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There’s something so sad and humiliating in imagining a person locked away in a dark room, hot laptop balanced on chest, turning the volume down low, scrolling, scrolling, choosing, watching, escaping, coming. But my proclivity for solo pleasure has strong, stubborn roots.I lost my virginity to a water faucet when I was twelve years old. Drew to thank for this life-shaking experience; it was their late-night radio show “Loveline” on L. I’m careful to keep my breath from becoming a pant, even as my pulse quickens, but this takes much concentration. I have masturbated in this way next to the sleeping bodies of all my serious, committed partners who came before my husband.

It is an opportunity to finally do things differently. I can describe something vanilla: This one where a busty blonde gets banged by her personal trainer. The possibility of revealing the actual truth not only makes me nervous, but also physically sick. ” He turns over on his side and props his head up on his left hand. “Seems like a weird question.” I tuck the sheet into my armpits and scoot my body a little to the left so we’re no longer touching.Or perhaps something a little more racy: These two hot teens swap their math teacher’s cum after he made them stay late in the classroom. I feel a constriction in the back of my throat, a flutter in my belly, a tremble in my extremities. ” I reach for the sheet, damp with sweat, a tangle of 300-thread-count cotton across our limbs, and yank it up to cover my breasts. The tone of my voice has become defensive and he can tell. He’s trying to be considerate since we just had sex while staring at the laptop screen after searching terms of his choosing: Latina, real tits, blow job, threesome.You know, your typical run-of-the-mill Catholic guilt stuff. I tried to stop myself from taking long baths, from late-night undercover activities, from being alone too long, but the more I obsessed about stopping, the more I could not.Just as oppressive as the Catholic guilt was my femininity. I had no company with whom to share my new activities and interests. I joined shame, secrecy and pleasure in a daily orgy, whether I was tired, bored, angry or sad. Getting off required all of these components and I needed new, more extreme methods to stay engaged — more hours sucked away watching progressively harder porn like the warehouse video, complemented with dabbles in strip clubs, peep shows and shady massage parlors.We’ve just had sex and although I am naked too, it isn’t until this moment that I feel just as vulnerable as him.

While it might seem absurd to some, I know immediately this is a moment of great significance for us.

A.’s KROQ that served as my primary means of sex ed during my pre-teen years.

This technique is one of the many things I learned, but I had a whole other kind of education going on, which had long filled my head with other ideas — sex is something that happens between a man and woman who love each other; masturbation is a sin.

Chances are he’ll get hard again and we’ll end up abandoning the conversation for a second round. After all, we’ve only been dating a couple of months and he doesn’t love me yet. “It’s just that I usually pick the porn,” he explains. Maybe he feels guilty for getting off to them instead of me, even though I’m the one who suggested we watch porn in the first place. ” I wish he’d stop prying, but I realize something else is happening here.

Even though I’m always the one who suggests we watch porn while we have sex. Not only is he trying to be considerate; he’s also trying to get to know me.

The past couple of months has allowed us to cover most of the basics — what ended each of our most recent relationships, what our parents are like, what we hope to do with our lives in the next few years — but there’s still a longing for something deeper, and I can’t think of anything deeper than knowing a person’s favorite porn scene. For one scene to stand out amongst the rest, when so many others are available, there has to be something below the surface. What keeps a person returning in the deep, dark recesses of a lonely night?