I have had a full, to say nothing of frantic, sex life. Men, women, boys and…well, more boys, to be fair. I didn’t masturbate until I was well into my thirties. I didn’t see the point. If I wanted to have an orgasm I had sex with someone.
When I started to masturbate I felt like I had found Aladdin’s Lamp. I rubbed it and POW! I could wank alone…with girls, with boys, with both and in front of either…I discovered that one of the biggest turn-ons for a sexual partner was watching someone in orgasm…
And I discovered the tickle of the ‘wake-up wank’ and the caress of the ‘good-night wank’. But of course, when I enjoyed a wank, I always withdrew on my ‘wankbank’ – my treasure chest of sexual images. Mainly of me being taken roughly from behind by unfeeling ruffians…ruthlessly spit- roasted by renegades…forced into submission by….etc etc My rape fantasies would have given Freud a brain haemorrhage. And I LOVED them.
I made the huge mistake ( for someone of my sensibilities) of getting involved with someone. Very involved. A woman. Amazing sex. Incredible, all-encompassing everything.
I shall gloss over our involvement much in the way that a Hollywood montage takes Bette Davis from dowdy spinster to fabulous couture clad creature with picture hat, Claude Rains and ‘the stars’.
But in that in-between, in mid-montage, I lost my ability to masturbate. I was left without my fantasy. I had nothing. It was quite devastating.
Then it was peaceful. Strange, but peaceful. For the first time in my life I was wholly asexual. I was content. Not necessarily happy, but certainly content with no sex. Obviously, not ideal for the Editor at Large of Erotic Review. Hence my lack of input to these pages.
Recently, a long time after…more stupidity than I ever imagined, in my worst nightmares…I have rediscovered my love of masturbation. Without any fantasy. With only my clit. I go to bed and it calls to me. It throbs. And I tend to it. And I focus on it. And there is just me, in the night, and my clit, and we have glorious orgasms. Just my clit and me.
I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But we do. What else do I need?