Objective: Do you remember the first time you connected with yourself on an intimate level? Perhaps you haven’t yet, or cannot for some reason? That’s OK too. By the end of this post, we want you to be inspired. Dig deep and discover what makes your sexuality uniquely yours. The first step towards a great sex life is knowing exactly who you are and what you prefer, regardless of how you got there.
A feminist born from the ashes of a Harley Davidson biker father and a hippie wannabe mother, I feel as though I led one of the most confusing paths to finding my truth. Today, I know I am not alone. I have met so many other women, who felt like their childhood initially came from a place of love, acceptance and free spirited parents, only to be cast into a future with deeply rooted ideals about what’s “normal” and acceptable in today’s society. This is my motivation.
When I was 5 years old, I attended kindergarten at a local daycare center for the first time. I remember it vividly. As we approached the enormous, Victorian, brick building, easily 100 years old, it was surrounded with high black iron fencing with spikes on top. We had walked there on this day, as it was pleasant weather and broad daylight at the time. I remember thinking, is this fortress meant to keep me trapped inside or to keep the bad guys out? Likely both I assumed as we entered the huge gates; you better believe I was already planning my escape. Where would a toddler get such ideas about “bad guys” and escape routes, you ask? Well, we lived in a less than desirable neighborhood when I was younger. We were poor to say the least and had plenty of people who enjoyed the high life on our side of town. I’d heard other adults refer to them as drug addicts, but really, who was I to judge. My mother was raising me to be accepting of others and to always empathize with their individual situations, so I recall. These folks had been known for leaving their dirty needles and sleeping bags in our front yard overnight and that made my mother more than uncomfortable on occasion, rushing my younger sibling to the emergency room one afternoon for testing. The train was also close by, so plenty of folks travelling around. How I had dreamed to travel someday. Maybe I could just catch that train, I thought. Team up with some more experienced travelers who knew their way around town, yeah. I could certainly avoid returning to this glorified daycare facility if I left for an adventure. My naïve imagination was ravenous.
The playground was colorful and somewhat inviting. Inside, the halls were long, ceilings adorned with deep brown crown molding and the staircases wide. It smelled of moth balls and old English wood cure. The A/C unit blew hard on my face with chilled mildew air. The scent of cheese toast was coming from the kitchen at the far end of that freshly waxed floor. We slid into a small office on the right at the top of a small staircase from the main entrance. The door had a glass window with fine wire embedded into it and a sign that read OFFICE in black and gold adhesive sticker letters. Desks inside and chairs across from them, I sat down with my backpack on on a hard wooden bench and waited for my mother to finish some adulting.
The classroom where I was to stay was up the stairs. I was terrified the first day when my mother kissed me goodbye. I was screaming like a wild animal. I was pissed. How could she leave me here like this? The teacher scooped me up and carried my red & soaking wet face into a room. We sat down. Everyone played games, eventually I came around, began singing and dancing at circle time and I was fine. But, I swore I’d break free of this damn place before the day’s end. Nothing fantastic could come from this place. Then it was time for nap.
I was lying on a slick green fabric cot and had my blanket from home, close by. I remember finding it difficult to sleep on my first day in a new place, so as I squirmed around in the cot, I managed to wiggle half way out and lay on the metal bar on the edge, balancing there, when I had my first experience with pleasure town. It was glorious and all of a sudden, I couldn’t stop rubbing my lady parts on the edge of that cot. A woman abruptly came over to me and asked me in a stern whisper to, “Stop that!” To my surprise, I had no idea I was doing anything wrong. What I was feeling was so natural and it felt oh so wonderful. There was no way anyone was going to stop me from doing this ever again. I had to come up with a game plan.
The next day, I didn’t shed a tear when it was time to go to preschool because obviously, I was looking forward to nap time. Oh yeah. This was by far the best thing that had happened to me since learning how to suck my own thumb after I was cut off from breast milk a few years back… Did I mention, I was born with an oral fixation? More on that later…
My new found romance with myself only took about a week to conquer. Initially, I had to throw a complete tantrum to get the cot location I desperately required to fill my love tank. I picked it carefully, right between the short bookshelf and wall near the window seat. I also made sure that none of those annoying Pleasure Police or PP’s I called them, otherwise known as teachers, were going to interrupt me in the future. I needed to see exactly where they would be at all times. I wanted this love affair to last as long as possible. Let’s just say I continued to masturbate with one eye open at nap time for the rest of my days in kiddy prison.
Eventually I decided to take my blanket and roll it up into a small ball instead of using the hard cold side of the metal cot for my mid-day romance. Woah! What a great idea. I gave myself a little proverbial pat on the back. She was stubborn at first, making me sweat and hold my breath. I would wiggle and rub hard against my blanket using short intervals to avoid the PP’s catching a glimpse of what I was up too. My first orgasm slapped me right in the face one Wednesday afternoon, HELLO! Where have you been all my life, I kept wondering. I was only 5 years old, but I knew, just knew I was onto something –literally and figuratively. “Hump Day”… fucking hilarious.
Secretly, I have always loved Wednesdays…
I got caught again. It was several weeks later, as it became increasingly difficult to keep quite during my orgasms. It was a different PP officer this time. “Nap time is for sleeping, please be still,” she told me as she paused studying me. I just lied there pretending I was asleep and never opened my eyes. I remembered a nature show I had seen on PBS some time ago. It was about wild animals that played dead in the face of fear to deter their predator. It didn’t matter, I told myself, just play dead and she will go away. Sure enough it worked! She returned to pacing the room’s perimeter, inspecting other children’s cots for sighs of joy and sweet release, I assumed. That poor woman has no idea what’s she missing, I thought to myself. The stress of my new obsession was almost too much bare as I transitioned into primary school. No one prepared me for the fact that naps, my precious nap time, would be completely ripped out from under me. First grade was going to be a disaster. BUT naturally, I found new ways to stay engaged with myself and found a few other curious kids to add to the mix at before and after school or at camp.
As I put this down, I cringe and giggle at the same time. Just like a little kid all over again, free and easy. Share your stories and comments below.
