Are there things that are off-limits here at Tiny Cat Pants? I guess we’re about to find out.
Because I’d like to touch briefly on female masturbation. Ha, I said “touch briefly.”
Okay, now that that’s out of my system…
I was thinking of how Elias used to have this ‘zine and he asked me to write an article for it and so I wrote this hilarious expose about my experimentations in masturbation. Basically, I got on the internet, found some site offering tips on female masturbation, tried them out, and rated them for his readers.
I wouldn’t bring it up except that I almost died, twice, during the same session while doing the research for said article.
If you’re a woman, you’ve certainly heard of the bathtub method, where you lay down in your bathtub, throw your legs up at a 90 degree angle and scoot way down so that you’re aligned with the faucet, and you let the water flow over your cooter until you orgasm.
If any of you have tried this, you already know the first way I almost died. If you are scooted up so that your cooter is aligned with your faucet, chances are your butt is over the drain, and the bathtub is filling up with water. And, while the sensation of water flowing over your cooter is pleasant, it ended up being a race to see if I’d finish up before the water covered my face.
I lost. That was bad enough. But then I went to sit up and, apparently, my back had made some kind of seal on the tub bottom so that when I sat up, it made this enormous farty groany noise which caused me to start laughing and I hit my head on the side of the tub so hard I thought I would pass out and end up drowning again.
Luckily, I lived.
But my larger point is that girls get a lot of fucked up messages about sex, which causes us to be very fucked up about sex, which is too bad, because it’s fun, but if we’re fucked up, chances are it’s not very fun for the people we’re fucking.
I can recall masturbating as a little girl. I didn’t know that’s what I was doing, because no one in my family ever talked about sex with me, except my grandma, who had an elaborate theory about how the Pope was trying to convert all her grand-daughters to Catholicism, because “Protestant girls have needs and Catholic boys know this and they will bring you right up to the point where you will have to have sex or die and they’ll hop out of the car and refuse to get back in unless you promise to marry them and become Catholic.*”
There was a point where you’d have to have sex or die? And Catholic boys knew how to get you to it? Bring on the Catholic boys!
Anyway, my point being that I was masturbating, but didn’t know what it was (My favorite fantasy? That I was naked and encased in dried mud. No, I don’t understand it either.). Then, I figured out that I was playing with myself and that it was wrong and made me bad and so I stopped.
I got older and wanted to start up again, but I still felt like it was wrong. Then, I read an interview with Sharon Stone, talking about that scene in Sliver where she masturbates in the bathtub (though, wisely, not using the aforementioned method). And she went on at some length about how she cried afterwards and how all of the women on set were also crying because there’s just something so sad about women masturbating**. And so then I was like, well, I don’t want to be one of those sad women who masturbate.
Luckily, I had this kick-ass feminist professor in college who was all the time talking about how she had to masturbate during commencement just to be able to not die of boredom.
“You masturbate?” I asked. I’m embarrassed to tell you what I said next, but for you, I will. “But you have a husband!”
“B., how the fuck is he supposed to know what I like if I don’t know what I like? Plus, sometimes you’ve got to have a little something to get you through a boring-ass day.”
This was like some kind of revelation from the gods. Masturbation was fun and recreational and something one did in addition to propping herself up on the sink the the bathroom of a certain frat house while some dude whose name she can’t even remember now*** told her he loved her until she asked him to stop because it was creeping her out. Ugh, what the fuck?
Anyway, where was I?
Yes, masturbation. More importantly women getting in touch with themselves.
It comes to my attention that there is a portion of the female population who trade sexual favors for chores. Who does this? It’s like me saying “I’m not going to go for ice cream with you unless you take out the garbage.” Why would I risk missing out on ice cream?
Do these women not like sex?
Let’s use a metaphor the boys will understand: you don’t just learn how to catch the ball once summer when you’re fifteen and then make a career of playing baseball. You have to continue to practice the fundamentals, even between games if you want to enjoy playing.
So, it seems to me that these women who use sex as a means to manipulate their partners instead of enjoying it for its own sake might benefit from some alone time.
*In all fairness to my grandma, I should point out that these Papist conspiracy theories didn’t start until after she’d had a few strokes.
** I looked for this article and could not find it. So, I could be misremembering.
*** Are there children reading this blog? If so, I say, respect yourself to wait for someone whose name you’ll remember.