Girl Talk: Confessions Of A Chronic Masturbator
My mother and I were standing in the Atlantic Ocean with water up to our knees.
“Remember when I caught you masturbating, Chloe?” she asked.
“When you were five.”
“I wasn’t five, mom.”
“I wasn’t four, mom!”
“Yes. Yes, you were. You were on the couch in the living room on your stomach,” she reminded me.
“And what did you say?”
“I said: ‘I know that feels good, Chloe, but it’s something to do in the privacy of your own bedroom.’ And my friend Patricia was over, and she told me I handled it really well.”
“And what did I say?”
“You said: ‘Okay mommy.’ Like the sweet obeying girl you were. Then you went to your bedroom. And you stayed in there for days.”
We cracked up. She was joking about that last part, I presume.
Then I remembered. Mickey Mouse. I had this blue stuffed Mickey Mouse and it was plush and he had a bib on and I would mount it, and ride it.
My first f**k was Mickey Mouse. Things escalated quickly after that.
At a Babar movie with my Nana in Albany. Six years old. She bought me Good and Plenty, my favorite candy. She took my hands out of my crotch when the movie was over. I wasn’t finished. I hadn’t come yet. Then we went to the bathroom and I peed and I will never forget her saying, “Let it drip.”
Oh, I let it drip. To the sexy blond mermaid in the movie “Splash.” The first woman that turned me on was Daryl Hannah. I masturbated to that movie.
I masturbated to “Saved by the Bell” on the couch after school. Kelly. Jesse. Lisa. Of course Kelly was my favorite. The romantic parts with Kelly and Zack turned me on. The parts where they would kiss and she’d be wearing those tight flowered ’80s dresses and the audience would go: “Wooooooooo!”
When I was 16 and solely listening to Tori Amos, I masturbated in a Virginia airport. I know. But I think she was the first person who had the intense words I wanted to hear. The intense words I wanted to write. My parents had just gotten separated and for some reason I think that had something to do with it. I would write her lyrics on my bedroom wall with a black sharpie. Later I found out that “Enjoy The Silence” was actually by the Depeche Mode. I made myself come against the wall in a bathroom stall to Tori Amos lyrics on my Discman.
I did it on my bathroom floor in the house I grew up in. Light blue and white tiles on the floor. My mother would send me in there to wash my hands before dinner. Ages 7, 12, 17. My face on the musty rug. My body liked the cold tiles.
My body still likes cold tiles. This explains why I like f**king in kitchens, in bathrooms.
It’s like that question: Would you rather have sex in a dirty bathroom or a clean one? Someone asked me that once. I said dirty—no hesitation. Now I am thinking clean. I’m onto a different phase, maybe.
I masturbated at The Poet’s House this past spring in New York City. Large windows. Sunshine. Over looked Rockefeller Park and the East River. Books. Words turn me on. White turns me on. Windows turn me on. I like masturbating in clean, white, wordy places.
I masturbated in an aisle seat on an airplane from the East coast to the West coast last Halloween. Blue blanket over my lap and headphones in my ears. Listening to the orgy I participated in and recorded two nights prior. A lot of funny and sexy remarks. A lot of moaning and orgasms. So turned on—couldn’t help it. Thought about Brenda and Nate from “Six Feet Under.” Didn’t they meet on an airplane and fuck in the bathroom?
I masturbated while writing this piece in the Seattle Library bathroom against the wall. Took me less than 45 seconds. To come I had to lift my shirt up to feel the cold black stall wall against my tits.
I can’t believe I have never masturbated in a car.
The funny thing is, I have never owned or even used a dildo. I have never fingered myself. I like men’s hands inside me. Not my own. My friends find it strange I can make myself come without putting my fingers inside myself.
I’ve always masturbated to words. As a teenager, I masturbated to those fiction erotica stories on the last page of Cosmopolitan magazine. Really. As in: laying on my stomach, seeing the words that turn me on, coming, and lifting my head up with the article stuck to my cheek.
Also to music, I would coincide my climax with the climax of the songs. I had a boom box in my room with a blank tape in the tape player and I’d push the record button when a song came on the radio that I liked. I was an avid radio listener. I knew the words to all songs. I listened to the mainstream stations and Woodstock. So it was this mix of songs running into each other with no breaks—mostly the parts of the songs I liked—and I masturbated to it constantly. I got really good at either coming immediately, when the good part was coming up, or making myself wait for the good part. I think all this practice is why I can easily make myself come during sex. My masturbation tape.
I still masturbate constantly to songs.
I think there is some kind of magic in Verite coffee because whenever I drink it at Cupcake Royale I have to go lay down on the bathroom floor and come. It makes me frisky and it makes me write s**t. I wrote my best essays on Verite coffee.
I am starting to feel like a pervert at night. I have a ton of roommates so I have to use headphones while I watch porn. Because sometimes what gets me off is hearing the guys saying degrading things. So I turn the lights off, and my mouse is broken on my laptop, so I have this USB mouse and this mouse pad and they have to sit on the bed and rest on this David Sedaris book I never brought back to the library and I put on my headphones and search until I find whatever I am in the mood for. And there is range.
I won’t say I look forward to that part of the day—but it definitely makes me giddy when I remember I can do it. F**k, I can watch porn!
Things I have learned/acquired and things I think about while masturbating: If you drink too many Manhattans at night you will feel, like, absolutely horrible. Watching lesbians kiss helps your hangover. Lesbian scenes can make you come really fast if you just need something light and easy like that.
The worst things that can happen while masturbating: Someone walks in on you, or, you are about to orgasm and someone calls or texts you. What a buzz kill.
You acquire habits from porn if you watch it enough. Like, I’ve been into wearing socks during sex. I must have seen it in a porn video recently. Any socks will do but colored ones are best, and not short ones—socks that go up the calf a little. Thick ones. Knee socks, of course. Makes me feel younger. Tanner.
Europeans have the best videos. No question. Like, at first I thought I wouldn’t be into it, because I can’t understand what they’re saying. But it doesn’t matter and you can insert what you want them to be saying in your mind. There’s a German foursome I like, and two French couples I love.
A great way to have an explosive orgasm is to turn the sound down on the porn video, and put on a song that gets you off. Blast it while you watch your porn of choice. BAM!
Females are much better than males to talk to about porn. Males are over it. Done. They feel pathetic. I was talking to my friend and he told me porn makes him feel like a loser. I told him it empowers me. Males have been looking at porn so much longer than females. Females, on the other hand, have all kinds of things to say about it. I had a lengthy discussion with a girl about Spank Wire vs. YouPorn and both the guys we were with eventually walked away. Another guy said, “You guys know way more about porn that I ever will.”
Porn is incredible. I sort of wish I knew that earlier. I did not discover porn until I was 22. I was leaving a lover’s house for work and wanted to hear the song that goes, “You make me come, you make me complete, you make me completely miserable” and when I typed in the link for YouTube, YouPorn came up instead and I masturbated and have been hooked ever since.
I like most porn categories. I like lesbians. I like strippers. I like socks. I like babysitters. I like The Milton Twins. I like lap dances. I like swingers. I like roommates. I like brothers. I like sisters. I like cheaters. I like fondling. I like wives. I like threesomes. I like foursomes. I like spring break. I like interviews. I like maids. I like strippers. I like punishment. I like small tits. I like blowjobs. I like kitchen sex. I like group sex. I like motel sex. I like bathroom sex. I like pool sex. I like massage sex.
I like Mickey Mouse sex the best. You never forget your first.
Chloe Caldwell is a non-fiction writer living in New York. She has been published in an array of places including The Sun Magazine, The Rumpus, and Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood. She writes a love & music column for The Faster Time and her essay, “That Was Called Love” was nominated for a 2010 Pushcart Prize. Her first book, “Legs Get Led Astray” will be released in 2012 by Future Tense Books.