Masturbation
2004-10-22
Where Pussy is Queen , by Fyre
I had to travel to San Francisco to go to one of those classes at the Insight Institute. I heard about the course from a friend. You can imagine tales about these places would spread like wild fire. My friend Glenda went down to the class and came back with a smile that just wouldn’t quit. And just like the woman in the diner in When Harry Met Sally , I thought, I’ll have what she’s having.
I flew down on the plane, not knowing what to expect. I went into the "classroom" which was more like a luxurious den from a mansion. Heavy velvet curtains. And instead of the hard chairs in rows as you’d find in a regular classroom, there were plush lounges and tables (I later found out that the tables weren’t for our use to take notes, they were for us to lay upon in case we needed some room for our own self-exploration!) and big sloppy chairs. Everything was meticulously clean, and the air was scented with vanilla and musk.
One thing that became apparent is that Nicole and her friends live together in a communal experience. There were several women and several men, and they were open to having sex (or experiencing orgasm) with one another by appointment. Fascinating! I could well imagine how it would be to live in a colony with a group of supportive people. All contributing to the common good. If I wanted a sensual experience, maybe the best person to have it with would be another woman, with candles and wine. And full body massages and lots of pussy.
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But if I wanted some dick, well then Frank would step up. Kind of like a take-out menu. A little something for everyone. Lots of variety. It sounded like Heaven.
After Nicole introduced everyone, she started telling us a little about her background. At the Institute, they’ve been studying female orgasm for ten years! I was full of questions. What is there to expect when a woman goes through different times in her life? Adolescence. Menopause. And I personally love having sex during my period, but yes, it can smell a little hard, and no, it’s not for everyone. But the sensations--if that’s what we’re going for--are excellent during that time of the month. I wanted to explore myself more during that time, and I don’t know, it was like the people at the Institute gave me permission to just fucking explore! And what about using orgasm to provide relief during traumatic times? Like could masturbating help alleviate pain during childbirth? Yes, of course, she assured me. Of course it could. But in order to have the freedom to orgasm right there in the hospital room. .
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. well, most women would never do that. Just like most people would never orgasm in the dental chair. Or orgasm on an airplane during turbulence.
But maybe we’re coming into an era where that could be allowed. Nicole talked to us about sex’s role in different cultures. Sex in Asian countries, for examples, has a much different stigma than sex in Western countries. Little girls are actually encouraged to touch themselves when they’re in pre-school. Girls are taught by their aunts or grandmothers to exercise their vaginal muscles and to give sensual massage. Some women can even throw darts with their pussies, and were trained assassins. (Oh my Goddess! I couldn’t imagine. ) And sex in ancient Rome and Greece. . . yep, it was rowdy and completely different than what we’ve come to expect.
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And the key to having a different experience than the one we’ve come to know, with all the lights out, and the man coming hard and fast. . . . well it was self-exploration.
Part of the class covered "setting the mood. " Which was why they had the classroom the way they did. The lighting was muted, coming from sconces positioned on the walls to highlight erotic pictures, reproductions from Michealangelo, luscious women with rounded tummies and full asses, breasts that were lily white and ripe for the picking. The paintings were framed in heavy gilded wooden frames. There were candles on various tables and the class started when the instructors came in and lit them, explaining that the female orgasm was a holistic experience.
Be responsible for your own orgasm. A woman’s orgasm is about the whole body. When a woman comes, she feels it in her toes, she feels it in her fingertips. Muscles in her neck stand out, her back writhes, the walls of her uterus expand. Her whole body becomes an opening for the experience of an orgasm, and it is up to you as a woman to prepare yourself for the experience.
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It was a rare thing, Nicole said, for a woman to find a man willing to spend the time to get her ready. It was up to the female to take on exploring her body as a project. To get to know all the body parts, and the specific names and to be able to walk a man through the experience of pleasuring her body.
In order for any of that to take place, she said, you MUST know yourself. You must know specifically which places you like to be touched, and for how long, and with which type of lube. Try different ones, she encouraged. Do you like a slippery silicon lube like Eros? It comes in a black bottle and she passed around samples. We opened the packages and felt the liquid on our palms. It wasn’t greasy and it didn’t dry up. It felt like liquid satin. Or do you like a thicker lube like Vaseline or KY? She had several bottles of products that she passed around. She wanted us to smell them, and taste them, because in sex, the taste and smells of the products get intermixed with our own fluids and become part of the overall experience. I personally loved the smell and texture of Dax. It was a hair-care product that was 100% lanolin. I loved the scent of the lanolin, and as I’ve found out, I like the taste of it added to my own taste, and I think the feel of it as it melts into the heat of my pussy is divine.
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A woman asked about the flavored lubes or heated lubes that you can get at most sex shops. Nicole said that we could always try them, but her experience was that those artificial tastes and smells got in the way for her. She loved the way people smell and taste, and that’s what she and her friends like to experience, not something manufactured to "cover up" the real taste of a vagina.
Another woman asked about vibrators, or other battery-powered toys. Nicole said that she’d given hers up. (Give it up! I wasn’t sure I could. ) Nicole explained that she used to use them, but after all the work she’d done, exploring on hundreds of different women, the general consensus was that they tended to be too mechanical, and they desensitized our pussies, which was exactly the opposite result that you wanted There was something about that annoying humming and the fixed rhythmic pulsing. . . What you wanted to do was to get your pussy so it took less work to get the orgasm to rise, not more work. And she said that orgasms without that manufactured sensation tended to be more encompassing.
I felt like I was in conversation with Aphrodite herself. Someone was finally giving me permission to cum! Not that I was any prude, but there were no "you mustn’t"s from Mummy and Grandma. No slaps on the hand. Nicole went on to tell the group that she started by doing yoga and studying some of the aspects of tantric sex.
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Nicole decided that she didn’t KNOW herself. She didn’t KNOW all the parts of her body. She didn’t KNOW how to stroke herself into orgasm. She wanted to know it like the back of her hand. She wanted to know her pussy as well as she knew-say- the inside of her mouth, where the different areas of taste was on her tongue, which teeth were more sensitive than others, how to feel the tendon which holds her tongue down by curling her tongue. She wanted to know every ridge of her labia, every different stage of getting her clitoris aroused. She wanted to know everything.
So she went into training. Like an Olympic athlete, Nicole began masturbating five times a day! Fifteen minute sessions, five times a day. For three years she kept this up!! It sounded crazy. It sounded insane. But it made perfect sense! She said that a lot of women experience sensation against their clits as painful. (And thinking about it, I know I have had that happen to me in the past. ) She said that happens because the flow of blood into that important organ has not been encouraged, and toxins have blocked the nerves. The only way to ease pleasant sensations back into that part of our bodies, she said, was to massage it, to get the flow of blood back in there.
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The clitoris, she told us, has more nerve endings than any other part of our bodies, and more nerve endings by far than any part of a male’s body. Our clitoris, she explained, was like the stem of our being, the core of our sexuality, and if we didn’t know it, then we weren’t prepared to be sexually fulfilled.
Well hell, I was ready to dig in! By then, Nicole was laying on cushions on one of the tables. She said that it was perfect if we could enlist someone else to help us learn our orgasm. She had other people in her collective family who were available to help with the clitoral massage. I thought of my own situation. I was single at the moment, and I was likely going to be doing this myself, especially if I was going to be jilling off five times a day! Hey, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. If it was going to take five times a day to unleash my whole orgasm, then I was game.
We watched their orgasm demonstration. And I’m telling you, I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve watched a lot of porn, but nothing like this! Nicole was laid out on the pillows and her aide, a woman named Elana, started "coaxing" the orgasm out of her body. There was no inhibition. There was no fears of what we would think. A true orgasm, she said, was not "pushed" out of the body, it was stroked out. It was evoked.
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A true orgasm, she said, released toxins, opened pores, cured headaches. Nicole had her legs wide open and we could all see into her cavity, see the juices flowing, see the energy flowing. And it was about energy flow. Elana played Nicole’s pussy like it was a best friend. She knew it. She watched the look on Nicole’s face, watched for the wrinkle to form between her eyebrows, and she knew that meant to ease off a moment, rub on her lower belly, massage her breasts, then go back to focusing on her pussy. The big picture was that it wasn’t about getting her to "cum," it was about getting her to orgasm, and that would shake the core of her being. That would rise up from her like the flame from a coal, and it was all about feeding it with small pieces of grass, coaxing it into a viable source of heat, but not allowing it to go unleashed into a forest fire. And Elana knew what she was doing! I imagined those skilled fingers on my own vagina, probing, discovering, exploring. I imagined them tapping out a primitive rhythm on my clit and I grew very wet. Boy, was I ready to play!!
I felt like a new woman. I felt like I had a new lease on life, like I had total permission to be woman. And being woman was huge. There was a spirituality to the orgasm that I hadn’t known. Elana talked about foods and toxins contributing or detracting from great sexuality.
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Cranberry and whole grains. . . these things were good. Processed sugar and red meat. . . . well I needed to cut back. She talked about stress infringing on our sexual experiences. But, as Nicole pointed out, the good news was that when you were orgasmic, you were going to create a huge release against those stresses. Being female in this community was more medicine woman than porn queen. It was more about the spirit of my being than just what was between my legs. Having real orgasmic experiences might make the difference between having clinical depression and not. Would you rather have an orgasm, or a migraine? I’ll have to admit, I was ready to take it on.
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Even if they were wrong, and it wasn’t as simplistic as they suggested, I would have a hell of a time trying to prove it one way or the other.
Unfortunately, I had to go straight from the class to the airplane. I wasn’t done yet!! I wanted some time to play, some time to explore. I walked through the lines at the airport in a fog, my head filled with images of women opening their bodies to be poked and prodded and teased into orgasms that could last for hours. Much of the time we were watching her, Nicole was writhing and clenching, high on her climax, and I admit, all of us in the audience were so aroused. She said that she was feeding off our sexual energy and thriving on our permission to be free and to feel fulfilled. While I watched, my own nipples were pinched into a full salute. I could feel juices collecting in my panties.
I went into the bathroom before I got on the plane. I changed from my jeans to a skirt. I left off the panties. There was no way I was going to make it all the way back to SeaTac without a little exploration of my own. Fortunately my plane was a red-eye, and I didn’t think there’d be too many people paying attention to anyone else.
On the plane, I sat next to the window. Not that it was open or anything, but I was glad to not be between a bunch of strangers.
I accepted a blanket and a pillow from the stewardess and waited for the lights to dim. As soon as they did, I got down to business. I scrunched down on the pillow and eased my fingers between my legs. There was an older man on my right, and I didn’t know if he was paying attention to my activities, and frankly I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to be doing a lot of huffing and puffing. Nicole explained that a lot of men liked it fast and furious, but that wasn’t necessarily what was best for a woman (and after we knew that about ourselves, and understood how big the reward would be for a little patience, we could better teach the men in our lives to slow down, to milk it). I didn’t have any lube, but I was plenty wet. I started by applying pressure to my pee hole. That was an area down there that was used to sensation, and it would immediately increase blood flow. It didn’t take long. I felt the throbbing begin. I eased off, and went to work on my clit. I had both hands under my blanket, and my eyes were closed. I pulled my pussy open with the fingers of my left hand, and with my right, I started tracing circles around the hood. I was patient.
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I went slow. I just wanted to feel it, fully and completely. I didn’t give a rat’s ass if anyone thought they knew what I was doing. Under the pale blue airline blanket, they couldn’t see. They didn’t know I had my pussy wide open and my juices flowing. It wasn’t long before I started feeling the comfortable buzz. My feet were growing warm. My face was slightly flushed. In orgasm, Nicole said, we naturally get thicker lips, rosy cheeks, even tinges of color on our eyelids, all the things we wear make-up to simulate. Look at the Bratz dolls. They wear so much make-up they permanently look like they’re in a state of being serial-fucked, and loving every minute of it. Maybe I needed to get some of those platform shoes.
And yes, since I wasn’t trying to force it, I did feel a difference. I wasn’t trying to push it out, I was trying to tease it out. I could feel the orgasm right there, almost ready to erupt from my loins, then I would ease off, and start pinching at my pussy lips, increasing the blood flow there.
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Awesome! I wished I had the freedom to throw my legs wide. It was erotic to think about having a group of women in a room with me, sharing my orgasm simply by watching. Nicole’s orgasm wasn’t a scream-fest like they showed in the pornos. There was no "Oh baby, baby. " There was some direction giving. She would say, "Penetrate me with your fingers," and Elana would. Nicole’s breathing would get labored, and then she got very quiet while she was ecstatic, but we could all see her hands clenching into fists and see the rise and fall of her abdomen. I wanted to cum like that! And a lot of the eroticism was watching Elana. She was loving just pleasuring Nicole. It wasn’t about her own orgasm at that moment. It was like tending that fire, like planting a seed, then taking pleasure in watching it mature. There was no 69 frenzy, each trying to outdo the other. The climax started, and it was about feeding it, and letting it take its own course, like a stream through a mountain.
I started to feel it. There was a pull.
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My clit started pulsing wildly. My fingertip hovered slightly away from the tip and the head of my clitoris bulged out and throbbed. I was aware that I was starting to sigh audibly, so I had to stop for a moment. I opened my eyes to see if anyone else was watching me, but they all seemed to be into their own little world. The guy next to me had his mouth hanging open, asleep. Next to him, a young woman had her headphones on, and she was listening to music, her eyes also closed. Across the aisle was a little girl. She was fidgeting, and trying to be good while looking through a book. All were oblivious to the state I was in. I closed my eyes again. No one would know. I was going to completely go through one of the most exciting climaxes thus far in my life, and no one would ever know.
My vagina was open, uninhibited. My ass was relaxed. My skirt was rayon.
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I luxuriated against the slinky fabric. I was glad the man next to me was fully asleep. I opened my legs a little wider and my fingers strayed to my cunt. I felt the ridges around the opening, my PC muscles tightening against my finger. The tissues were swollen and ripe, like a berry about to be plucked. I massaged them, not trying to get anywhere, just to touch. I felt like I was fourteen again, feeling myself for the first time after my breasts matured, after my pubis was covered with hair. I could smell the musky smell of my sex, and my nipples were hard, aching to be suckled. My mind kept straying back to the sight of Nicole up on that table, with her beloved Elana beside her. I wanted some of that! How fabulous it would be to just lie there and have someone else take the time to insert her fingers into my vagina and push up from inside against my clit while their other hand traced circles around the top. And if I said, "suck my nipples" she would. If I said, "now insert a finger in my ass," she’d do that too. All I’d have to do is lie there, like being strapped into a carnival ride, and go through the exhilaration.
I knew I had juices leaking out of my cunt, but my finger was finding its way home. This was bliss! Nobody bothered me, and I had a full forty minute flight left to tease and titillate my pussy.
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It was all about Pussy at the Institute. All about Pussy. I closed my eyes and I was inside my thoughts, floating in my own private place. My pussy was throbbing under the blanket, my legs open as wide as I dared, my finger flicking, flicking, rubbing, rubbing, stroking, stroking. I imagined a huge roomful of women, all uninhibited, each one able to open her legs and just experience true joy. No rules. No men with dicks, demanding our attention. Shoving our faces over their erections. Not that there wasn’t a time and a place for dicks. There was. I love dicks! But not right now. Just women, lights dim, each one getting off. I could imagine the cascade of different sighs, audible moans, breaths catching as they started to hit the right spot. . .
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I could almost hear the music of humans in tandem, feeling the energy, the rise and fall of each other, the urging of each one of us to get off.
I was almost there. I could feel my own body pulse. I felt one with it. If my body was an instrument, I was playing a symphony. With a brass bass section, with bells, the thunder of timpani, and the soft slip of a flute. I put my hands to the harp strings. I came some more. Silently, under the blanket.
Life was good.
.
