Learning to Love Myself Ch. 01

*****

That night I woke up twice squeezing my damp thighs together and caressing my own nipples. I became convinced that I was going through some kind of new unhealthy phase.

*****

"What's new this month?" Dr. Lester said at my healthy-check therapist meeting the next week. I was down to only going once a month to touch base with her about my eating disorder and other unhealthy issues.

"I think something's wrong with me," I told her.

"Honey, you've been coming to see me for -- what -- over five years now? That's the first time you've ever said that out loud."

"Yeah, well this is something completely different," I told her.

Dr. Lester looked exactly like you'd expect an old hippy to look, right down to the Grateful Dead tapestries in her office -- which is kind of morbid if you think about all the suicide attempters she counseled -- ancient sandals on her feet and incense in a little Ganesh burner on her coffee table. She leaned in toward me to look over her orange tinted glasses and said, "Whatcha got babe?"

"Well this past week I've been... ...touching myself... ...intimately."

It's in the nature of counseling to do a lot of listening, and Dr. Lester is very good; however, even she broke after two minutes of silence and said, "And?"

"And nothing! I just never have before, and I've done it compulsively a couple of times now."

"Child, it's not encouraged for those of us in professional counseling to offer judgmental opinions on things revealed to us during session, but if I may break with the rules just this once?"

"Sure."

"If you've never masturbated before, it's about damned time you tried it! You have always had issues about being good to yourself, and masturbation is an excellent way to be excellent to yourself. Hell, if this lumpy old hippy had your body, I'd probably spend all my time touching myself. Of course if I did have your body, Mr. Lester wouldn't leave me alone long enough to do it."

I would have freaked out if it had been anybody but Dr. Lester who said it, but she was as close to a sexless person as I've ever met -- just kind of a big nurturing bean-bag of a human. I just laughed, and she continued.

"You work hard on your body, so let yourself enjoy it. The only advice I'll give you is: don't rub yourself raw, don't put anything in yourself that could can't get back out, and don't touch yourself with anything that is harmful to sensitive skin or isn't clean. In short, be gentle and sensible with your body and don't overdo it."

"What about orgasm, Dr. Lester?"

"What about it?"

"I know what one is, but I've never had one."

"Don't worry about it child. It's nothing to be afraid of -- can't hurt you at all -- can't do it wrong. You'll know it when it happens."

I nodded.

"You're nineteen and hot stuff. Accept it and enjoy it. Be careful and be good to yourself. Now... get the hell out of my office, babe. I'll see you next month."

*****

I didn't jump right into exploration as you might expect. I had to "debrief" with my parents when I got home from my session with Dr. Lester. It was part of the requirements for my continued counseling to talk to my parents about every session. I didn't have to tell them what exactly I talked about once I turned 18, but I did have to report how it went. They were as involved in my life as possible, and that was a very positive thing for me.

Anyway, I just told them that we talked about further healing on some of my self-image issues. They accepted that, but it did kind of cool my fires for a while. It's hard to imagine coming out of a conversation with your folks and immediately wanting to masturbate. Then we had dinner, and before long it was late.

The next morning, however, found me in the shower with my fingers stroking my pussy tentatively as the hot water pounded on the back of my neck. Oh, it felt good. I remembered my earlier experience and dabbed a little conditioner on my fingers. Quickly it lathered my lips and short tufty bush and gave me a wonderful slipperiness.

My fingers flew and fluttered up and down the slit and strummed across my clit. I wasn't doing anything that Dr. Lester warned me not to do, so I figured there were no other rules. I could do anything I wanted, so I did.

I also lost track of time and almost overheated while I was wrapped up in my own pussy. It felt so good that I didn't want to stop, even when I started to get dizzy and hyperventilate. I ended up holding myself up with my forehead pressed against the wall and gasping, just like when I was in the showers at the gym.

I felt like I had been close, so after I finished my shower I raced back to my room with a towel wrapped around me and locked myself in. I lay back on my bed and opened my legs wide for easier access to my very wet pussy, and my heavy breasts rose and fell rapidly as I panted with excitement. I'll let you pause on that image for a minute... enjoy it... okay, moving on.

As I started to massage myself again I caught sight of myself in the full length mirror on the door. It was directly opposite the foot my bed so I was staring straight up the crotch of this lust mad, redheaded, big breasted girl as she shamelessly worked her dripping pussy.

"Look at you, you sexy whore," I told my reflection.

I was under doctor's orders to not degrade myself. It was all part of my healing. I was supposed to say nurturing and empowering things about myself.

I was too far gone into the moment to check myself for the self deprecation though, so instead I rolled with it. I would be a sexy whore for myself. I kept my eyes on the mirror as wave after wave of lust and heat bloomed in my body. My fingers made wet sounds and my senses were filled with the scent of my frenzy.

I also kept up the monologue of insults to my reflection to work through the personal barriers of shame and degradation I'd built up over the years until they began to actually dissolve into encouraging and empowering things.

"Work it Elain. Work that sexy body. You can do it. You can love yourself," became my litany. It sounds silly -- hell, it was silly -- but it was what I needed right then to feel good.

My breasts were swollen and the nipples knotted up, so I pinched and pulled on them with my wet fingers and added that exquisite dimension to my pleasure. I licked my fingers and tasted my pussy for the first time. It was good, so I did it again and told myself about it, "Oh you taste good Elain, you sweet sexy girl."

Forty minutes of massaging my pussy, tugging my nipples, and sucking my pussy slick fingers exhausted me. It was too intense to keep going, and I was starting to dry out a little. I was also going to be late for my crap summer job.

I didn't reach orgasm that day, but I was very encouraged. I felt good while doing it; I felt good after doing it; and I felt good about trying it again. It was as if Dr. Lester had given me permission -- I was normal. This was good thing and I should do it. It was helping to heal me.

*****

Two days later I broke my hymen with my fingers. It was a sudden thing, and I cried for an hour afterward from the pain and the self doubt. Should I have done it? What did it mean? The rationale that I dried my tears with was: my pussy -- my choice -- my decision -- my terms. If it was going to happen, then I chose the time, place, and method. I was okay -- nobody took anything away from me.

The day after that I discovered that if I really worked at it, I could lick my own nipples. It wasn't a comfortable position to stay in for long, but it was wildly entertaining and felt really, really good while I was able to keep it up.

The day after that I tore my hymen a little more and hurt myself again, but I managed to get three fingers in my pussy. It was an incredible feeling of fullness despite the initial pain.

The day after that I discovered the joy of fingering myself while lying on my stomach. You wouldn't think it would make a big difference, but if you've never tried it you'll be pleasantly surprised when you do... and I do hope you will!

The day after that, I finally made it -- my first orgasm! I had stopped talking to myself (having given over to more natural moaning and groaning sorts of sounds), but still preferred to masturbate in front of a mirror. What can I say? It just really turned me on to watch myself pleasure myself. In fact it still does.

So anyway there I was, completely relaxed with the fingers of my right hand going to town on my pussy and the fingers of my left hand rolling my nipples around. I watched through half lidded eyes as one, two, or three fingers disappeared inside me -- my pussy dripping moisture steadily onto the towel I was lying on -- occasionally sucking on my wet fingers to taste my salty sweetness -- making hot circles on my clitoris -- and then it just happened.

It began like dropping a large stone in a clear pool, only in reverse. It was as if ripples of energy from all over my body moved inward in succession and filled up a well in the center. It kept filling and filling and filling and the potential energy of it was great and terrible. Then finally it exploded outward, and my whole body seemed to tighten up as if I curled in on myself. My breasts strained upward and felt like they were going to burst; my abs pulled in; my ass clenched up; and my pussy viced down on my fingers. Everything blurred into slow motion ecstasy, and the stone fell back into the pool. The ripples of energy burst back outward at high speed, and I thrashed around on the bed like a mad animal. The blood was pounding so hard in my ears that I could only hear my heartbeat, but I know I must have cried out.

After convulsing (there's no other word for it) for several seconds, I rolled over onto my side, pulled a blanket over me, and wept at the beauty and intensity of the experience. I felt so incredibly empty and disconnected, and all I wanted in the world was to be wrapped up and held. Dr. Lester was right -- I knew it when it happened.

There was a knock at the door. It was Mom.

"Elain honey, are you okay? I heard you scream!"

"Yeah Mom," I said between sobs. "I just woke up from a very long bad dream."

Mom poked her head in the room and said, "May I come in."

"Please," I said before my brain caught up with my mouth. I was still naked and wet under the blanket, and it seemed like the whole room smelled like pussy.

"What were you doing sleeping?" Mom asked.

"I got out of the shower and was reading for a while. I must have dropped off."

Mom sat on the bed next to me and put her arms around me, hugging me close. I'm sure she must have smelled the sex, but she didn't say a word. She didn't even ask me what the alleged nightmare was about or question the fact that there wasn't a book anywhere near me. She just held me and told me she loved me until I calmed down. Then she kissed me on the forehead and left me alone.

I think I have the best Mom in the world. She's warm, kind, caring, observant, firm in her convictions, compassionate, smart, nurturing -- all the things a mother is supposed to be, but she also always let me be myself as long as it wasn't hurting me. Dad was always a bit more "this is the way things should be", but Mom always said "let the girl be herself and breathe".

So I breathed, and when I had caught my breath I did it again. The second orgasm was smaller, gentler, and not as much of a shock. I also tried really hard to be quiet, and mostly succeeded. I took my time and managed a third orgasm a little while later before I was too tired to do any more. It was also different, but no less pleasurable. It was also easier. I was finding my triggers, so to speak.

*****

That was it. I was addicted to cumming. Over the next week I probably had six orgasms a day. I found out that I could make myself have a little cum in under three minutes, or I could take my time and have a big one. I masturbated in the shower, in front of the TV, in the bathroom when I had a spare moment, in the otherwise deserted locker room at the pool, once actually in the pool (just to see if I could), and of course on my bed in front of the mirror. I loved cumming in front of the mirror.

I'd like to think I was making up for years of lost time of not masturbating, but I'll admit I was overdoing it in my quest to become expert at it. I sometimes walked a little funny by the end of the day, and I still had a hard time being quiet when I came. These facts were confirmed when I had another brief exchange with the coolest Mom in the world, and found out that she knew I was masturbating all the time.

That particular evening my crap summer job had me home after dinner, but Mom sat with me while I ate so we could catch up on the day's events with each other. I had an hour to kill after eating before I could go for my late swim, so I was going to head off to my room for a while and you know... take care of things. As I got up from the table, Mom pulled a taped paper bag out of a hidden spot and put it in my hand. She mouthed the words, "Open this in private and go easy with it." Then she put her finger too her lips in a "shhhhh" gesture and winked.

Then she shooed me out away from the table and went on about her business. For my own part I dashed back to my room, shut the door, and tore open the bag. Inside, as you might have guessed, was my very own vibrator and a package of batteries.

It was a small, white, plastic, phallus-shaped device -- only about five inches long, with a smooth tip, and ribs down the length. It was still in the plastic manufacturer's package, which was emblazoned with a full color picture of a naked woman rubbing one nipple with the vibrator and a bright orange For Novelty Use Only sticker over where her pussy would be. I sat there in shock for a couple of minutes and just looked at the thing in my hands. My Mom had just given me a sex toy!

I couldn't quite wrap my head around that, but I couldn't get the package open fast enough either. It only took a couple of seconds to figure out that you had to unscrew the base and load it like a flashlight, so I quickly popped in the batteries. It only had an ON/OFF switch on the base, which I tentatively set to ON, and the little devil began to quietly but powerfully hum in my hand.

I switched it off and quickly shucked off my clothes. I also thought far enough ahead to lock the door and turn on my little stereo for some cover noise. As quiet as the little vibe was, I didn't want to be indiscreet about using it. It never hurts to be careful. I was rapidly moistening with excitement while I was taking care of these little details though. "Go easy," Mom had said. That would be a challenge as excited as I was.

I flopped back on the bed (in front of the mirror, of course) and opened my legs. My pussy lips parted with a small wet smack, and I wasted no time in turning on the vibe and trying to force it inside myself.

Bad idea -- it hurt -- a lot. Fingers are one thing. Actually using a solid object that you have no feeling in is something entirely different.

I must have had the angle all wrong, wasn't as wet or open as I thought I was, tried to go too fast, or some combination of all of those. What happened was that it felt just as uncomfortable as the language implied when I described it as trying to "force it inside myself".

So I sat back and just slowed way down. I rubbed my pussy gently with my fingers to make sure I hadn't hurt myself for real. Everything seemed okay, so I settled right into a leisurely masturbation rhythm.

Emulating the vibrator package, I started to tease my nipples with the little humming guy. It felt incredible, but was just a bit too much to do for very long. This was going to be harder than I thought. I flipped the switch back to "off" and figured I would just take it one step at time.

I started by gently rubbing the length of the vibe up and down the full length of my pussy lips. I quickly learned how much pressure felt good and how much was too much. I tried twisting it slightly as I stroked it up and down. The little ribs bumped over my clit in a great way, so I kept doing it.

Suddenly realizing where I was, I quickly glanced up at myself in the mirror. Damn! I looked hot. There was just something so nasty about seeing that white plastic toy slide up and down my folds. It instantly made me twice as wet and the vibrator shined with the moisture.

I kept my eyes on my pussy and lifted my knees to my chest, rocking my hips up and causing myself to open. Now I could see what I was doing, so I angled the vibe toward my opening and felt around with the tip. It was a briefly baffling experience watching everything in reverse in the mirror, able to feel my pussy but not the vibrator, and trying to find the way in.

After a moment I got lucky and the tip slid right in about an inch. It felt odd but good. The plastic had warmed up by this point, so though it was hard and inflexible, it wasn't uncomfortable. I was encouraged, so I pushed a little more, and the toy slid smoothly inside me all the way to the base.

The ribs felt incredible as they bumped along the tight entrance to my body. I slowly withdrew the vibe and just as smoothly slid it back in. It went easy, so I kept doing it. The show in the mirror was fascinating. My pussy would grasp at the plastic shaft as it slid out and seemed to clench it back home as it slid back in. After a few more practice thrusts, I began to build up a rhythm and to grunt softly as I pumped the toy into myself.

I started to give it little twists to make further use of the ribs as well, and that worked like a charm. My grunts turned to gasps, and I just had to start massaging my clit with my other hand. My excitement increased, and I began to clench on the toy as an orgasm started to build quickly.

"Must time this just right," I thought as I watched my busy pussy in the mirror. My clit massaging elevated to frantic rubbing, and I was able to press my left breast upward enough with my arm to flick my tongue across the nipple once or twice.

I felt myself summiting the crest of orgasm and at the last possible second I flipped the vibe switch on...

Language fails utterly to describe that first vibrator orgasm experience. I had never had an orgasm quite like that one, nor have I ever again. I don't believe that the surprise and incredibly fortunate timing can ever be repeated. Ah well, I will at least try to wrap some words around the physical components of what happened.

...flipped the vibe switch on, and it felt like a high-voltage current seized me from the bellybutton to some point mid-thigh. All my muscles locked in contraction and crunched my body up like a sit-up. My pussy viced down so hard on the vibrator that it stopped the motion of my hand, and my ass clenched so tight that felt like it was drawing in on itself.

Instead of washing over me in waves like a normal orgasm, cumming this way was very (for lack of a better way to put it) tightly localized on my lower belly, pussy, hips, and ass. Everything in that region clenched and unclenched very rapidly for many moments as the orgasm machine-gunned through me. Fortunately I wasn't breathing at the time or I would have screamed. As it was, I only managed a raspy growl in the back of my throat.

Then as quickly as it began, everything released and I uncurled suddenly on the bed. This forcibly withdrew the vibrator from my pussy and skittered it across the bed to rest against my right ankle. I sucked a great breath of air and just lay there with my pussy spasming for several minutes. I didn't feel like I was in my right mind at all, kind of like getting nitrous gas at the dentist. I was in the room, but only vaguely.

Eventually the humming toy resting against my ankle bone tickled too much to be ignored any longer. I came back to myself, reached down to turn it off, and made the mistake of trying to stand up. Balance just wasn't there yet, so I fell back on the bed and just rested.