I recently figured out why I can’t really put my mind to masturbation anymore. It’s because I made a habit out of writing about it every time I did it. And that gets very very old, very very quickly (or in my case, gradually over the course of a year and a half).
So when it came to this latest foray with fumbling, I wasn’t keen to tell you how I got my motor running again.
Naturally, this brought me to this very post wherein I shall detail exactly how I masturbated a few days ago. Naturally.
I felt stressed.
In the dark, I scrambled for the only toy that I hadn’t packed in a mad rush of packing frenzy. Ladyfinger was buried deep at the bottom of the Box of Infinity Nowhere (basically a box which once contained a care package from my mum, and which is way too big to even exist.)
She (Ladyfinger) still worked, thank god.
I slipped her down the waistband of my trousers and immediately, the familiar buzz against my lips made me relax. It was nearly enough to send me flying over the edge, but as you know by now, my body is nothing if not fussy. It needs a lot and it needs it combined.
So, I slipped the silver mini menace inside me and began frigging that little sweet spot just above my clit, strumming it like my body guitar. It did the business, but I felt so greedy. My free hand roamed about my body and massaged my breasts.
Now, that was effective.
The orgasm that manifested itself was enough to knock me half out.
The second one knocked me out cold.
And so, it is once again proven that masturbation, and quite a lot of it, can be a sleep aid. Remember kids, Jillian Boyd is here to edumacate you on all things sexy and weird.