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‘Masturbation’ Category

  1. May is Masturbation Month!

    May 4, 2016 by Heather Cole

    May is Masturbation Month!

     

    May is Masturbation Month! It’s also Heather’s Birthday Month! (Yes, that’s an official title.) Two of my favorite things rolled up together.

    To celebrate I almost posted a photo with the slogan, “Everybody Masturbates,” in direct opposition to the anti-masturbation movement that some religious entities enthusiastically endorse. Masturbation is a love letter to yourself, a powerful affirmation of one’s body and the pleasure we’re capable of as human beings. Masturbation is versatile, like carrying around your very own ‘get me off’ kit. Like roadside assistance but for orgasms. It can be done alone or in groups; anywhere, really, as long as you don’t break a law and get arrested. In today’s post of masturbation affirmation (I giggled just writing that) I want to give props to those of us who are late to the revelation of self-love.

    Yes, I’m referring to myself specifically, but also to others out there who didn’t “get” pleasuring themselves until they were older. It’s never too late, and you’re never too old. *highfive*

    Looking for some further masturbating inspiration? Check out the links below:

    What to See

    Masturbation Monday with Kayla Lords – “Where getting off is half the fun…” If you’re ever in need of blistering hot erotica for your spankbank, take a peek at Kayla Lords’ website Masturbation Monday, It’s an on-going theme for sex bloggers and erotica writers to show off their stuff. And her visual prompts are… *fans self* My last post for MM is here.

    What to Read

    Tongue-in-cheek Tips for Celebrating International Masturbation Month by Alison Stevenson for Vice – “Masturbation is definitely one of my favorite activities other than eating and crying. At first I couldn’t help but wonder, what’s the point of having an International Masturbation Month?”

    “I myself, realized how deeply this conditioning ran through me when I thought of the reactions other people might have about my writing an article outlining a healthy self-pleasuring practice—and that very reaction within is what made me realize how important it is to shine light, consciousness and awareness on the subject and eliminate the shame.” – This is a great article from Nolita Ananda for Elephant Journal regarding the health benefits and healthy practices of masturbation. Definitely worth reading.

    Kinkly’s 10 Things You Don’t Know About Self-Love – Nope, you probably didn’t know this.

    What to Do

    Want some help hitting the right spot? Need some toy advice? Check out Clitical.com

    Maybe we should all be treating ourselves this month! Good Vibrations toy store

     

    I’m not receiving any monetary compensation for mentioning these websites. I firmly believe in spreading the good word and good love for all.

    Have a fantastic self-celebration this month! I know I will.


  2. Masturbation Monday: The Cucumber

    October 13, 2014 by Heather Cole

     

    It’s an old cliche:  the bored housewife decides to use a cucumber as a masturbation device. I had joked about surveying the produce aisle for sex toys, but in all my years as a sexually active woman, I had never placed food in my vagina. In fact, Nikki and I have preached, “NO FOOD IN THE VAG” for as long as we’ve had this blog. Because let’s face it, the vagina is a delicate ladygarden. A cucumber, though, with it’s protective peel and generous girth… I mean, it really gets one’s imagination spinning. Right?!

    Last Wednesday found me seated in a plush chair facing the flatscreen of my computer, my thighs spread wide for sir to see. I was nude and carefully positioned so that I was completely exposed. He stared at me from beneath heavy lidded eyes and gave me instructions in a voice that made goosebumps ripple over my flesh. It didn’t matter to me that half the world separated us physically. He was my Dominant regardless of distance, and despite the prickly feeling of vulnerability, I responded in the same way that I did when he was directly next to me. The man owned me, body and heart. And my responses were partially the product of habit and training, and partly devotion.

    His first command was that I fellate the cucumber. I blinked at him and felt ridiculous, but I did as I was told. I awkwardly placed the wide vegetable in my mouth, the taste of green peel coating my tongue. As sir coached me with encouraging words, I moved the cucumber in and out, pushing it further and further into the back of my throat. It was much wider than my esophagus and could only go so far. With watering eyes, I pulled it out and gasped for air.

    “It’s too big, Daddy,” I said and wiped my eyes.

    “You’re such a good girl to try. I miss your mouth, whore.”

    I blushed and squirmed beneath his gaze, unbidden lust rising inside me. I had been so careful to keep my desires leashed. Shoved inside a steel trunk and wrapped in chains, they had sunk to a shadowy place inside me while I dealt with the sadness of sir’s departure. I had spent weeks mourning the distance that now separated us, and more than one of our calls had consisted of me weeping in front of the computer. My body missed him with a physical ache, but I refused to acknowledge how deeply that sexual need was rooted. Dealing with the day-to-day challenges of missing him filled my time. I wasn’t ready to open the trunk and feel all of that captive sexual energy pour forth.

    A towel stretched beneath me to protect the fabric of the chair from lube and my own juices. A second cucumber and the bottle of lube sat on the table next to the computer, and I had two extra-large condoms nearby as well. Sir’s low voice demanded that I lube up the American cucumber. (The English cucumber was saved for my ass and a later date). I adjusted the angle of my hips so that they were raised slightly and squeezed more lube on to my fingers. My fingers worked the cool liquid around the lips of my pussy and then into the wet heat. I was physically ready, my body responding eagerly to the stimulus and my master’s presence.

    Nervousness made my hand tremble as I placed the cold cucumber at the entrance to my vagina, and in slow increments, I pushed it inside. It felt smooth and alien, stretching me wide. I glanced up at the computer screen to see sir’s eyes widen and a slow grin cross his face.

    “That is so fucking hot,” he said. “Now fuck yourself faster.”

    I complied, my eyes falling to the side as I felt another blush start. Spreading myself open for another person wasn’t exactly new territory for me, but there was something extra dirty about being on camera. Maybe it was the anonymity of it even though I knew the man on the other side intimately. And then there was the foreign object that I used to impale myself. I felt wicked which lent an illicit quality to my masturbation. All these elements combined into a whirlwind that fueled my desire.

    Every thought left my head, though, when I changed the cucumber’s angle to stroke along my G-spot. Suddenly my entire physical awareness snapped to attention, every synapse and nerve focused on the building pressure of an orgasm. My gaze met sir’s in an unspoken question.

    “I want you to get close, but I’m not going to let you come. You’re not permitted to come,” he said sternly.

    I nodded, too engrossed in the pleasure that rolled through my body. I was almost there.

    “Please may I come, Daddy?” I panted.

    “Beg.”

    “Please please please may this girl come, Daddy? Please let this girl come for you.”

    The words slurred in the rush to expel them. My hand slipped along the cucumber that was now slippery with my arousal. I could feel my inner muscles tightening in anticipation of orgasm, and the vibrations, both and internal, almost pushed me over the edge. The fantasy in my head imagined that I could feel

    “Come for me, baby.”

    The orgasm exploded, golden sparks of ecstasy sparking through me. My eyes squeezed shut, and I cried out, the cucumber falling from my hand. Sir murmured his appreciation as I fell back, my legs sprawled like a rag doll.

    “You’re such a dirty girl barebacking a cucumber like that,” he said with a smile.

    I giggled. “I probably should have bought organic.”

    “Thank you, Daddy. This girl is happy to please you.” I made a motion to sit up, but he stopped me.

    “Let yourself relax and enjoy this moment. There’s nothing but me and you. No rush. No responsibilities.”

    Two months ago I would have placed my head on his lap so he could stroke my hair as I basked in the afterglow. That was impossible at the moment, so I smiled and let my eyes drift shut. Sir was right. For this brief space, it was only the two of us again. I loved being there with him, and at the same time, I acknowledged that it was fleeting. We couldn’t remain on Skype forever.

    “Pick up the cucumber, babygirl. I want you to go again.”

    I pushed away the bittersweet thoughts to grab the vegetable. Later I would peel and slice the still-warm cucumber for my salad. Dinner would be eaten alone with the erotic thoughts of my faraway lover and the echoing sensations of our electronic date. First, though, I had to orgasm again.

     

    Want more #masturbationmonday? Check out Kayla Lords’s post and the other steamy, sexy participants!

     

    Masturbation-Monday-badge-medium-300x300


  3. What Gets You Off?

    February 1, 2013 by Heather Cole

    Masturbation is for Everyone

    I have a confession. I didn’t start masturbating until two years ago, and I did it because I was ordered to do it by my Dom. And I didn’t start masturbating for myself until this past summer. This goes hand-in-hand, or hand-in-vagina, with the fact that I never actually gazed upon my vagina until fairly recently as well.

    Both my girlfriend, Liri, and Nikki tell me stories about being fairly young and discovering the joy of masturbation. Not me. I didn’t know anything about it, and I wasn’t curious enough to find out. I don’t think I was repressed… I just didn’t think about it very much at all. I thought it was something that boys needed to do.

    When I did think about my vagina and the pleasure that could accompany it, I always related it to what happened when there was a cock in it. I suppose you could say that I made up for the lack of masturbation with sex, but the sad reality was that I didn’t realize I could pleasure myself for the sheer joy of doing it for myself. And it only took me thirty *cough* years to have that epiphany.

    The first time I masturbated on my own was last spring. I was doing it without permission, and I felt devious–excited and a little bit guilty. I fantasized about Liri. We weren’t dating at the time, but I imagined her walking up the steps to my bedroom. I imagined her finding me naked and spread-eagle on the bed, already wet and wanting her. But then my vision dissipated as my focus shifted to what was happening to my body. This was also the first time I had a clitoral orgasm, and I think it literally knocked my knee socks off.

    Have you ever just laid in bed and tried to see how many different ways you can make yourself orgasm? Oh, that’s just me? Well, I make no apologies. I orgasm differently with partners than I do by myself, and I bought a new vibrator to experiment with the ways I can come. As much as I love fucking the people I adore, I also glory in the time I take for myself. The exploration of my body and its amazing capabilities… that’s what gets me off. A lot.

     


  4. Periods. Not the punctuation.

    June 27, 2012 by Heather Cole

    My period and I have had an adversarial relationship for a long time. It appeared in my life at the age of twelve with vicious cramps and bloating. It felt like a street gang had staked out territory in my private downtown, a battle between the bloods for my crypt. Oh yes, just writing the word bloat conjures such appealing imagery. The worst part was the PMS. In a parallel universe, I would have been one of those women taking the witness stand for manslaughter with PMS as my defense. Irrational? Easily irritated? Exhausted and over-emotional? Try all that, then multiply it by thirty.

    When I was trying to get pregnant, my period became the enemy. After a plethora of tests, my reproductive system was declared perfectly healthy. There was no medical reason explaining why I couldn’t conceive. My ex-husband was deemed healthy as well, but since science has made no advances regarding male fertility, I was the guinea pig. I took pills and had injections. I had a chart that I carefully plotted according to the results of ovulation tests and my temperature. I became a zealot about having sex at the correct time on the correct days. All that work, the attention to detail, the hyper-focus on my body plus the addition of a cocktail of drugs took me on an emotional rollercoaster every single month.

    For four years my period arrived with the regularity of clockwork, and brought with it the bad news that nothing had worked. I began to view it as a harbinger of doom; the death of my dreams of having a child, the death of my hopes that this month would be different and a testament to my failure in the basic biological right that all women have. After days of hoping and trying to do everything right, my period appeared and I’d be in tears. I ranted. I shook my fist at God and the medical establishment, and I despaired.

    Through the magic that is In-Vetro-Fertilization, I eventually became pregnant. My period and I really needed that year-long break that pregnancy and infancy provided. When it did come back, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a sign that my body and its cycles were FINALLY returning to normal. My period and I were no longer adversaries but partners. I welcomed it, because it brought me the good news that my body was transitioning from the taxing physical effort of making a human being and eating nachos with the appetite of a feral dog to the hope that I may someday fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans again with the normal desire for a salad.

    Now that my baby days are over, I don’t hate my period at all. In fact, I might like it a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I still get PMS and all the beautiful monster characteristics that accompany it. We’ve made a truce, though, because my period is the gateway to a new way for me to orgasm.

    I have never been squeamish about sex on my period, so I had experienced the physical sensitivity firsthand with a partner. Orgasms were easy to attain, and everything on my body felt highly sensitized during my menstrual cycle. But I had never used my period knowledge and applied it to masturbation.

    Several elements coincided to give me my new orgasmic experience. M bought me a new vibrator as a housewarming present. I had my period, and I was alone in bed and couldn’t sleep. I honestly didn’t expect anything to really happen. But I hadn’t used the vibrator a lot and figured I’d test drive it on my clit, since my vagina was otherwise occupied with a tampon. Mind you, up until that point, all my orgasms had been vaginal.

    The only way I can describe that first orgasm was…magical. I discovered that with enough deep stimulation of my vibrator on my clit and the clitoral organ beneath (check out this diagram so you know what I’m talking about) I can achieve a throbbing, powerful orgasm. I felt echoes of it in my vagina, but it was concentrated around my clitoris. The best part was that during my period, I could orgasm in about fifteen minutes. Without the help of my period, it can take as long as forty-five minutes.

    I made friends with my period that night. Although I may dislike the cramps and the inconvenience of bleeding, those seven nights of heightened sensitivity are a delight. In the dark of my bedroom, alone beneath the sheets, my period and I have a very good time.


  5. Do Women Like Porn As Much As Men?

    March 14, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Today’s featured link is written by a sexuality counselor and his observations regarding the subject of women and porn. What do you think?

    Article: Do Women Like Porn as Much as Men? 

    Come back Friday to read Nikki’s opinion on the subject!


  6. Who’s in your Spank Bank?

    March 9, 2012 by Heather Cole

    The first time I heard the word “Spank Bank” I had no clue what it meant. Neither did Nikki which made me feel better at the time, because M was laughing at us. Turns out that I had a Spank Bank, I just didn’t call it that. Ladies aren’t supposed to have a file folder, real or imagined, full of pictures that get them off. Luckily for everyone involved, I’m not most ladies. Trust me, both Nikki and I fantasize about real life people, but this week we’re talking about the famous people that get us off…er, famously. Enjoy!

     

    Heather:

    In my fantasy life there is lots of office sex, and who is the epitome of sex appeal and 1960s repressed desires? Mr. Don Draper, of course.

    Starched shirts peeled apart and ties loosened. Frantic hands pushing aside papers on the desk in preparation of hasty fucking. I’ll work late every night, Mr. Draper, and I take excellent dictation.

    Nikki: Ties loosened? I prefer them tied tightly around my wrists.

    Heather: You want me to add you? We’ll tie you to the desk and then have our wicked way with you.

     

    I think I’ve loved her forever, but something about Penelope Cruz in Vicky Cristina Barcelona pushed me from crush territory to obsession. Have you seen the movie? Cruz plays this unbalanced bisexual artist who can melt your pants off with a smoldering stare. The fact that she’s married to Javier Bardem just seals the deal for me. Please seal MY deal in a sexy hot Cruz-Cole-Bardem sandwich.

    Nikki: Sorry Miss Smokin’ Hot Penelope Cruz, but the only woman I fantasize about making sandwiches with is the legendary Heather Cole.

    Heather: Awwww…you say the sweetest things. Let’s get in our Hello Kitty pjs and knee socks and drink!

     

    One thing about my spank bank is that I like characters. Glossy abs and Hollywood polish don’t do it for me. Craggy faces and compelling stories are much more my thing. Hence Señor Benicio del Toro:

    In the movie Traffic he plays a frustrated Mexican police officer. In my fantasies, he comes home to me, harried and impatient, and we have in intense fuck on the table amidst the warm tortillas and carne de asada. Now that’s my kind of lunch break.

    Nikki: Since he’s a police officer, I’m assuming handcuffs are involved, right?

    Heather: You know it. Hopefully he’ll let me handle his gun. A lot.

     

     

     

    Nikki:

    Yeah yeah, I admit it. I didn’t know what a “Spank Bank” was. When I squeezed my eyes shut for those five minutes every few weeks, I envisioned unshaven faces, strong arms, and of course, tattoos to get me to that mediocre orgasm, but I had no idea my go-to fantasies had a name.

    Let’s take Adam Levine with the dark hair, the body, and the tattoos. He’s had me palms to the wall more times than I can count.

    Oh dear God in heaven to be those hands….

    Heather: Too bad you couldn’t have volunteered your hands for the project. You would have been arrested for fondling.

    Nikki: There would have been some very inappropriate behavior.

     

    Now I’ll move on to Colin Farrell because DAMN. Who doesn’t want some of that? And I’ve had him many times, many ways.

    Heather: Damn, that man could bring me to orgasm just whispering in my ear. THE ACCENT! Did it get warm in here?

    Nikki: Ah yes, the accent, but he played the ultimate bad boy in Fright Night. Bite. Me. Please.

     

    Let’s be realistic here for a minute. Adam Levine and Colin Farrell are “fuck me now” hot, but my number one fantasy has it all. He’s a total package, and you can believe me when I say his “package” is quite…. large.

     

    Heather: My problem with fantasizing about Mr. Timberlake is that it always ends up with him teaching me dance moves which leads to us laughing and then…oh. Never mind.

    Nikki: He is hotness on a stick. He doesn’t look like a bad boy on the outside, but I imagine that on the inside, he is one volcano of badness waiting to spew all over me.

     

    Don’t misunderstand, I have plenty of real life masturbation inspiration, but no one wants to hear about the hot waiter at Longhorn Steak House, or the young, sweat-soaked men on the basketball court, or even the cop who directs traffic in front of my kid’s school whose handcuffs never fail to catch my eye as I drive by, bra-less.