Written by: Lisa Gallegher
That night I lay awake stimulated by the conversation of the evening and my date’s lingering kiss on my lips. Unfortunately, he had to work the graveyard shift and we had to call it an early evening. His final kiss had started the embers of love kindling in my 19-year old soul.
My hand gently rubbed through my pubic hair and stroked my clitoris as I tried to drift off to sleep. I stopped thinking, turned, tossed, touched myself again. Nothing was working. I still lay awake. I began thinking about the people outside my apartment. Should I try and join their party? Should I go for a midnight swim? I was so tired why couldn’t I sleep? It was 1:00 AM. I was now laying here for an hour. My nerves were on edge. I was beginning to sweat into my pillow, hair damp with perspiration, legs twitching as my calf muscles spasmed.
I constantly rolled in the bed, never getting comfortable, lying on one side, then switching sides. I turned to my stomach, that position for some reason hurt my breasts. I turned to lie on my back and instinctively, as if I was a marionette and my motions were controlled by gossamer threads, my hand began to search out my clitoris. Sweat now covered my whole body. I threw off the covers. It was so hot in this room. My finger entered my vagina, I took a deep breath, my body trembling, shaking at my two-inch digital insertion. Minor relief came at once. My body was now chilled, as I lie naked on the bed, uncovered.
I turned to reach for the cover that I had earlier deposited on the floor. A gasp escaped my lips and pleasure shot through my thighs and pelvis. I looked down at my hand, its middle finger hidden inside my abdomen, buried into soft moisture. The turn had made my vaginal walls wrap snugly around it while pushing my love button into the hard bone of my middle finger. I turned back over and moaned softly, staring at the ceiling above, waiting for the earth to move again. What was happening to me? Was I ill?
Masturbation was never an event that took place in my life. Usually, I was tired from studying or sports and was sleeping within a few minutes after my head hit the pillow. The nights that were sleepless, which I could count on one hand, were because of worrying about exams or the rare sinus infection. During the last six months, I began rubbing myself more in the pubic hair region as I fell to sleep. I just thought my secretions were increasing and I was getting a little of the wetness in my hair, causing a slight itch. I increased the frequency of my showers to twice a day but found the spray of the shower into my genital area, caused tingling sensations and I was really irritable the remainder of the day.
As an 18-year old living at home, when I questioned my mother about these strange occurrences, she dismissed them as all in my imagination and I should use more soap in “that private area.” Things having to do with reproduction were not discussed in our home. My mother never used words such as “breasts, nipple, vagina, or penis.” The vulgar forms were definitely out of bounds. My learning of reproduction came about in early high school at a group assembly of freshman women. It was taught by a nun who used medical slides with the outer body skin stripped away revealing skeletal and muscle tissue. It took all of 30 minutes to complete. Half of that time was devoted to don’t do this. At 14 years old, I thought copulation occurred like a fill up at a gas station. Put it in, wait, liquid comes out, done. It wasn’t until my sophomore year when I overheard a group of senior girl cheerleaders gossiping about the pumping action of particular football players that I realized motion was involved. Even then, I thought it was just on the part of the man. Midway through my junior year, I again overheard two seniors talking, the one instructing the other, “If you really want to get off move your hips up into his when he goes into you and hold your clit with your hands so it rubs on the top of his dick when he is going in and out.” The only thing I did know about it for sure was that is was supposed to feel really good.
My finger entered deeper into my opening as I rolled to my right side, away from the blanket on the floor. My left leg lifted instinctively as I rolled onto my stomach, this time letting out a clearly audible moan. I buried my face into my soaked pillow and began to rub my walls with the single digit. It was heaven. The tenseness left almost immediately as I let out muffled moans of pleasure. With each self-manipulation the pleasure increased and my breathing got more labored and deeper. What was happening here?
I turned again onto my back. It struck me odd that my breasts weren’t sore from lying on them. I slid over to the center of the bed, looked at my hand, the palm now resting below the top of my pubic hair with my middle finger pushed up to the knuckle into my leaking canal. I could feel liquid on between my fingers and on my palm. The hair between my legs was beginning mat from drying secretions. I lifted my shoulders from the mattress and looked down on what I was doing to myself. In disbelief, I watched as I made two large, slow circles with my hidden hand extension rubbing against all the walls of my female organ. A long, loud moan came from deep within my larynx as my digit orbited. I couldn’t keep my shoulders off the mattress any longer as the back of my head collapsed into the pillow. My hips lifted off the bed as if my head and pelvis were on opposite ends of a seesaw. Another deep moan escaped me as my eyes rolled into the back of my head. I could only see the brass bars of the headboard behind me and they were blurred.
My legs spread apart and their heels dug into both sides of the mattress. My left hand placed itself on my clit and began to massage it wildly. A second finger somehow found its way into the slick area and danced frantically with its partner. Lights flashed like cameras. I could hear nothing. The muscles of my body oscillated like guitar strings. They seemed to be all connected to the small area between my legs. I felt moist skin squeeze against my fingers, let go, and constrict on their intruders over and over again. Both heels slipped out of the grip of the mattress, thighs and knees came crashing together, and my body rolled into a prone position, my teeth biting the pillow as it met my face.
I lay there for minutes, exhausted from how my body betrayed me. Slowly, my fingers vacated their den, returning saturated to the world of air. With effort, I rolled to my side, reached for the blanket, covered my naked, sweaty skin, and went into a comatose state of sleep.
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