Flying from the East Coast to the West has never been as enjoyable as it was on my last trip. Normally, I hate sitting in the rear of the plane next to the restroom, but this time was a welcome exception.
He sat in the window seat as I plopped myself next to him in the middle, leaving the aisle seat open; I was glad it remained that way. Once we were airborne, I happily lifted the arm, swung my legs onto the empty seat, covered myself with a blanket, and settled into a well-needed nap during the five-hour red-eye flight.
Within moments of stretching across both seats, I was fast asleep and dreaming of my favorite spa back in LA. I was naked, my body being scrubbed clean by what felt like thousands of hands. Fingers were shampooing my hair. More fingers began to bathe my body. They moved across my legs and thighs, my freshly exfoliated skin zinging from the aromatic body wash then soothed with warm milk. I was lost in bliss, supremely relaxed and pampered, when the hands moved to my breasts. I was too embarrassed to confront my attendants, so I lay still on the table, my eyes squeezed tight.
The hand on my breasts massaged with a bold vigor, encircling my nipple with a finger, then cupping it, full palm. As my lower half began to awaken, I realized that I was no longer dreaming. My eyes sprang open. A large muscular hand was actually under my blanket, fondling me without permission or remorse.
I followed the arm attached to it, all the way up to the face of the handsome man in the window seat next to me. Our eyes met for a lingering moment and, without a word, he clearly understood what I wanted, more so, needed him to do.
I adjusted myself into a more upright position, my feet back on the floor, with the blanket still covering me. I turned slightly toward him as his hand roamed across both my breasts, stirring my nipples from a semi-distracted state to full-on hardness. He leaned into my neck, raining hot, gentle kisses against my skin. I craned my chin upward, allowing more access, as his kisses made their way down to the swell of my bosom. He followed the path he’d made back up my neck to my waiting lips, his tongue searching softly at first, then pushing its way into my mouth, sucking, tasting, pulling me in.
Beneath the blanket, I lifted my skirt, pushing my panties down to expose my bare strip of pulsating flesh. I raised a corner of the blanket, allowing him to peek.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, his deep voice sending a pulse of pleasure all the way through me. I reached down, spread my pussy lips, and began fingering myself while rubbing my clit. Both of his hands were on me now, caressing my body as I slid my fingers deeper inside my juicy canal.
He slid both hands under his blanket, furiously jerking up and down, exposing himself to me so I could see him rubbing his magnificent, engorged cock. Just seeing it almost made me cum. I rubbed my clit with aching desperation, my sticky fingers plunging deep inside my hole. We both moaned in unison, the pressure growing and growing until it was too much to bear. His eyes were on my hands between my legs as his dick began to twitch, and then spurt his creaminess into the blanket. I came instantly, my pussy racked with spasms, fluids raining from my walls, covering my fingers. Spent, we glanced at each other with embarrassed disbelief, and then burst into a fit of giggles.
“Ssssh,” I whispered. “We’ll wake everyone.”
“You were the noisy one,” he replied.
“I was not!”
A flight attendant standing in the aisle several rows up turned in our direction. My seatmate pulled me into his chest, pretending to sleep.
“My panties are still pulled down,” I snickered.
“So what?” He laughed. “My cock is still out.”
I reached under his blanket, taking it in my hand.
“This is mine now,” I said close to his ear.
“But I still get to jerk it from time to time, right?”
“Only if you let me watch.”
“Do I get to watch you rub your pussy?” he asked.
“Anytime you want.”
Panties down, dick out, covered in blankets, we snuggled close for the rest of the flight. Our honeymoon had officially begun.
All right, before we go any further, let’s drop the pretenses, shall we? Everyone masturbates—everyone, without exception. That means you, honey. You masturbate, and you probably do it a whole lot more than you’d like to let on.
So what if you don’t refer to it by that name? I don’t care what you choose to call it—that thing you do with your hand absently stuck inside your pants as you watch TV, or those toys you keep in the nightstand next to the bed. Maybe you think that if you don’t use the actual word masturbate, it means you don’t indulge in it, right? Wrong! The bottom line is, if you’ve ever touched your genitals for comfort, pleasure, or just fondled your clitoris and labia out of unconscious habit, you’re masturbating! Own it.
You’re a big girl now, someone who is not afraid to expand and explore the boundaries of her sexual self within her marriage. If that weren’t true, you wouldn’t be reading this book. It’s time to get over the guilt and shame that come from admitting to an act that is as natural and common as eating and breathing. The fact that you do it isn’t something you should be hiding from your mate. If there was ever an act that could spice up your love life with minimal threat to your comfort zones, it’s a little autoeroticism, baby!
Vixen, I don’t have to masturbate, some of you insist. My man gives it to me on a regular basis, so I’m pretty satisfied.
Poppycock! Masturbation and the frequency with which you do it aren’t always a measure of whether you are sexually satisfied, or dissatisfied, by your mate. Sometimes you just need to get one off on your own. You may be having a rough day or a rough moment and just feel the need to release some tension. Masturbation accomplishes a whole lot in a little bit of time—expeditiously, effectively, and, most important, correctly. You know exactly what turns you on, exactly the way your clitoris, vagina, breasts, and other highly sensitive areas need to be touched to stimulate you to the point of orgasm. Armed with such knowledge, you can bring yourself to climax quickly and efficiently. It is only through exploring our bodies firsthand that we can best direct others as to what pleases us most.
However, too much masturbation, especially while using battery-operated tools and gadgets, runs the risk of setting a bar too high to be reached by your husband, or any human, for that matter. I mean, who can compete with the kind of orgasm a vibrator can deliver? Besides, buzzing your clitoris into oblivion on a hyper-regular basis isn’t exactly the way to go. When it comes to your marriage, however, by introducing self-pleasuring as an active part of your sex lives, you can not only turn the heat up on your romance, but learn a lot more about yourself and your partner as well.
Just as stimulating, intimacy strengthening, and informative as masturbating for each other is the act of masturbating each other, simultaneously. Remember, mutual masturbation is not the same as sexual intercourse. You’re not engaging in the usual penis-in-vagina action. You are, however, using your hands and toys to do what your mate would normally do for him-or herself. Ladies, hold your husband’s penis the same way he does when he masturbates himself; simultaneously, he should massage your clitoris just as you would. Be extensions of each other. If you’ve been doing your homework as you watched him pleasure himself, you know exactly how he likes it done. He should touch your erogenous zones just as he witnessed you touching yourself. Being each other’s hands as you bring yourselves to explosive climaxes can open the two of you to a level of honesty, sharing, and trust you never dreamed you were capable of reaching.
It’s time to get over the guilt and shame that come from admitting to an act that is as natural and common as eating and breathing.
Masturbation and the frequency with which you do it aren’t always a measure of whether you are sexually satisfied, or dissatisfied, by your mate.
It is only through exploring our bodies firsthand that we can best direct others as to what pleases us most.
Being each other’s hands as you bring yourselves to explosive climaxes can open both of you to a level of honesty, sharing, and trust you never dreamed you were capable of reaching.
How cute! You and your husband chose the self-pleasure fantasy. More than any other, this particular form of role-playing is an excellent way to deepen the intimacy between the two of you. By masturbating using each other’s hands to demonstrate what gets you aroused, you break down barriers of resistance and vulnerability, opening yourselves up to a whole new horizon of closeness and trust.
I’m so excited just thinking about how it must have been for you guys—the expressiveness, the tender moments, stroking each other to beautiful simultaneous org… huh? Wait. You mean it didn’t happen like that? Oh, it sort of happened like that. Wait. It happened like that for him but not you? How’s that even possible? I see. You were able to successfully bring him to climax, but when it was your turn, he didn’t exactly follow your instructions. Hmmm, that’s not good.
First of all, the selection of this fantasy was your idea. After all these years with your husband, he still doesn’t make love to you in a way that successfully and consistently brings you to orgasm. And although it seems obvious that you should have been able to tell him how to pleasure you by now, you’ve always stepped lightly, not wanting to upset what can sometimes be the fragile male ego. Men like to think they know exactly what we want, and if we take too long to point them in the right direction, we may find ourselves relegated to a life of faking it and using alone time to get ourselves off.
You were exactly this type of woman until you came across this book and saw my helpful chapter about having a fantasy that involves mutual masturbation. You became so excited. Here was your chance! You could say everything you’ve never known how to express under the auspices of engaging in a marital fantasy, and finally, finally, your husband could be told all the places you wanted him to touch, not just the places he chose based on the style of lovemaking he’d employed since losing his virginity two decades ago. Hurray!
Or not.
So there you both are, all alone. The kids are spending the night with your parents. You’ve got takeout, wine, soft ambient lighting, seductive music. You’re sitting on the bed naked, facing each other, an assortment of vibrators and flavored massage oils at your side. You ask your husband to show you how he wants to be touched, and he does. He grabs his penis and holds it, closing his eyes and jerking himself. What he is doing is nothing you don’t already know. You’ve stroked him exactly this way for years because, unlike him, you’ve always paid attention to just the way he likes to be touched. You squeeze some massage oil into your palm, and then reach out for him, replacing his hand on his penis with your own. You stroke slowly, then quickly, and then slowly again, not wanting to bring him to completion without deriving some pleasure of your own. This is, after all, supposed to be a mutual moment, right? With your free hand, you tweak his nipples, knowing they are among the most sensitive parts of his body. He takes it all in, letting you service him as you’ve always done. During all this, you sweetly remind him that he is supposed to be doing the same thing to you, and before you can release him from your grasp and show him the way you want him to touch you, he already has his hands on your tits, squeezing much too hard, the way he has for years.
“A little softer,” you say.
“Like this?” he asks, barely easing up the pressure. You take your own hands and place them on his, showing him just the way it should be done. He does it like that for a few moments as you resume stroking his penis, and then fondling his balls. Within moments he is back to his old ways, pressing hard on your breasts once again. He is growing more excited from your touch, but for you, this isn’t exactly going the way you’d hoped. To top it off, now he’s twisting your nipples like they’re dials on a radio. You hate that. You’ve always hated it. Well, here’s your chance to put the kibosh on it.
“That hurts,” you say, careful with your tone. “Can you be a little gentler?”
“But that always makes you scream!” he exclaims. “Whenever I do it, you cum right away.”
You fake-cum, that is, and you scream because it doesn’t feel good. The way he squeezes your nipples is so uncomfortable, you pretend to be excited when what you really want is for the damn thing to be over. So tell him that. Go on, tell him now.
“Let me massage your back,” you say instead.
What a wuss you are! How is he ever going to know? This is a mutual masturbation fantasy. This is where you’re supposed to tell your husband what sets you afire. Open your mouth. He is not nearly as fragile as you think.
Your husband lies down on his stomach and you drizzle chocolate-raspberry oil onto his back, gently rubbing it into his skin. He moans in pleasure at your measured, knowing touch, his penis hard beneath him as he revels in this most awesome of fantasies. You lick his skin with your hot obliging tongue, tasting the chocolate-raspberry deliciousness. You massage and kiss his buttocks, his thighs, pressing your face between his legs as you flick your tongue across his balls. You flip him over and take him in your mouth, sucking him with sublime perfection. He groans with delight. You know him so well.
But hold on a minute. He’s not touching you! This is supposed to be mutual. What gives here?
Wait, I spoke too soon. He just pulled you on top of him. Whew! I was really worried. Okay, and now he is massaging your breasts, still hard the way you hate, but remind him not to do it like that. Remind him now. Say something. It’s a self-pleasuring fantasy, not a self-martyring one. Open your freakin’ mouth!
Oops, too late, he is already inside you, pumping and thrusting, just like he always does. You sit there and take it, not even guiding his hand to touch your clitoris the way you like, the way you touch it when you masturbate to climax alone. Hell, he didn’t even give you head! What kind of crazy, one-sided, masochistic fantasy is this? If one of you was supposed to be abused and neglected in this fantasy, you would have just skipped over to the Domination chapter!
Now he’s done. Out of habit, you fake an orgasm along with him, choosing to continue protecting what you believe is his very fragile ego. He glances up at you lovingly, pulling you down onto his warm, chocolate-raspberry-flavored body, holding you and your unsatisfied, uninspired loins in a loving embrace.
Now, whose fault is this? Be honest when you answer. That’s right, it’s yours. You chose this fantasy as a way to let your man, your life mate, know what pleases you, and before the whole thing could even get started correctly, you chickened out and fell back into your everyday pattern of letting him think he’s getting you off when he really isn’t. Sure, men’s feelings can be delicate. They like to think they know our bodies and how to satisfy a woman without us having to give them a road map. That’s all great in theory, but it is an untruth that needs to be quashed right out of the gate.
For starters, shame on you for going all these years without letting your husband know where and how to touch you to bring you to satisfaction. You aren’t just throwing yourself under the bus when you do such a thing; you’re throwing him under there right along with you. Men can no more read our minds than we can read theirs. Yes, he may be taken aback when you point out that he is nibbling on your clitoris too roughly or the way he thrusts when he’s inside you does nothing whatsoever to stimulate you. Better to fix it early than wait too late and make him feel like a jerk for doing something for years that you’ve never enjoyed. Imagine how mortifying that would be for him. Remember, men think about everything, especially when it comes to the women they love. He’ll probably stay awake deep into the night thinking about all the times the two of you made love and you seemed to enjoy it. He’ll realize that you were faking it, time after time. He might even conclude that you’ve faked it every time you’ve done it with him, and that could really affect his self-esteem, much worse than telling him what you need from him ever could. The poor guy might even lose the ability to get aroused out of fear that he is unable to please you at all!
If this is you, please, do not pick this fantasy. In fact, don’t choose any fantasy, not just yet. You’re not ready, girlfriend—no way, no how. If you haven’t already, read my last book, The Vixen Book: How to Find, Seduce & Keep the Man You Want. You may have found your man already, but it wouldn’t hurt to brush up on some key points, not just for him, but also for you.
As of right now, you’re apparently not willing to be truly honest with yourself, let alone your man, having placed the onus exclusively on him to know what it takes to please you and choosing to pretend that he is good at it, rather than opening your mouth and setting things right when he is clumsily flailing. The way you went about this fantasy was all wrong. This wasn’t a self-pleasuring/mutual masturbation extravaganza; this was the anti-fantasy, an exercise in static behavior. And once again, your poor husband has been misled. He thinks he just had his first real role-playing moment with you and that he knows exactly how to get you off. That’s why he’s snoring right now, lost in a chocolate-raspberry fog, still holding you close to his naked bosom. You’re trapped in this mess… a mess of your own making. It didn’t have to be this way.
Oh well, why waste a tender moment? You may as well go to sleep along with him. Maybe you’ll dream about how this fantasy should have turned out.
Here’s to knotted loins, chocolate snores, and raspberry dreams!