I woke up late today, and stretched out in bed, feeling around for the impossibly warm body of my partner for our morning post-sleep cuddle, but he wasn’t there.
A quick glance at my phone filled me in on his whereabouts – he’d ducked out to the store to grab some things and wanted to let me sleep in. He knew I was struggling with insomnia and to wake me up when I was finally getting some rest seemed like a cruel thing to do, especially on a weekend.
I smiled contentedly to myself. Not because of his sweet gesture, but because, since moving in with him a few months ago, this was the first time I’d been alone in the house without him. And I was going to finally get to masturbate again.
So far, I have no complaints about our shacking up together. Things have been blissful. The ‘waking up each day next to my best friend’ thing makes my heart feel full, but the lifestyles we both lead mean he’s always home when I am, so I haven’t had the privacy to have some sexual ‘me-time’ in a while – and I really miss it.
Because even though I’m completely satisfied with our sex life – which is actually better than ever – I can’t deny that I wish I got a chance to masturbate more often.
In fact, my ultimate fantasy right now would be to kick back with a facemask on, a glass of sweet wine on the bedside table and ten minutes with my favorite vibrator. Not because my partner doesn’t satisfy me, but because sometimes I just want to masturbate. And that’s okay.
Masturbating, for me, is intrinsically tied to my own empowerment. I’d never really ‘explored’ myself until my early 20s, and once I started, I realized it had significantly improved my pleasure when I was having sex with someone else as well. I was able to learn all of the things I liked and what made me tick in a completely new way, and got well-acquainted with my own vagina in the process. And I’m not alone, either.