Sneaking In Some “Me” Time

 

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“Oh my god,” I finally breathed. “Everyone is out of the house.”

It is a rare moment. My father is out with my brother-in-law, and my sister has just gone out for what I figure would be a 20-30 walk with the hounds. The house is mine!

Being that my father is retired, and my brother-in-law and sister happen to be disabled, they almost never leave the house all at one time. It is time to have a little me time. I peer out of the front window to make sure that my sister is down the road. When I determine that the coast is safe, it is time to quickly squeeze in some good old fashion self love.

I run to my bedroom and close the door. Just in case, I lock it and shove a book bag in front of it. I walk to the bookshelf from across my bed and light an amber scented incense stick. With it aflame, I gently light the tea lights in my altar. One sits in a Buddha’s lap and the other in a rose quartz rock. They are surrounded by all sorts of other crystals I have collected over the years. Amethyst, obsidian, lapis, quartz of all kinds…designed to bring creativity, love, abundance, and protection. I light them to honor this special time. It brings a sort of holiness to the whole ritual.

I lay a towel on my bed, sit down, and reach under the bed for a special box. I take off the lid and pull out my good friend. It is a “Magic Wand.” I pause as I hear a car drive by; I am still a little weary of anyone arriving back home unexpected. I reach for a small bottle of lube and put a dime size amount on my fingers. I lay back and rub it towards the front of my vulva, right over the clit.

I look around my room. It is the tiny bedroom I spent my entire youth in. I can remember the cut out letters my mom stapled onto one wall when my kindergarten teacher told her that I didn’t know my alphabet. They had stayed on that wall until I graduated high school. I never thought I would be living in this room at the age of 38. I had left the coop and lived in Spain and Chicago, I had even bought a house in Kalamazoo, but the economic downturn circa 2008 mixed with fighting uterine cancer left me with no choice but to start over.

While on my back, I slipped the wand down my underpants and turned it on its lowest setting. As I start feeling the vibration, I work to relax. I had never successfully masturbated until I was in my thirties. My friends, wanting me to put myself out there, encouraged me to try to hook up with some guys after I had lost 60 pounds. In one weekend, I doubled the amount of people I had ever slept with. Bringing the total to a robust four. I slept with two guys in 24 hours, and I wasn’t really that satisfied. I felt like I was trying to accommodate them the entire time. I endured one guy titty fucking me, and another guy trying to forget he was in bed with a 300 lb woman. I became so frustrated that I decided I had to figure this whole masturbation thing out. I read internet articles, attended Pure Romance parties, and tried to peruse adult toy shops. I never felt comfortable talking with anyone else about my dilemma.

Eventually, I won a small bullet vibrator from a Pure Romance party. It laid dormant in my house for a while until I got so frustrated that I threw in some AA batteries and decided I had to figure this thing out. A friend once told me that she could only really orgasm from clitoral stimulation. At the time, I had no idea what she was talking about and I quickly changed the subject to something benign. Maybe she was right. I had played with fancy dildos that vibrated and had all kinds of things going on in them, but it didn’t do anything for me. Eventually, I decided to find this “clit” thing.

I tried going up and down the vulva until I figured out that something was going on when the bullet was at the very top. I felt so dirty trying to figure this out, and filled with so much self-hatred and self-judgment that I often stopped well short of orgasm. I didn’t even know what orgasm was still. Upon further exploration, I discovered that I felt I was driving up a cliff and about ready to jump off. I would get so scared that I would stop just before lift off. What if what I was doing was wrong? Was I going to hurt myself? I read some more articles that kept saying you have to relax and ride the wave.

Finally, one afternoon, I rode myself up to the cliff and against my better judgment, I jumped. My body lit up in ways I had no idea it could. I felt like I just plugged myself into an outlet and I was short-circuiting. Tingles and sparks flew through my body, tears came out of my eyes, and my crotch became warm and wet. More than wet, I felt like I had peed myself completely. I immediately stopped. What had I done? How gross?

Already embarrassed, I threw all my clothes and bedding into the washer and threw myself in the shower. I felt ashamed. It wasn’t until I conducted some further research that I realized that girls could cum too. It wasn’t “pee.” It didn’t smell like it. It was something else, something even the scientific community didn’t even understand.

I was proud that I finally figured out how to masturbate. I probably spent a few weeks doing it at every conceivable moment I could. I quickly learned that AA batteries were expensive and only good one or two times before I required more power. The “Magic Wand” was an investment. An investment in myself and a guarantee that I didn’t have to hold out til my next paycheck or raid my remote control for batteries to get me through.

As I started to warm up my body, I began to rub my hands over my breasts and play with my nipples. My skin is so smooth and my flesh is soft. I started to pinch my areolas as I worked my thighs together and apart. It felt good, but I was still a little too worried about my session being interrupted. You can’t rush it. I take a deep breath and switch the wand up to high. I start to tickle as the hum starts to match the vibration of my own body.

I begin to vocalize with the hum. As I feel the ripple of waves of exultation, I continue to grunt and sing out. My toes begin to curl with anticipation, and before I know it I am overtaken by the crash of magical, mystical, energy. I scream til my lungs empty of oxygen and ride the ride until I can’t take it anymore.

I immediately turn off the wand and pant. My body starts to calm, but it is hungry for more. I eagerly give it what it wants. I turn back on the wand and ride it. Over and over again, I ripple and scream with pleasure until I am drenched in my juices and exhausted of my desire.

I lay back and rest. I feel whole. Before I can fully enjoy the moment, I remember that I am on borrowed time. I quickly clean up my wand and put my toy box away. I throw my clothes and towel in the hamper and run to the bathroom. As I stand under the warm water, I know that I am safe. I take a long shower, gently caressing every area of myself. I try to love ever bit of me. My belly broken into three rolls, the saggy skin under my upper arms, my thick legs, and my flat ass. I lotion up and towel off. I slip on some fresh underwear, clean jeans, and a t-shirt.

I come downstairs and sit on the couch, beaming with renewed energy, smoking a cigarette, when my sister reenters the house. As she starts to recount all that occurred on her walk, I take a deep drag on my cigarette and know that I can handle it. I have taken care of myself. Today will be a good day no matter what.

Super Fun Night

If you haven’t watched the new Rebel Wilson show, “Super Fun Night,” you should. I have heard people give it mixed reviews, but I think it is because they are too far removed from the truth of it. As a plus size girl for the majority of my life, we don’t get a lot of heroines. I feel like the big girl is always the butt of the joke, so why wouldn’t you try to be anyone else?

This was magnified for me during Halloween this year. The boys and I watched Disney’s “The Adventures of Ichabod.” Funny, how when you watch some of these old movies you can see things that you might have missed before. First, Ichabod is totally gay. The fat girl that is infatuated with him and the big muscley dude is totally me. She, according to my boys, is the funniest character in the whole movie. I, on the other hand, am embarrassed and ashamed by this comparison. All I want to be is the pretty girl that the boys are fawning over. At least, that is what I told myself for a long time. Isn’t that what we have been told as girls to strive for?

In this recent episode of “Super Fun Night,” Rebel’s character is all about punching up her love life by paying for a seminar on lion hunting dating tactics. She brings her two roommates who are equally as awkward with her. At the seminar, Molly Shannon gives all these stupid’s rules that are vomited from the stacks of old Cosmopolitan magazines about what girls should do or not do to get guys.

Armed with this already established knowledge, Rebel goes to the hotel bar to try and pick up a guy. She strikes out with what one would deem a more desirable man, only to find a sweet bigger guy who is willing to try her out. He invites her to his room, and the freak out sort of begins.

As much as I might have told myself over the years of how unattractive I am, the truth is…you can find a guy pretty easily. They are wired for sex. I have had sex with barely a handful of guys. Two of them I knew pretty well; two of them were one-night stands with strangers. I am totally capable of the mechanics of regular intercourse. The problem is…my heart was never really in it.

I thought for years that maybe it was because I didn’t really like the guys. If I just found one that I was infatuated with, everything else would fall into place. I dated a few more guys here and there, but I could never get past my impermeable wall of vulnerability. I never felt like I could be myself and always wanted out before they could realize that I had no interest in them.

Instead of owning my disinterest with men, I came up with a million excuses why I was unlovable. No one ever wanted to spend the night with me. I was too fat. I had boils. I bleed constantly. My clothes were miserable. I didn’t have a pretty enough face. I was too hairy. My belly was disgustingly large.

Even though I felt happiest when I wasn’t forcing myself to look for a boy, every time someone would ask me about my love life or if I was seeing anyone, I would feel a dagger through my heart. The fact that I was unattached and not even looking was like a scarlet letter. At my sister’s wedding, my aunt went into detail about how I would be a “mature” bride (age 31).

At least I figured out how to masturbate properly. Those Pure Romance parties are cute and all, but if you are truly dense to sex for whatever reason….seeing an assortment of toys with no instructions doesn’t serve you. I actually owned a few toys for which I had no idea how to use them for several years. It wasn’t until I was so frustrated with myself for not figuring it out that I actually researched it on the internet until I felt comfortable and learned what I needed to do.

Okay, so why didn’t I know I was a lesbian? Well, sex is such a taboo subject in this puritanical society of ours. What did you really learn in school? God knows my parents weren’t going to say anything, and I was too proud to ask. I grew up during the time of AIDS so I was deathly afraid of STDs. I would have also been damned if I was going to be knocked up out of wedlock. Even though I don’t really care about anyone else and their choices, I harshly judge my actions based on what I knew were ridiculous rules. For some reason, I thought I had to be held to a different standard.

As I was so blindly trying to do what I thought I was suppose to do, I let so many opportunities for happiness to slip right through my hands. I made myself miserable. I knew I was loveable, but told myself I was the opposite. I knew I was never going to be the “pretty girl,” I will always be the “character” actress and that is okay. They are the ones that everyone loves more at the end of the story anyway.

So, I appreciate “Super Fun Night.” Rebel’s character didn’t have sex. You actually find out she is a virgin. And, we get closer to her roommate coming out of the closet herself. Seeing a story about “real” girls trying to maneuver through this societal crap is rather refreshing. Instead of these truths being hidden behind some sort of joke, why can’t we embrace these characters for exactly who they are?

Granted, I know my whole self-acceptance thing is a little pre-mature. Since I have really come out, I haven’t dated a ton of girls. The one that did have the hots for me I kind of pushed away. There is some part of me that is still not ready.

I see the kind of relationship my boys have and admire it so much. They are best friends. The kindness between them is palpitable. Their love is unconditional. When they fight, they aren’t dirty. They know they have each other’s back and it is freakin beautiful. To feel the amount of love they have for each other is almost more than I can bare. It actually scares me.

If you can love someone so deeply, what the hell happens when the shit hits the fan? How could you recover?

I fear having someone know me so much and using it to hurt me. It is the ultimate in not being able to hide. It almost poses a threat as much as it can produce so much joy and happiness. My level of trust is so incredibly low. I feel like people have trampled over my feelings so much of my life. I have seen family members and friends use personal information to screw me. I have had moments of sharing with my mother intimate details and then just watch her use it to lambast me. I am dying for a soft place to fall, but am on such high alert that I can’t find a place to relax and if I did I would still never really allow myself to settle down enough to enjoy it.

This is the kind of resistance that I am DYING to get over. The need to surrender is so here and now. But, from my current vantage point, it seems almost impossible to get over. I see people who confront these same fears.  I see them try. I see some become successful and others who fall on their faces but get back up to try again.

I see brave people speaking up everyday about who they are and who they love. I see people who boldly trust and hold on to faith when almost everyone else would give up. I see people who march to a different drum, take shit for it, and continue marching to successful lives based on their terms. God, I just want to be one of them, damn it!