Its Masturbation Month and I’d like to finally admit to my pillow humping habits. Despite starting fairly young it took roughly seven years for my masturbation quest to reach its climax, but I learnt some valuable lessons along the way.
It all started a long time ago, when I was still at school, had only one lonely pube and still hadn’t had a period. I’m not sure exactly how I found out that a pillow between my legs felt good, but nonetheless it quickly became daily routine for me. I had a method of folding my pillows in half and carefully lining up the fullest part with my pubic mound. Then I would grind away at it, losing my breath and enjoying the build-up of ‘something’…
That ‘something’ (better known as an orgasm) never actually came but that didn’t put me off. It’s not like I knew what I was missing out on, I didn’t even know that what I was doing was ‘masturbating’. The only real thought I had was that I desperately didn’t want anybody else to find out what I was doing. I had a very strong feeling that it was WRONG to enjoy my pillow like this, that what I was doing was unnatural and shameful.
I’m now not at all surprised that I wasn’t reaching orgasm. There was never a build-up, rarely anything stimulating to read or watch, and I never got any other parts of my body involved. Rookie mistakes. The closest I came to watching porn was replaying American Pie scenes on my DVD player. It wasn’t exactly great masturbation fodder but it was all I had to hand. Not exactly the kind of sex or masturbation to aspire to.
I was about fifteen when I finally built up the courage to start shoving fingers inside me, I was ashamed and thoroughly underwhelmed, it felt nice, but ‘nice’ isn’t why people masturbate. I genuinely didn’t believe that other girls did this. And because nobody I knew spoke openly about female masturbation I never learnt any better.
And so I switched from pillow humping to trying to shove various things in my vagina; fingers, hairbrush handles… deodorant bottles. But none of that ever got me close. Because like every boy I’d ever fooled around with, I was completely ignoring my clit. Just like them I focused all my attention on things going into my vagina, I’m not even sure that I really knew what a clitoris was and they certainly didn’t.
Even at college, when I had my own laptop and did watch porn, I kept up my relentless fingering approach, despite the fact that it bored me to frustrated tears. I yearned wistfully for my pillow humping days, at least doing that felt good, at least that got me close. But it felt like a dirty childish secret. Not something a seventeen year old would do to get off.
And so eventually, when even the new found adventure that was sex didn’t succeed in getting me the orgasm I was now relentlessly hunting for, I found the courage to buy my first sex toy. Unfortunately it was a ‘body-safe’ *coughBULLSHITcoughcough* rubber battery powered rabbit with a swirling shaft. My next few months of masturbation were the noisiest of my life, but luckily no one ever questioned the blender-like noise coming from my bedroom.
That toy never actually got me to orgasm, though if anybody asked me outright I would have said it did. I had reached my third stage of masturbation journey. Complete and utter denial. I both firmly assured people I was sleeping with that I could orgasm, that this rabbit was making me orgasm and so were they, whilst absolutely feeling that I was broken inside. That I just couldn’t tip myself over the edge, that I had the diving board but somebody had filled the swimming pool with concrete. I lied because I genuinely thought orgasms either weren’t real or my brain wasn’t capable of experiencing it. I knew I was getting ‘near’ and each time I would count that as an orgasm. I was enjoying myself in those moments and I figured that was close enough.
Here’s where I found the Lovehoney forum, started talking but more importantly started listening. I learnt the difference between rumbly and buzzy vibrations. I brought toy, after toy, after toy. And eventually, blissfully, after years of ignoring its existence I learnt that my clitoris was a thing, a real thing that really did enjoy stuff. And before long I reached orgasm with my legs straight and tense and rumbles permeating my clit.
Now that I understand the clitoris, and its buried structure underneath my skin, I totally get why pillow humping always felt so good to me. That’s what I was stimulating all those years. I’m aware of how tricky I find reaching clitoral orgasm to be, so I also understand why I never quite made it ‘there’.
And even now, when I test sex toys, right at the end of the session I’ll always see if there’s room to stick the toy against/inside me and jam a pillow between my legs. Hopefully gleaning one more comforting orgasm with my face mushed against the bed whilst I grind the pillow into oblivion with the last of my energy and a small blissed-out smile on my face.