Saturday, January 03, 2004

Masturbation. Okay, that’s what I need to write about. I can’t stop. I can’t ever stop. For the rest of my life, I’m going to be like this. Masturbating, masturbating, masturbating, always needing more, never being satisfied with what I have. Shit.

Oh, it wasn’t always like this. Back when I started, it was beautiful. Wonderful. I felt affirmed in my womanhood. Then I felt dirty. Defiled. And then... well, then I knew I couldn’t stop, because I would always be looking for the next hit. I wanted to go back to that first time, the first time I had a fantasy.

Well, since I’m on the subject, perhaps I should share my first masturbation fantasy with all you fine readers. It went something like this: At a sex-ed class, I was an, um, instrument of practice for a room full of horny adolescent boys. A fluffy brunette woman teacher in her 30’s (she looked stereotypically Jewish... sorry) wanted to demonstrate the proper way to pleasure a woman, so she unbuttoned my shirt and began to play...

First, some background material. You should know what I had been reader the previous day before lulling in bed that fine summer morning. For some reason, I was on the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals website, looking at their nude calendar. Yes, this exists. PETA, having decided that pictures of slaughtered animals was not the best way to win a constituency, went instead for the “naked celebrities posing for animal rights” angle. And, so they say, it went disturbingly well. (For the record, they were beautiful photographs; and the thought of using your [my] sexuality and naked body in support of animal rights just makes me warm and fuzzy inside.)

So, anyway, also that night, to complete the mental cocktail I was reading “Pornography: Opposing Viewpoints.” Opposing Viewpoints is a fairly ridiculous series of books in which they try to give a fair and balanced perspective by reducing issues to a collection of editorials compiled as “Censorship is the Solution to All the World’s Problems” or “Censorship Is A Great Big Pain in My Buttocks.” In any case, one particularly exasperated blowhard turned to an old issue of Hustler [warning: fairly explicit content ahead. No, not really, but it might turn you on, which also mean it might disgust you] to indicate why pornography is the root of all evil: the cover had a woman being shoved through a meat grinder, with the caption “More Meat Issue;” the woman was coming out the other end as raw hamburger.

(Isn’t that sexy? I mean, really. I would like to be—oops, can’t spoil the fantasy...)

So I was being—I mean, I was lulling in bed as these images swirled around in my enthusiastic cranium. The teacher unbuttoned my shirt and stripped me naked, passing me around so that the eager students may see how to pleasure a woman. She instructed the students to take note of when I was the happiest; and I was continuously happy, enjoying the attention, mentally and physically. After several rounds of interesting performances—me giving all the boys blowjobs, them tying me up and whipping me, and branding me—finally, the teacher instructed them to put me through... a meat grinder. She said to study my reactions as I was reduced to ground Leticia in a pile on the floor. Truthfully, I enjoyed it; it was like I was being lowered into a warm bath as I excitedly swayed my hips and thrust my arms in the air with a silly grin. Oooh, being reduced to raw meat. I love it.

That’s where it got out of control. I had never had thoughts like this. Being reduced to raw meat? Ohhh yes. Oh, it was hot. Hotter than I could imagine. I reached into my pants and... oh no, don’t reach there... yes... no... yes... no... ooouuggghhhhh... I’ll never be able to explain this puddle to my parents.

And so there it was. Leticia McKenzie, a virgin no longer. Satisfied with my first fuck, with, er, myself, I went to play Metroid Prime and all was good.

Um, so, anyway, now that I’ve shared with the entire Internet such an edifying experience, I’m’a go play Halo. Toodles!

(p.s. Strong Bad got me started on the contraction “I’m’a,” which appearantly means “I’m gonna,” which probably means “I’m going to.” I use it too often now and I believe my vocabulary is unraveling as a result. C’est la vie.)
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