- One in the Hand Worth Two in the Bath [Contains Sexual Content]
From the beginning of my time in France, my journal entries are peppered with comments about how badly I needed an orgasm.
I hadn't taken a bath in months, only showers. I was too nervous to run up my host family's energy bill for something like hot baths, which I'm sure they would have considered ecologically wasteful on all counts.
I wasn't addicted to masturbation per se, or at least I didn't think so. I just really could have used its physiological benefits--relaxation, immune system boost, mood boost, etc.--to help me deal with the stress of living in a new country, with a new family, while learning a new language.
I had only managed to take one bath so far, in the flat we rented during our trip to Normandy. While my host family watched the Winter Olympics on television, I excused myself, locked the bathroom door, and settled in for a long, drawn out session. It was glorious, except for the two times my host mom rapped on the door and said, "We sink zat is quite enough WAH-tair!"
I knew I needed to evolve, but I had never achieved an orgasm with just my hand. I had always needed running water.
After that, I tried off and on for months in bed at night with my hand, sampling different techniques, imagining different scenarios until I could think of something racy enough to push me over the edge. . .
One night--I did it!
I couldn't believe it. I lifted my right hand into the air with my left hand and thought to myself, "I HAVE THE POWAHHH!"
I was mobile, baby! I started to masturbate every other night, sometimes every night--why not?--as a means of winding down before sleep. It was great. All I had to do was imagine really, really provocative sexual acts between a couple of imaginary people.
No muss, no fuss, no bathtubs, no boys, no batteries; just personal time with myself and a deep sleep to follow.