Amanda Illuminates Me

I was so glad when Amanda's rotation went back to second shift. This allowed me many hours of private time to explore my body and practice make-up, out from under Mother's scrutiny.

There was a great confusion in my mind in early 1968. I continued to masturbate at every opportunity but still felt guilty for doing it.

Though I had stopped most of my school time activities, my bedtime routine had intensified. I would wait until Mom had checked on me, then I started my newest technique, which was to lay flat on my stomach and breasts with my rubber sheet rolled up under me. I would slip the snow-white roll down in my pajama bottoms. This had a very calming effect and I loved how the cold latex felt against my skin. Then, as it warmed, I would squeeze the roll between my crossed legs and roll my hips from side to side. This had evolved from the napkins that mother demanded that I wear. They always created a bulky package between my legs.

As usual, by now I took all my hard questions to Amanda. However, the point was brought to a head by her daughter one April night. I was giving the girls a bath and April was continuously grabbing large handfuls of her vulva and pinching it. I told her to stop but she would keep doing it. Even after I washed her, April was grabbing herself. and  She would shriek as she squeezed it. I decided that I had to tell Amanda so I anxiously awaited her return.

After she hugged me, I told her, “There is something wrong with April.” She got concerned and held me at arm’s length, and asked what was wrong. “She masturbates.” Amanda pulled me to her and started chuckling. “That's okay Roberta. I've been known to do that myself from time to time.” As she held me she must have seen the bewilderment on my face because she took me by the hand and said, “I think it’s girl talk time again.” She put the teakettle on and suggested that I spend the night. This was becoming a second home but I felt so comfortable with her and had almost as many clothes and stuff here as I did at home. I also knew that she wanted to teach me something.

I agreed and she called my dad to tell him. Amanda made us large mugs of tea and suggested that we retire to her bedroom. She checked on the twins on the way and said that we should get comfortable. She threw me one of her flannel robes and stripped off her uniform, slip, bra, panties, garter, and hose.

Then she stretched her arms over her head and dropped the robe into place. I looked at her as I always did. It kind of rather made me ashamed that I did it but I still looked. Then she indicated that I should do likewise. As I was dropping the robe on, she told me that I was getting shapely. That was a great compliment to me at the time and put me at ease.

Amanda then asked me if I had read about it, or where I had heard about it. She also praised me for using the correct terminology. I told her about my fourth-grade teacher and how Mom told me she would tie my hands to the bed, unless I stopped. To shift the conversation away from me she asked me what April did. When I told her, she smiled, and told me, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I started to masturbate in the bathroom too, but in a slightly different way. My parent’s house has an old cast iron tub that has a very narrow rim. It's only about 2 inches wide and very rounded. I remember being about six or so years old and as I climbed out of the tub, I would plant myself on the rim and rock back and forth. My Mom would slap my butt, but I still did it when I could.” Then she said, “Roberta there is nothing wrong with masturbation, unless it’s done in public. Almost everyone does it at one time or another. Baby boys grab their penises when you change them and little girls grab themselves too. I’m sure you have seen that as you changed the twins. There are different levels of masturbation, Roberta, but for the most part it's a harmless activity that hurts no one, and if done long enough can be very pleasurable to the person involved.”

Still speechless I stammered, “But I was told that it was terrible and that your fingers would web together…”

“Or that you go blind, or that warts will cover your hands, or that some other terrible thing will happen,” she chimed in. “You don't see any warts here do you? Or webs?” She held out her hands for emphasis. “Your mom has filled you with fear on a subject that almost all the doctors agree is a healthy release if you do it in private. I told you that I masturbate.” Then she reached out and hugged me close. She was talking softly in my ear and sort of rocking me. “Roberta, remember when we discussed what happened when a man and woman made love to each other, the event that is called an orgasm?” I nodded my head that I remembered and added, “That was when his stuff comes out.”

“Semen,” she corrected. Then she continued, “That is a very pleasurable time and remember that women have an orgasm too. Well, since I lost Wally, whenever I want to feel an orgasm I have to masturbate. I do this because if you do something to yourself that feels good for a long enough time, you'll almost always have one. Did you stop masturbating in the fourth grade?” “No,” I sighed. “I just learned to hide it better.”

She perked up and held me at arm's length “Let’s make a deal, Roberta. If you tell me how you do it, I'll tell you how I do it. Okay, you go first and this will be our secret.” I was now talking to my spiritual sister, for I knew that there would be no criticism or judgment.

I retraced the history of my masturbation from the fourth grade to the present method with the rolled rubber sheet. All the while, she listened without interruption and sipped her tea. Then, when I was done, she asked only one question, “Have you ever had an orgasm?” I responded that I didn't know. She smiled, “When you do have one, Roberta, you’ll know it, my dear.”

“I want to start off by saying that there are literally hundreds of ways for a woman to masturbate and that there is no wrong way, Roberta, only different ways, so what I do might not be what works for you, okay?

As I mentioned, I used to slide on the tub. Then as I got older, I discovered boys’ bikes would get me tingly between my legs when I sat on the crossbar and went down a bumpy road. When I was in the seventh grade the importance of sitting 'like a lady' was being stressed, and I discovered that if I crossed my legs tight enough and bounced my foot a little that I could make the tingle feeling intensify. I had my first orgasm that way in the auditorium of my high school in Boston. It scared the hell out of me because nobody ever talked about anything like that. Then, since it felt good, I did it again. That was the best lecture on Mesopotamia that I ever went to.”

“What does it feel like?” I asked.

“It is wonderful, splendid, scary, relaxing, invigorating; all of those things, and more. They are always different in strength and duration and even in the feelings that you get afterward.

But even though I still can have an orgasm the way I told you, I only use it occasionally when I'm at work. The beauty of it is that I can read one of my romance books at lunch and have a great time without anyone knowing it. I do it differently when I go to bed; I pretend that Wally is touching me as I touch myself.” I noticed that she was talking slower and had that faraway look that she always got when she talked about him.

“I touch my breasts and rub my body and finally, I touch my clitoris with my middle finger. I can make it last forever if I want to by stopping and starting again. Sometimes I stick something in my vagina to simulate what a penis feels like.”

Then she broke out of the trance. “I don't have much material here on the subject but I promise I'll bring some home from work tomorrow. Now, enough of this, it’s off to bed with you. You are not doing anything wrong, Roberta. Don't quote me on this but almost all boys and most girls play with themselves. Sweet dreams, Roberta.” That night I didn’t have to worry about detection and went straight to my rubber sheet.

The next day, as promised, Amanda brought home the medical text “Human Sexual Response” by Masters and Johnson.