The Ultimate Guide to Solo Sex

AS A KID AND even as a pre-teen, I didn’t even know masturbation was a “thing.” I didn’t know that that was what it was called or that people did it or that it was normal—or even that some people found it problematic. All I knew was that when I rubbed certain parts of my body against the mattress or the pillow or even the edge of the bathroom counter, very happy things started to happen.

Everyone has a first-time masturbation story—good, bad, or otherwise. Hearing other women’s stories can help you to better understand—and move beyond—any shame you may feel about masturbation and help you to feel like the perfectly normal girl you are for wanting to get off on your own. That’s what this book is all about, as you likely know by now. And this chapter in particular is all about first times when it comes to solo sex.

I first discovered masturbating when I was too young to know what I was doing. I remember rubbing against my pillow in the bed and knowing that it felt good. I don’t honestly remember if I ever actually had an orgasm or not back then. And I sensed that it wasn’t something I was supposed to talk about. So I never asked my mom or anyone else about it, and no information was offered.

It seems strange to me that we don’t really talk to children about masturbation. Here’s this incredibly healthy, normal practice, and yet we find ourselves having a tough time discussing it among adults, let alone with our kids. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out why that is. I have a few guesses.

1. We find it hard, if not impossible, to think of kids as naturally sexual.

2. We as adults are embarrassed about masturbation.

3. We have no idea what to say.

4. We are terrified about what our kids’ response might be.

5. We don’t want to “mess it up.”

When I was growing up, there was a copy of The Joy of Sex on the bottom shelf of the bookshelf in the family room. But there were never any actual, real conversations about sex, and certainly not about masturbation.

I don’t remember what, if anything, was taught about it in school. Growing up in Aberdeen and then Bel Air, Maryland, two nondescript, nothing little towns, my guess is it wasn’t discussed at all. Or perhaps the boys were taught about it in their boys-only health class session while we were busy learning about getting our periods in our girls-only session.

What I remember most, though, is the several years during which I went to a friend’s house after school before my mom got off from work. Her mother would babysit my sister and me because my mom thought we were too young to be home alone. We would play a game that we called “bra-ing” (I have no idea why) where we would each take a turn and lie down on the bed on our stomachs with our pants down around our ankles, rubbing against a pillow, and one of the other girls would put a popsicle stick between our butt cheeks. I think we made some pretense about taking each other’s temperatures. Not sure what our explanation was for the rubbing. Seems funny now. But I remembered it felt good, and I looked forward to it every day after school.

I do distinctly remember that we knew it was something we were supposed to hide from the grown-ups, and we made very sure to do that. It makes me a little sad, now, to think about what a perfect opportunity it could have been for the adults in our lives to talk to us about masturbation, to tell us that it was healthy and safe and an excellent way to explore our sexualities and learn to love and be comfortable in our bodies. Instead, for many, if not most, people, childhood is a time to develop a sense of shame around pleasure and sex and living in a body.

Building a sex ed curriculum for schools is not as daunting a task as many people seem to believe. All you’d have to do is tell the truth and leave religion and stigma and personal opinion out of it. I can’t imagine how different my life might have been if my parents and teachers had told me that masturbation was a perfectly normal, healthy thing that people do and that the release—in other words, orgasm—that often results from it is incredibly healthy for you.

There would be so much less to deprogram and undo. So much less slut shaming. So many fewer girls trading sex for love and falling for boys who were only giving them love to get sex. Feeling that our experiences of body and mind are in direct contradiction with all the messaging around us is confusing at best and devastating at worst. It leaves us feeling that our very existence is wrong. It’s a sad state of affairs. But sharing our stories and our realities, telling our truths now, is one way to combat that past and build the possibility of a better future of sex positivity for the generations of girls to come.

In high school, I continued to masturbate, now a little more aware of what was going on. But I was very careful to never, ever touch myself. I would only rub against the bed or pillows. I understood that I wasn’t supposed to touch myself, even though I longed for someone else to touch me (and was also terrified of the idea). It wasn’t that anyone told me directly that touching myself or masturbating was wrong; it was that no one had told me anything. And anything having to do with sex seemed very mysterious and something to be kept very private, especially from my parents, who, at the time, were probably the only two people who could have given me the information I really needed.

In college, I called myself a feminist and a “political lesbian.” Not sure where that phrasing came from. But at the time, to me, it meant that I aligned more politically with women who were lesbians but wasn’t actually sexually involved with women (or even aware that I was attracted to them). At the time, I still thought I wanted to be them, rather than sleep with them. But whenever I masturbated, which I did relatively frequently at that point, I thought about women. Even then, I still used the rubbing method, thinking that touching my pussy was something reserved for other people—which seems beyond insane to me now.

It’s amazing to me how many human experiences we openly share with one another. Women in particular are so open when it comes to talking about nearly every aspect of their lives. But masturbation is something that just never seems to get talked about. Humans are pack animals. We like to feel a sense of belonging. Part of that belonging has to do with feeling akin to the group, with feeling a sense of sameness and normalcy.

The problem is, if we don’t share our stories, we don’t have a way to gauge our experiences and feelings and whether or not they fit within the “norm” of human experience. It can leave us concerned that something is wrong with us when, more than likely, we are perfectly normal. The true issue is that we are perfectly alone.

That is precisely why I wanted to survey women about their experiences with masturbation, and to share as many of those experiences with readers as I could. My guess is that no matter what your experience with masturbation, you will find a similar story within these pages.

In my survey, I asked survey takers to tell me about the first time they masturbated and describe what it was like. The ages of these women when they first masturbated were all over the place, from toddler to fifty-something. The practices ranged from humping pillows and blankets and stuffed toys to capitalizing on the water flow from the faucet during bath-time to using sex toys to manually stimulating the clit to penetration with fingers or toys.

Here is a sampling of what survey takers had to say about their first experiences with masturbation.

At first, I could only orgasm while lying on my stomach with my legs closed. I was lying down on my stomach, face on a pillow. With one hand I spread open my outer labia and used the index finger (moistened with lubricant) of my right hand to rub my clit in a circular motion. I experimented with pulling the hood back, but that was too much. I had to touch the outer right side of my clit, with the hood covering it, and press as if I was clicking a computer mouse to achieve the first orgasm I had on my own.

I discovered a very old copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves in my closet. It belonged to my sister, who was sixteen years my senior. I must have been twelve or thirteen. I read it cover to cover, and that was the first time I remember touching myself.

I was fantasizing that I was Batman’s girlfriend.

I was twelve and I was in bed before going to sleep. I was rubbing my clit because it felt good. I kept rubbing until I felt the “explosion.” (That’s what I called it.) I can’t remember how many times in a row I did it that night.

I was about ten and I remember lying facedown in my bed and rubbing my crotch frantically while shifting my body up and down on my hands.

I was six and I remember watching soap operas with my grandma and wondering what was going on [in the sexual or romantic scenes]. I began touching myself in my room frequently [thinking about those scenes] because it felt good.

The first time I tried anything, I might have been fourteen or fifteen. I just tried penetration because I didn’t really know about the role of the clitoris in masturbation and orgasm.

I bought a vibrator and gave myself permission to explore. Also, learning shortly beforehand that masturbating didn’t have to include penetration enticed me much more. I had bought a dildo years prior and tried it once and it was not hot at all—I don’t count that time at all.

When I was four, I masturbated by climbing trees. As I continued in elementary school, I’d climb the poles and masturbate. I kind of knew what I was doing and kind of didn’t. When I was in seventh grade, I touched myself with the round side of a wire hanger until I came.

The first time I actually masturbated I was twenty-four. It didn’t “happen.” I bought a little toy when I was twenty-five and for the first time, I got myself off! OMG. I was thrilled. I felt empowered. I felt in control. It was by far the best orgasm I’d ever had and maybe my first actual one. Let’s just say I was happy to “go fuck myself.”

I think I was in elementary school; I would take baths trying to get the water on my clit from the faucet. (Love that feeling.) I was no older than ten.

It all started with me getting it on with my then-boyfriend. He fingered me, and afterward I thought, “Seriously, I could do a better job on myself.” So I did. I went home, thought of Ruby Rose, and practiced.

I was four and I lay in the bath with the water running down to hit me. I had my legs spread and my feet on the bathtub wall.

I was maybe seven and didn’t know what I was doing at all. I humped my pillow in order to feel good. That’s all I understood of it, really.

I was nine or ten and figured out that it felt really good to squeeze my largest stuffed animal between my legs.

I was about thirteen and I was fingering my clit. I stole one of my dad’s Penthouse magazines and read it.

I was eighteen years old, and my best guy friend told me how to do it. He showed me where my clit was. After that day, I was hooked!

I think I was sleeping. I must have been grinding against the mattress. I realized how good it felt. I didn’t know how to finish and I felt very guilty but intrigued at the same time.

I was about ten or eleven and sitting astride a fence. I moved back and forth on the fence.

I was maybe ten or twelve. I used the bedknob to put inside of myself.

The first time was when I was twelve and I moved my nether regions against an item that I would not like to mention because it is pretty weird.

I was nine years old, approximately, and came upon advertisements for women’s brassieres in a Sears catalog. That’s all it took. I was off to the races humping my pillow! Lol.

I remember being in kindergarten and touching myself while I thought about a certain boy I thought was cute. I remember placing my finger between my labia, but not in my vagina, and wondering what it would feel like to have sex. As I got older, in my early teens, I would get my curling iron or a brush handle and put it inside of me. I remember feeling pleasure, but also guilt and shame that this wasn’t normal.

I was really young. The kid down the street taught us to play doctor and I liked being touched on my vaginal lips. He used a toy drumstick to pretend he was examining me up from the top of my vagina to my stomach. It made me all squishy in my vaginal area. I wasn’t sure why, but it felt good. I didn’t want it to stop. Of course I always loved it when my friends would trace letters and shapes on my back; that also felt good. But after that first encounter, I wanted to touch myself in my vaginal area and make it squishy all the time.

I don’t remember much about how it felt. I must have been eleven or so. I used a mascara tube for a dildo, and I thought, “What’s the big deal? This doesn’t feel that good.” I found my clitoris later that year. Then I understood.

I think I was about seven or eight years old and I had been looking at a Playboy magazine. I learned that I could get the right place and right tempo by rubbing myself against the edge of my mattress.

I was five and at school. I was bored and trying to sleep during nap time. I started rubbing my body up and down on my mat, playing, like kids do. I orgasmed. It was fun, so I continued.

I was probably in the sixth grade, about eleven years old or so. I was in the bathtub and happened to have an electric spinning toothbrush. Just out of curiosity I placed it “down there” and realized it felt good.

I don’t know if this counts. But when I was about twelve, I had a really sore cramp in my leg from gym class. My mother gave me a hot water bottle that could vibrate to help with muscle pains. I put it on my inner thigh and lay in my bed and within a couple minutes I had my first orgasm and it terrified me! But after a while I decided to try it again and for the next little while, until I learned to do other things, the water bottle was my best friend.

I believe I was fifteen-ish. I remember reading romantic novels, and books with detailed sex scenes, like in Clan of the Cave Bear, and becoming aroused. I would then touch myself in bed, or go to the bath and run the water over my clitoris. The latter is what I remember doing the most. It was really cool when I experienced my first orgasm. It was like, “Ahhh, this is what they are talking about, with the buildup and the release!”

I remember being about seven and dreaming up Snow-White, princess-type rescue fantasies and I would sort of “hump” the bed and it felt great. I would breathe pretty heavily but that was it. Then I first had a successful orgasm at twenty-three-ish with a vibrator—I stayed home a lot that week with the new toy. It felt fantastic to be able to make myself feel so good and relaxed.

The first time I remember masturbating I was in fourth grade, I think, probably ten or eleven years old. I used the face of my Cabbage Patch doll.

I was about ten years old and I tried to use, as sad as it sounds, a tampon applicator, which is very embarrassing to admit.

I was seventeen and it was right after having sex. I remember feeling really turned on but didn’t know how to take care of it. After he left, I got a condom and a carrot (yes, a carrot! I couldn’t go buy a vibrator yet from Spencer’s). I wrapped it up, and had my very first orgasm. Sex after that was disappointing because I felt broken. Like I was the only one who could take care of myself. At least until I had a threesome and another woman knew what to do.

I was twelve years old when I decided to find out what was going on down there. One night in my bed I began exploring my vulva with my hands. I remember being surprised that it felt tingly and good. Then I felt inside my vagina, first with one finger, then two, and then three fingers. Although I remember getting wet (which was a surprise!), I did not have an orgasm—I had no clue what that even was at the time. Afterward, I was curious about the smell, so I smelled my hands, expecting it to smell bad, but I was glad to find out that it didn’t, just different. I was afraid that someone would catch me even though I slept with my bedroom door closed and nobody ever came to my room after I went to bed. But I definitely felt like I was doing something that I wasn’t supposed to be doing.

My parents had this electric massager. It looked almost like an electric shaver or beard trimmer in shape, but had different little nubs that you stuck on the end of it. They looked like suction cups, kind of. I was massaging my legs after basketball, and as I got further up my thigh and toward my inner thigh, I realized something nice was happening, and I just sort of experimented from there.

The first time I masturbated, I was about thirteen-ish? I had the “brilliant” realization that my Playstation 2 controller vibrated on certain games and settings. So I got down on the living room floor (don’t worry, no one else was home) and used one of the handle bits of the controller as a makeshift vibrator.

I started fingering myself every night before bed around nine or ten, not understanding what I was doing. Before long, I had discovered my mother’s back massager and, well, my clitoris. That was my first orgasm.

I think the first time I remember was when I was babysitting some kids. I was about thirteen. I remember I used to go outside while the kids were down for a nap and masturbate on their back patio, which was very private, and I would do it in the sun. I enjoyed the heat and the “naked outside” feeling.

I used to try to masturbate, but I lacked the ability to fantasize while I was using my own hand to pleasure myself. I had sex at an early age, and I think this may have contributed to my not feeling comfortable with having sex with myself. The first time I masturbated where I really got the point was when a lover was on the phone with me while I was doing it. The soft encouragement coming through the ether helped me to envision sexy stuff while using my own fingers to fuck myself. It was lovely.

From what I can remember, I was ten or twelve years old, I think. And I used my hands and fingers externally and internally and touched my breasts. Though I remember using pretty much anything that would fit in the hole. Pens, small shampoo bottles, whatever I could find that looked like it would work and not harm me.

I remember as a small child, probably about five, rubbing a plastic Easter egg against myself and how good it felt. I also love the shivers it gave me until I was about to come, but at the time I thought I was going to pee, so I always stopped before, since I didn’t know it was climax.

The first time I knowingly masturbated, pool jets aside, I was twelve or so. I was on the couch in the basement. I used the TV controller to, through my clothes, hit my clitoris over and over and over. I essentially recreated the effect of the pool jets with what I had at hand, because that was what I knew would make me feel good.

I was probably around thirteen years old. It was all about trial and error, feeling around for what felt nice. I didn’t put any fingers in my vagina. I only stroked my clit. I remember loving the feeling, but also having thoughts that I shouldn’t be doing it. I can remember this feeling of knots and built up pressure before I finally had an orgasm and it shocked me.

I was about ten years old. I remember reading one of my many books and I had a bit of an itch downstairs. I didn’t think too much of it, just kept reading as I scratched. But I kept going, I was so engrossed in the book that I didn’t even realize what I was doing or why. After a couple of minutes it started feeling good. I didn’t have an orgasm until I was about sixteen.

Sadly, because of my upbringing, the first time I masturbated, I was seventeen, about to turn eighteen. I’d just taken a shower, and I lay down on the bathroom floor. I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right (I think I may have been a little too enthusiastic), and it hurt a little (I know now that I’m very sensitive), but I rubbed my clit until I came. That was pretty spectacular. I had no idea that you could feel like that.

I was very little, and I humped my teddy bear. I called it “tickling teddy.”

I think I was about twelve, and I was hugging a body pillow and rubbed against it by accident. It felt good, so I kept at it. I never knew that what I was doing was masturbation. A month later, my sister and I got the sex talk from our mom.

I was sixteen and used a vibrator called “the rabbit.” It was amazing. My first orgasm.

I was in eighth or ninth grade the first time I ever digitally masturbated. It was on the bathroom floor and the room smelled of Irish Spring soap. I think I went balls to the wall straight out the gate and also penetrated myself with a (round) brush handle. Not my proudest moment, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. The explosion of digital masturbation far exceeded the muted orgasm I got from [other methods]. That was when I realized that I could have more than one kind of orgasm. It was a game changer, for sure.

I was in my mid-twenties. I felt like ghosts of dead relatives could see and watch me, and I felt embarrassed. I liked how it felt physically. I was able to explore my body and what felt good. But I was also self-conscious.

I was probably around twelve. I was using the tap on the tub to clean myself out because I had my period, and the rushing water brought me to orgasm. It didn’t feel as earth-shattering as I thought it would, so I remember I wasn’t sure I had actually reached orgasm.

I started to have pleasurable sensations and feelings around my clit right before I would go to sleep. I remember rubbing them out and knowing that I had to hide these feelings.

I remember being younger and I had this pen that was called something like a “squiggle pen.” It vibrated when you used it. After discovering masturbation, I remember using this pen as my vibrator. It was the best and helped me achieve many wonderful orgasms.

My earliest memories [of masturbation] in first or second grade are of hanging off the monkey bars and getting a “good feeling.” I then figured out that I could lie on my back and have my legs up in the air and eventually get that good feeling. And at some stage I figured out that I could touch myself and get that same good feeling without all the hard work!

I would idly stimulate myself even as a toddler. The first time I orgasmed, though, I was…seven? eight? I was brushing my teeth and when I leaned forward to better see myself in the mirror, my crotch pressed up against the edge of the counter in a pleasing way. So I rubbed up against it some more. And some more. Until pow.

I think I was seven when I began exploring masturbation. I had seen pornography and wanted to know what was happening. After trying to figure out how many holes I had, I discovered how pleasurable clitoral stimulation was and managed to have an orgasm through that.

As a young child (up to seven or eight, maybe nine) I mostly rubbed myself against things, often the side of the bath or sink, and in my room mostly by laying facedown on the bed. As I got a little older, I used my hand, and at about the age of ten or eleven, I remember experimenting with inserting eyeliner pencils of different thickness. At about eleven or twelve I read an interesting book which described the female orgasm very well, and I knew for sure what the sensation I had been having for many years was.

I was about thirteen, and I was at a party where I had my first real kiss from a boy. I remember him pushing against me and having this strange feeling. So when I got home, I was curious as to what would happen if I touched myself. So I tried. I just kept running my finger up and down. It was intense so I stopped.

Not sure. I remember holding myself going to sleep a lot, just placing my fingers between my lips and rocking into my hand, not focused on orgasm, more focused on riding the pleasure.

As a two- or three-year-old, I masturbated with a Playmobil toy (the shape really worked).

I was three or four years old. My mom had to work, as she was a single parent, and my brother and I went to a daycare center. I remember touching myself at naptime there. My usual method of “disguise” was lying on my stomach and pressing into my fingers or hand.

I was fourteen. I had been making out with my boyfriend and he got me off with his fingers. I was like, “Oh wow! What was that and how did you do it!?” So he taught me.

I had no school and my parents were at work. I sat on a step and put the handle of a butter knife into me for about a minute. It didn’t feel that good.

The first time I remember is when I was pregnant with my second child. I was twenty-eight at the time and traveling alone. I made a pit stop at McDonald’s. I sat on the toilet in the restroom, locked the door, and went at it.

I was twelve or thirteen. I was on the phone with a few of my guy friends, and they were talking about doing it, so I asked how they masturbated. When they told me, I just stuck my hands down my pants and started feeling around. I mainly played with my clit, and felt myself get wet, but I thought I had peed my pants and became extremely embarrassed. I didn’t touch myself again until probably sixteen.

I was eleven. I followed the directions of someone in a chat room, and wiggled my finger over a tendon or something on the top of my clit. It felt great, but in my family, sex and periods were always a “bad” topic. So I felt pretty shitty. I knew that doing something someone in a chat room told me to do was bad.

When I asked survey takers if they had ever gotten “caught” masturbating as a kid and, if so, how it was handled, many of them said that they never did get caught, either because they were very stealthy or because they didn’t masturbate.

The majority of those who did get caught said that their parents got angry or that they were made to feel bad or guilty or ashamed about what they were doing. One survey taker said, “I got the message it was dirty and forbidden, displeasing to grown-ups, and not something [that was] approved of.”

Some said they were threatened with punishment, including spanking, if they were ever caught doing it again. Others said they were simply told that it was something they should do in private and that it was perfectly natural, which I was very happy to hear!

My sister busted me with my mom’s “massager” at night when I thought she was sleeping. We never discussed it. When I was about four, I would climb trees and “feel funny.” I told my aunt to watch me once and she got embarrassed, but I didn’t know why.

I remember being young. Maybe nine? And I woke up with my hand in my panties. I had no idea why or how it was there. My mom had a bit of a freakout and asked me many questions about what I was doing and why. She was adamant that I shouldn’t do that. I remember feeling embarrassed and confused. I didn’t know exactly what was going on.

I once masturbated in the seat next to my dad, but I didn’t know it was masturbation. He looked and it was really awkward because I didn’t know what I was doing, but he didn’t say anything.

Hahahahaha! Yes. I was in my blanket fort in my granny’s living room. She pulled back the “door” and saw me facedown humping a pillow and said, “What are you doing?” Me: “Um, it makes me need to pee..!” Granny: “Well, finish up, lunch is on the table.” We never spoke of it again.

My mom came in and made me take my hand out from under the covers and smell my fingers when I was about four or five. I must have been touching or fondling myself, although I don’t remember feeling scared or ashamed, just curious as to why I had to take my hand out of the covers. I didn’t smell anything bad. But I made sure to keep my hands out of the covers after that.

Coming from a Southern Baptist background, I was told that it was bad and not to do it again. I still did; it was magnificent and something I could do while watching Sesame Street.

Honestly, I just told my mother that I was only “looking.” She shrugged it off and later told me it was no big deal.

The closest thing might have been when I was watching TV once when I was little, and I was lying on my stomach with my palms underneath my thighs. I was a little giggly, and my mom seemed rather disturbed. I remember wondering why she was freaking out, since I wasn’t touching my genitals.

When I was in the ninth grade, I used to go to the “outhouse”—the tiny outdoor bathroom we had in our backyard (for the pool there)—and run the shower head over my clitoral area. I loved it so much. I would think about the sex scenes I had read in Clan of the Cave Bear or any other literature I had read with sex scenes, and feel the pressure of the water, and just moan and moan until I came. I would say “Oh yes” and increase my loudness as I became aroused. It was a private little space. But one time, the door to the bathroom opened, and my sister’s friend was looking for my sister, calling, “Lauren? Lauren?” The door was right next to the shower. It was a good five seconds before I realized what was happening. Then I heard the silence of her just standing there, shocked and quiet. (The shower was inches away from the door.) She suddenly closed the door and scurried away (or at least I assume so!). To this day, I feel awkwardness about it. The woman is now forty-three and I am forty. She is still friends with my sister. I see her about once every five years. She is a lesbian and is in a long-term relationship. Neither of us has ever said a word to the other about it.

I once tickled myself on the belly—I was like eight and my mother lost it and told me not to tickle myself because it was bad and gross. That pretty much killed that. I rarely even touched myself again. Before that I had really great “love” fantasies and I would stroke my legs at night—after the tickle incident I started just reading before bed until I was about twenty years old.

Yes, it was handled strangely. I masturbated with a larger-than-life doll my mother had made. She could tell by the ring around the mouth of the doll that I’d been kissing it. My mom told me that I shouldn’t kiss the doll; it wasn’t sanitary.

I brought a Raggedy Ann doll out to the living room, somewhere around the age of three, threw it on the floor, lay down on top of it, and went to town. Apparently we had company that day, and my parents were mortified.

Yes but my parents acted like nothing was happening.

Er, yeah—as a toddler I masturbated lying on the living room rug in front of my parents and collected uncles and aunts. No sure how they reacted, but I somehow realized after that it perhaps wasn’t usual and was more private thereafter!

Yes, I did get caught—my parents found my dad’s dirty magazines and my mom’s back massager in my room once while I was out at my friend’s house. They just took everything out of my room and never mentioned it again. So embarrassing.

I don’t know that I was really masturbating, but I had a pallet to sleep on in the living room as a young child, around seven or eight.

One night I was touching myself under the blanket with other people around. Later I can remember my mother telling me that was something we didn’t do in front of people.

Never caught, but I did tell my mom about [the time] I felt a “strange fluttering feeling”—and she played dumb. When I cried to her about the guilt, she pulled out the Dr. Spock book and told me not to worry.

When I was a teen, my mom just kind of walked in talking about something we were going to do, and she saw what I was doing and kind of went “Pffft” and walked out and waited upstairs. When I did go up, she said “Finished?” and went on with what she had wanted to tell me.

Yes, [I got caught] a few times as a teen. My mother called the minister of our church, a nurse from the church, and the principal of my private high school. They held an “intervention” to tell me it was dirty and wrong (which honestly just made me do it more).

Yes, and my parents told me that I should only do it in my room, alone, with the door closed.

In elementary school, I got caught so many times that to this day I’m still embarrassed! I had a little coat tree, kid-sized, that I would hold on to and hump. As a kid I was embarrassed because although I don’t recall being shamed about it, I just knew that it wasn’t really a socially acceptable thing. Not that that stopped me. Haha, I humped that poor coat tree for years until it broke!

When I was twelve, my mother left a bookmarked religious book about masturbation and why it’s wrong. Lol.

Yes. I did it at school during naptime. I was laughed at.

I didn’t get yelled at (memories are kind of vague here) but remember a sort of general feeling of disapproval. I have a hazy memory of being on my grandparents’ couch mid-day touching myself (I thought discreetly. My go-to method for self-pleasuring is on my stomach, and I think that started in childhood as a way to “disguise” what I was doing), and I was told to sit up when I was caught.

When I was thirteen, I found a small, white, innocuous-looking thing in my mom’s dresser drawer. It was a vibrator, but I didn’t quite know what it was. But of course I decided to pack it and bring it with me on a family vacation in Ireland. One night I was up reading British Vogue in a guest room in my aunt’s house and took the vibrator out to try it, and somehow lost it. We continued on our journey, and when we returned to my aunt’s later on the trip, she discreetly handed it to me and said, “You forgot this.”

And finally, this was one of my very favorite responses about first experiences with masturbation: