I am a sex addict.
Well, not so much the actual intercourse than that intense, blinding, oh-my-God-this-is-so-good release that comes at the end of it.
Having had years of self-pleasuring experiences and none of the self-denial and guilt that plague most people when it comes to sex in general, I admit to indulging myself at least once a day.
Why? Because I can.
I’m aware that masturbation is a subject that most people shy away from discussing and it’s practically a given since most of us were brought up to believe that it’s ‘dirty’ and ‘sinful’ and ‘wrong’. And being born and brought up in a strictly Christian Batakese culture, I of all people know how hard it is to break from conditioning.
Hard, but not impossible.
So instead of taking everything I was taught at face value and never questioning anything and becoming a mindless and repressed by-product of hereditary dogmatic teachings, I opted to march to the beat of my own drum and, through trial-and-error, find my own beliefs in life, in sex, and everything in between.
Before I go on about this, let me make one thing clear. I do not intend to ‘influence any minds’ or ‘pollute the innocence’ of others as some preachy, anally-retentive Puritans would no doubt accuse me of. This is simply my story. Find your own drumbeats to march to.
Where was I? Oh, right.
Being the way I am, I find orgasm to be one of the greatest gifts in life. Don’t get me wrong, intimacy is great and physical contact is fabulous and sex without an orgasm can be… er… nice but come on. How many people who have experienced that toe-curling, earth-shaking, oh-God-oh-God-oh-God climax can honestly claim that they don’t want it (hell, crave it!) again?
However, sex has the tendency to get messy (both virtually and emotionally) and while having a partner may increase pleasure, it can also distract from the way to happy time. That’s when masturbation comes in handy (pun intended).
It’s the ultimate indulgence; the reward-guarantee selfish act. Whether you prefer wet or dry, lotion or powder, oil-based or water-based, it’s not important. What matters is movement, friction, sensation. Tensions building up and swooping down. Blood coursing, rushing in your veins as your fingers touch your skin and pleasure jolts through your body until you’re writhing and moaning and you go up, up, up… And for one moment, for one blissful moment everything is as it is and should be.
Now if you’ll excuse me…