What if it falls off?

According to a recent article in Maxim, when Overeducated Nympho was fifteen her mother sat her down for a chat. "You know it’s true that boys only want one thing, right? So watch out for them, OK?" She grinned to herself, thinking, "Whatever–boys had better watch out for me!” Her exploits can be explored at http://overeducatednypho.com. Enjoy!

The first time I masturbated I was six years old.

I didn’t really understand what I had done, even years later in science class when we learned about masturbation I didn’t quite make the connection. Since it concerned “my private place” (what my mother called it), I understood it was something to keep to myself, to keep secret. I didn’t see it as wrong or sinful, just… well… my secret. So I only did it at night when I was in bed waiting to fall asleep. I didn’t tell anyone about it. I had just started a new school and didn’t want to be known as The Weirdo.

I first began noticing “happy feelings” whenever I had to pee and would sit on one leg so I could wait until the end of class to use the restroom. If I started kinda rubbing myself on my leg, it would help ease the need to pee. If I rubbed a little differently, it felt nice. One day I put my little hand there and things felt really nice. From then on, if I was having trouble sleeping, I would rub myself until I sighed and I would fall asleep easily.

But I was worried.

What about Mom, when she did the laundry and saw my underpants, could she tell? Could she see anything that would suggest what I’d been doing? When I did it during the day and came to the kitchen for dinner, could anyone tell by my face? What about at school (although I never did it at school), could anyone tell I touched myself? Did I look naughty? Was it obvious?

As I got older I worried more and more. My friends didn’t talk about it, my older cousins didn’t talk about it and they even knew penis jokes, it wasn’t on tv or in any of my books. What if what I was doing was bad? Was I doing it too often? Was I doing it too hard? What if I broke something? What if the next time I went to the doctor and he looked and it looked wrong? Then what? “I’ve been rubbing myself for years, doctor, I kept trying to stop because I worried it would fall off but it felt so good I started doing it every day”? Surely the doctor would tell Mom and she’d be mad because she’d have to find a new one for me and I knew she didn’t like spending money.

I really did try to stop. I was more concerned about the thing itself and not so much morality. What if I like, used it up? How did it work? If you used it too much did it stop growing? If you did it too hard, would it get worn and fall off? Why wasn’t this mentioned any where, it seemed pretty important to me!

It was still quite some time before I put together my sighs and masturbation. I only kinda got it during the reproduction unit in science class, but the teacher avoided details because we were still kinda young and laughed every time she said “penis” or “vagina” (come on, those words still sound absurd).

I didn’t really get it until one of my friends from long ago came to visit. Christopher was always getting in trouble, but I was friends with him anyway. Mom told me it was good to be friends with everyone, even if they were mean or low-class or in the dumb reading group. Christopher was always in trouble with his mom, but we had fun. We saw each other for the first time in eight years and he introduced me to Truth or Dare. He dared me to eat a dog biscuit (not as gross as I thought, just bland), I asked him if he had kissed a girl yet, he asked me if I masturbated. I paused on that one. I actually recall cocking my head to one side and thinking really hard.

“Don’t you know what that means?” he asked

“Yeah, I learned it in school.”

“So….. do you or don’t you? Masturbate?”

I thought some more and finally said “Yes. I do. Masturbate. Huh.”

And I thought some more.

That’s when everything started clicking together for me. I was already a horny little thing, but now things were processing much much faster. I started paying MUCH more attention to boys as they went through puberty. They began to be taller than me, they got hard biceps, they got long lean legs, they started dressing better. I noticed it ALL. At night I’d go over my newest findings, a huge file cabinet of images of boys from school and what they looked like and what I wanted to do to them. I started talking to my friends and we pooled our information into a beautiful vat of knowledge over which we’d giggle and make fun of each other and say Ewwww to all the things we heard about from older kids, but secretly I really really wanted to find things out for myself.

And so it began.