The book said to spend at least 20 minutes a day completely naked to gain more body positivity. I thought about it, and realized I was never naked unless I was showering. Due to all my roommates, I went into the shower completely clothed, stripped my clothing off as fast as possible, showered, and immediately put clothing back on. Per the book’s suggestion, I started spending five to ten minutes naked in the bathroom before my shower, just staring at my own body. I stood tall and straightened out my posture, and noticed my breasts were in fact rather perky and my butt poked out nicely.
Was I attractive? It had never really crossed my mind before, since I’d always thought the answer was no. As new evidence arose though, I decided it begged further research. I inspected myself to a closer degree: My skin was clear, for the most part, save for a few freckles. My tits weren’t huge (they went between a B and C cup depending on the time of the month) but they were perky. My nipples were large, definitely larger than the average nipple I saw in the magazines at work. I was short, with muscular legs, and a relatively proportionate round butt, and I had a few unsettling rolls of fat in my stomach but they disappeared when I arched my back and stood with tall posture. I did some squats and invented some yoga moves that stretched my muscles and woke up my insides. I did my own little dance in the nude, a cross between the jig, the hustle, and the hokey pokey, and I shook out my insecurities. I thrust my hairy pelvis in the air, and I gave my vagina its own high-five. I felt alive and excited to explore my body further.
The subject matter was one thing; the teaching implements were another. How do I decide which toys to showcase? Do I go by brand? Should I try to show off as many different kinds of toys as possible? I started looking through the giant pile of unopened mail that came to the store during my downtime. Different companies sent glossy pamphlets that came in very official-looking folders about all their different products. I learned about the different manufacturers and materials, and I was starting to wrap my brain around why the more expensive toys were in fact more expensive. I liken it to coffee makers.
Any coffee maker could make you a simple cup of coffee, but then you also have the upgraded ones that make you cappuccinos, espressos, and can steam your milk to the exact degree you desire. So, you can stick any dildo inside yourself, but the higher end ones will vibrate, hit your G-spot, or be made out of a material that feels so much like actual penis skin you’d wonder if it was created by Hannibal Lecter. Some toys were waterproof, some weren’t. Some had one speed, some had five, some had twenty plus different speeds. Some were hard, some were soft. Some were meant for an internal orgasm, some were meant for an external orgasm—and some toys were meant to go inside your ass. I wasn’t even going to think about venturing over to that part of my body. I’d just barely gotten to know my vagina. Maybe if this class goes well, we could expand into a series, and then focus on the ass. Do an ass class, if you will.
At work, I spent the majority of my time fantasizing about which toy would come home with me that night. I really needed to experiment with different products before I made this class happen. In other words, I needed to masturbate more if I was going to host a workshop on masturbating.
It was exciting. Knowing that something in the store was going to give me an orgasm later made me look at the entire store differently. I felt like a really hot girl at a bar, with the option to go home with any suitor that I wanted to. Only, hot girls at a bar aren’t always guaranteed orgasms and I was, so therefore I was even better off than them.
I walked around the store and let my vagina do the picking. Ultimately, it was for her, so she should get the biggest say. Yes, my vagina is a “her.” Dr. Erica said to give your vagina a name (though not necessarily a gender; that was my doing), so I called her Rihanna. I mean, how could I not love my own vagina if it was channeling an inner spirit Rihanna?
I decided on a Hitachi magic wand, and a soft silicone dildo. It seemed like the combo of the two was a no brainer for an orgasm. It was like I had my own special suitor for my clit and another for my G-spot, two strapping, young pieces of plastic whose only goal was to service me sexually. This combined with my own fingers and some basic water-based lube seemed like paradise. I hoped all my roommates were out of the apartment by the time I got home so I could have loud, passionate love with my two inanimate objects. Actually, fuck it. I didn’t care if they heard me or not. I paid $475 rent a month and this allowed me the right to masturbate in my bedroom as loud as I wanted! Rihanna was a star and it was time for her to sing.
As soon as my shift ended, I rang myself up for my two chosen toys and jetted home. I wasn’t going to put Sandy out of business simply because I was just getting to know my own vagina. Work came first, I would come second. I ran to my bedroom and shut the door, without stopping in the kitchen and making ramen noodles. I was truly very excited.
I browsed through my different recommended Pandora stations and decided on an ’80s gothic/industrial one to set the mood. Keyboards, synthesizers, and deep voices have always been sexy to me. So sexy that I avoided this type of music most of the time because I was afraid that it would turn me on too much and then I wouldn’t be sure what to do about it.
I sat on my bed and let Peter Murphy sing to me through the pathetic excuse for a speaker on my laptop. I turned it up as high as it could go and it was about as loud as your average music in an elevator. I spread my legs open and lathered up Rihanna with lube. I rubbed my fingers around the lips of my pussy; it was so hungry, so excited, and so wet. I could feel my nipples getting tighter and harder, my inner body was getting warmer, I grabbed onto my own neck—not sure why. I was listening to my body and just going where it told me to go, like Dr. Erica said. My ass sunk deep into my mattress, while I clenched all my muscles. I breathed in deep, I let my pussy direct my hand and explore. I could see my own clit swelling up. I could see the color of my labia getting red, I could feel the holes in my body loosening up. This was amazing, and I had barely just begun.
I grabbed the dildo and plunged it inside my vagina. I slid it in and out, in and out, again and again and my vagina swallowed it. I started moaning. Breathing heavy and grunting. Noises I never heard myself make! They came out so naturally and meshed with the beat of the dark symphonic music barely playing in the background. The dildo hit a spot that made me quiver; I hit the spot harder and harder. I was so wet it was ridiculous. The sound of flowing moisture coming from my genitals was certainly louder than my laptop.
This was such a deep intense inner orgasm, it felt like it was being pulled from my stomach. I grabbed the magic wand and put it on my clit, which was already swollen from my finger play earlier and YES. HOLY SHIT. WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON! AHHHHH!
I was vibrating and quivering, moaning, and breathing, I felt like I was on some kind of body ayahuasca drug trip in the middle of Peru. This was by far the most incredible feeling I’d ever had! I was smiling, I was thrusting my own pelvis in the air because that’s just what my body told me to do. I grabbed onto my sheets even though they were terribly impractical to grab. My body was controlled by this orgasm and I let it take over. It was the boss of me. I was a slave to this orgasm and I would keep doing whatever it wanted me to do. Was this one orgasm? Was this two? How many was this?
What seemed like hours later, the feeling came to an end. My body felt like wet, overcooked ramen noodles. It was spent. Rihanna had been pampered properly and it was time for her to rest. And after that, I would begin finding other women in the area in dire need of names for their vaginas and inspiration to masturbate.