“I think I want to use a vibrator tonight.”
I interpreted his silence as confusion and continued.
“We can have sex while I use it. Or if you want to pull out a toy and play, too, I’m down for that. I just really want to use my vibe tonight.”
I swallowed down a sigh of frustration.
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to do anything but watch you.”
Whatever plan I’d hatched in my brain flew out the window. This wasn’t mutual masturbation or getting fucked. I would be at the center of it all. Fuck.
I laid out the come towel (just in case) and grabbed the wand, making sure it had enough charge. Lying back, I parted my thighs and caught a whiff of my own scent. Instead of the pleasant musk I’m familiar with, it had a tinge of something else. Fear. Nerves.
With a high-powered vibrator and an overly sensitive clit, I’ve found a process to work my way into teeth-rattling vibrations. Start at my labia. Move to a spot above my clitoral hood. Finally, find the sweet spot in better so that the sensations give a surround-sound performance on my clitoris.
I felt the waves of pleasure coursing up from the soles of my feet and out through the center of my body. The sensations overwhelmed my body. I clenched my jaw and began to quake against the bed.
“Fuuuuuuuck!” Right at the moment of release, every muscle in my body cramped. My stomach hurt, my jaw ached, and my back twinged. What the fuck?
Let’s try this again.
I repositioned the vibrator. Here came the familiar waves of pleasure, a little lighter now, but still good. I arched my back as the first convulsion hit. Another stomach cramp.
“What the fuck? I just want to come, but I’m cramping up. There’s no actual release!”
Grouse, grouse, grouse, bitch, bitch, bitch. Poor John Brownstone didn’t really know what to say.
I tried again and again, even putting away the favored wand to try the Shy Monkey. That felt like a gnat buzzing around my clit. Zero sensations.
The pleasure I’d felt in the first few moments was good but without the completion of the climax. I felt cheated of the big squishy orgasms I really wanted.
I’ve heard of “performance anxiety” for men but John Brownstone never seem to have those issues — if he had, he hadn’t told me. And he tells me everything. But it’s all I can come up with for what happened. My clit got performance anxiety, knowing we had an audience, that every movement, every sound, every weird thing a body does would be witnessed.
One moment, I wanted big, warm vibrations and the big, warm orgasms that (usually) follow. The next, I was fully aware of the lights overhead, the sound of my vibrator, and the function of my body. And that awareness put me in a different headspace.
But I’m not unhappy or upset. It happens, and it’s not like John Brownstone has never watched me masturbate before or that he won’t in the future. Maybe next time, my clit will put on her dancing shoes instead of hiding away and giving up too soon.
Welcome to Masturbation Monday! Don’t feel bad for me (I don’t!). That’s just the nature of minds and bodies sometimes. One moment the orgasms flow like water…and the next they don’t. I’ll try again later. To me, the real win is that I’m thinking about sexual pleasure at all and listening to my wants and needs. For actual smut, you know where to go.