put both my stretched lips between my index and middle finger and wiggled them, which created an incredible sensation. I would call this the blender move. Do other women do this? I’m not sure. Probably not because their lips aren’t as outward as mine. But what a great feeling!
I started exploring my insides with my finger — first one, then two, then three. I was juicy wet and it felt incredible. My breathing had increased. My chest heaved in and out. My neck arched back. My eyes closed. My nipples were like hard little red hot candies. I took my middle finger and touched my clit, which was swollen and poking out, wanting to be rubbed, massaged and tickled. I started tapping it very lightly. I started pinching my tits and kneading my breasts. I was barely touching my clit, but the results were dramatic. How could such a light touch bring such incredible feelings of ecstasy? I added my index finger and started swirling around on my ruby fruit clit, small circles, consistent swirling. After about five more minutes of the same circular motion, I noticed that my thighs started to tense up, my toes started to get that all-too familiar curling sensation. I was going to cum. I was actually going to cum! And I did. I was cumming! I was breathing hard, fireworks were going off in my clit and I wanted to scream out in pleasure. But I was silent. The only thing you could hear was my heavy breathing. In and out, in and out. I had succeeded! I was so proud of myself, and completely amazed that with just a simple circular rubbing sensation, at the exact location, with the perfect intensity and pattern, I was able to achieve in a mere matter of minutes that wonderful orgasmic feeling. I couldn’t wait to try it again. I wanted to shout from the rooftops — I did it! I masturbated! I made myself cum! The sense of accomplishment was incredible.
I had a very active (and fun) sexual life, but this personal moment of masturbating victory somehow opened up my mind to a very long list of sexual desires that I was ready to try one by one, with and without partners. I had achieved all of this by giving myself a pink permission slip.
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