Issue 4: Masturbation

Excerpts from 1234V

Volume 1, Issue 4: Spring 2010

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Paddling The Pink Canoe Without Porn

Jess MG

I was a randy good girl, so I believed that good respectable girls should stay away from porn. I grew up on a small farm beyond the corruptive forces of friends, neighbours, stores, TV (well we got one channel: CBC) and the internet. Access to explicit or vaguely sexual material was limited, but that didn’t stop me from finding titillating inspiration for my solo sessions.

Here’s a list of the top 5 things I masturbated to before I discovered porn.

1. “Have You Seen Her?” by MC Hammer

During the song I imagined MC Hammer was desperately trying to find my recently divorced mom so he could whisk us away to LA. I would lie down and pretend that MC Hammer was running his hands up and down my back, butt and legs. Then I would find anything to grind my crotch over until the next song—“Yo! Sweetness!”—had me up and dancing.

2. Neuromancer by William Gibson

I convinced my IT consultant father to buy me the book. He thought it might be a little beyond my comprehension, but was happy to encourage me to become a geek. I really didn’t care about the sci-fi or cyber space. I read Neuromancer for the explicit sex and filthy language. The book primed me to work technology and gadgets into my fantasies.

3. Glimpses of nipples

I spent all my time in the locker room after gym class scoping out other girls’ nipples. I was amazed at how different nipples looked. I imagined my tongue or fingers pinching their nipples hard like a cool shower. Then I’d lower my vagina lips around their breasts. I used the moist pinkie of my non-dominant hand to approximate what I thought getting fucked by a girl’s tit would feel like.

4. Sunday night sex with Sue

I used to listen to Sue Johanson’s radio show in bed, on my walkman. I remember one time she was explaining how to find the g-spot. I enthusiastically followed her instructions. The next day I woke up in a pool of menstrual blood. I had been dreading getting my period. My mother’s “Now you’re a woman and because we both have our periods at the same time we must be best friends!” speech made me believe menstruation was a curse. I thought looking for the g-spot caused me to bleed. I didn’t masturbate for the next three years.

5. Sex for One by Betty Dodson

Being a seventeen-year-old feminist-approved daredevil, I skipped school one day and went to the bookstore and bought Sex for One. I read the whole book, realized I probably didn’t start menstruation by masturbating and hell, maybe I could even liberate myself from patriarchy by masturbating. By the end of the afternoon, my clit hurt so much from the friction that I had to go out for a walk to get my hands out of my panties. For the whole walk all I could think about was getting back home and masturbating.

I concentrated almost purely on masturbation techniques and my body’s response. I rarely engaged my mind in fantasies. It was only when I was pillow talking with an early boyfriend that I realized he imagined having sex with people as he jacked off. I asked him how he came up with scenarios and he showed me my first porn: The Four Finger Club 2. I was hooked. Masturbating entered a whole new playground.

Jess MG blogs at and creates sexy radio for Audio Smut on CKUT in Montreal.

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An Immodest Proposal

Sarah Michaelson
For a long time, I’ve thought that sex education in school should have a section on autoeroticism. Heck, a whole semester could be devoted to that topic. There are so many things you can do to make yourself feel good, and if it was just laid out in a manual with clear diagrams and plenty of homework, it would have helped out yours truly. A lot.

I didn’t have one of those early childhood cases of “the wiggles.” And I didn’t have an adolescent rubbing-up-against-something-accidentally moment to discover fancy sensations in cuntsville. No, the first time I masturbated was a goddamn embarrassing train wreck of fingers and dry labia. It was at a point in my life where I knew masturbating existed, but didn’t really know what the mechanics of it were. And lest we forget: the internet wasn’t the commonplace research tool we all take for granted now. Heck, even if it was, can you imagine trying to do this kind of important fact-finding on dial up? Despite these early 90s technological handicaps, I figured I should probably hunker down and try masturbation out. I really don’t know why I hadn’t masturbated before that night. I had a vigourous teenage imagination filled with elaborate sexual fantasies, so I suppose I felt satisfied with my sexy thoughts and left it at that.

On the infamous night, I had such a crap experience that I didn’t try again for a very long time. You see, I had an almost clinical approach to it; I took it too seriously. I was lying in bed settling down for a good night of imagining sexy things before going to sleep when, for no particular reason, I figured I should try and incorporate my V into this. I crept over to the bathroom and sternly lathered up, for sanitary reasons. That was my first fatal move: scrubbing up like a surgeon would before removing someone’s pancreas just isn’t a sexy vibe. When I returned to my dark bedroom, there was no mood lighting, no music, nothing to stimulate sensuality. Off to a bad start, I was so focused on trying to “make it happen” and had no idea what I was trying to go for. I can only liken it to an inexperienced teen-aged boy trying to feel up his date – ever so awkwardly – shoving fingers in anywhere and just wiggling ’em. Oh god, it was horrible. I knew I had a clitoris (mum and dad were those liberal kinds of parents, who explained our anatomy at an early age to prevent us from saying “weewee” or “treasure” or whatever), but I had no idea how to use it to make things feel good down there. Correction: I didn’t know you could use it. So I pretty much just threw a finger up my twat and tried rubbing and poking.

See? I could have really used some help with this. Some solid professional help.

That is why we need mandatory self-pleasure classes in all schools. Because even if you were fortunate to happen upon such an activity by yourself, there can always be ways to get better. Imagine: everyone showing up to class, every day! Why would you want to skip? Kids would stay in to do their homework, repeatedly, just to make sure they got it right! Teen pregnancies would go way down because girls would realize that a vibrator makes magic happen and you don’t have to give it head if you don’t want to! Students wouldn’t cheat on their tests because they’d want to do their work! I suppose class presentations would still make students nervous, and some people might not want to work with lab partners… well, I haven’t worked out all the kinks yet.

Nonetheless, I’ve begun formulating a syllabus for the semester. Students would begin with the concept of “Feeling Sexy: Wooing Yourself” and other rudimentary topics such as “Wetness Works Wonders” and “Batteries Not Included: An Introduction To Vibrators.” After midterms, the course would cover important messages like “Practice Makes Perfect” and teachers would hand out shower heads for final exam preparation. Lastly, educators would cover autoerotic safety in sections like “How Many Fingers Is Too Much?” and “Don’t Just Shove Anything Up There.”

Perhaps you’re worried this radical proposition will create an influx of horny, masturbating teens. You are right: it will, thereby reducing the current population of horny, screwing teens. I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I have not the least personal interest in endeavouring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive other than the public good of my country, relieving parents from worry, and young ladies giving some pleasure to themselves at an age when they could use it most.


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