Loving my body is an act of defiance in a world where women are constantly told they are imperfect. I’m not a size 2, nowhere near it actually. My thighs touch, I’m 28 and have stretch marks though I’ve never had kids. My breasts are large, but they sag. My waist is small, but I have belly rolls. By society’s unattainable standards, I am unattractive. And yet I love my body, standing up to societal conditioning that says otherwise.
Every day, every moment, it is up to me to choose to love every fold, every grey hair, every jiggle, every part of the body I have, this incredible sensing instrument I get to experience. Taking pleasure from my body and enjoying my senses is a conscious choice. Masturbation is one way I love myself.
It was Sunday night, eight o’clock, the time I had deliberately set aside for pleasure and taking care of my body. I could feel the anticipation building throughout the day, knowing I was going to masturbate and sensually research my body in the evening. This time is for me, no distractions.
I inhaled deeply, taking in my scent, as I stood looking at myself in the full length mirror. I could smell the sweet, sharp, natural fragrance of my body and the activity of the day. I could see the ribs in my chest moving under my skin with each breath, flowing into the soft curvature of my breasts, nipples erect with anticipation.
My gaze lingered on my body before I untied my dress, dropping it to the floor, and laid on top of the down comforter on my bed.
I took a bite of dark chocolate truffle as I reached over to get a hand mirror, the silky richness filling my mouth with sensation. With hand mirror in hand, once again I could feel my gaze on my body, enjoying each morsel, every crease and crevice.
Using the tip of my left index finger, I traced the lines of my hips, down my thighs, and back up my belly, lightly caressing my curves. As my finger followed my gaze, I could feel heat building in my fingertip. The more I put my attention on my fingertip and what it felt like to my finger, the deeper and wider the ridges in my fingerprint felt. I slowed down, drinking in the available sensation.
I put my attention on the freckle just above my left hip bone and circled it with my fingertip. I knew I wasn’t going to touch the freckle, and I could feel the mounting desire to. I teased myself, my freckle, slowly spiraling out and back towards the spot where I kept my attention. My finger felt buzzy and I could see my creamy skin inside the circle I was tracing flush to a pale rose. As I neared my freckle, I could feel my clit contract, connected to the sensation I was building in my body.
Slowly, indulgently, I lifted my finger off and scooped up a small dab of vaseline. I could feel my clit pulsing as I pulled back my hood with my thumb, exposing the most sensitive part of my body: the head of my clitoris.
The vaseline felt cool against the warmth of my finger. My clit pressed out toward my finger as I hovered just above my skin before I touch the head of my clit. The heat from my clit quickly warmed the thin layer of lube. It felt like my finger was magnetically drawn to the upper left hand side of my clit, as my hood softened, opening my pocket further.
I began to stroke my clitoris, with consistently light, short strokes. With each stroke, each breath, each rise and fall, I could feel my clit engorging more and more. I knew that if I kept doing that same stroke, I was going to take myself over the edge. But that wasn’t my goal. My goal was to feel every stroke, enjoy the ride I was taking myself on for as long as possible.
I paused, peaking myself, feeling a burst of sensation go through my clit, and then relax. I continued to build sensation with consistent strokes, and when I could feel the edge nearing, paused, savoring the warm tingling in my clit as it engorged towards my finger. With each peak, the sensation in my clit went up.
After playing with the edge for a few minutes, I decided to take myself down, continuing to enjoy the pleasure I had built in my body. I used a long, firm stroke up along the length of my shaft. I could feel the firm texture and slight arch in my shaft. I cradled my clit between my two fingers on the stroke down, gently pressing out some of the engorgement. I could feel the slight smile on my face, the pleasure of masturbating and enjoying my body, purely for pleasures sake.