It’s Monday evening and I’m winding down after a long rainy day. I stick to my routine nowadays – I wake up, work out, get some work done, then lounge on my couch after the day as a reward for being a girl, a very horny girl. I’ll occasionally make a romantic dinner for myself, candle lit and all with my usual fresh flowers, or I’ll wine and dine myself at my favourite restaurants. I enjoy my own company a lot; sometimes I’m scared it might be affecting my social skills but the truth is that I am greatly obsessed with being in my own presence, solitude and doing the things that I like and enjoy for myself by myself. 

In the case that I’m making dinner at home, my contribution to the society is that I keep my feral self on lockdown and I’m no longer disturbing the streets. As a nympho, it is important that I control myself before natural selection takes me out over a nut. 

I love the way my life is set up now; extremely comfortable, simple and peaceful; with calls only from my mother every five minutes just because we can, we’re probably obsessed with each other too and I’m not sure how healthy this is at my age but, it gives me so much joy to be available to her any time and to see her able to rely on me for anything she needs after so many decades of hyper-independence. It is super exciting, ile feeling ya, ‘Mum itisha what you want ntalipa!’

I have been watching Sex and the City, a show I always so badly wanted to watch but I was too young for when it came out. Being 28 now, I understand why it had to find me at this exact point in my life. A young woman trying to navigate sex and relationships while surviving on my writing career – about sex and relationships. There’s so much fucking in the show and of course, sometimes I’d take a break to wank as I watch. 

I’ve been wanking a lot actually; it has become a sacred routine in part of the wining and dining. It could easily be a 69’ing but I’m too shy to let just any guy touch my body as well as completely moved on from all my past lovers to spin the block on anybody. I’m always rubbing my clit any time I get too overwhelmed with horniness- because I’ve chosen peace over dick. This is the price I pay, a dry phone for a healthy vagina, mind and heart; hefty but this is my life now. 

I see how free and liberal some of the characters are on the show , how easy it is for them to detach any long-lasting emotions from sex. It seems fun to be able to fuck like that, to not have to rub my own clit all day by myself. I use ‘seems’ because I was once there, so detached from intimacy and only interested in satisfying the physical hunger I always had for sex. Then one day I just woke up and decided I needed more, I had had my fun and now, I needed to be more intentional with the kind of life I want to lead, the quality of experiences I wanted to have and that includes sexually. I just want a partner I can fuck every day; someone I can trust to make sure I was receiving orgasms with love.

I opened my messages and scrolled through, all these eligible men professing their ‘feelings for me’. I know what they want and maybe that’s why I don’t want any of them. It’s pointless. 

If I was me from three years ago, I’d have decided to get dick. I’d have told myself that I’m young and horny, these are my best boob years, I deserve some dick! But no, I got off the couch and walked to my room to get my toy, Mr. Purple. 

I haven’t used him in a very long time because I know how easy it is for me to get addicted so I try my best to regulate usage by tucking it away and forgetting – out of sight, out of mind. Today I didn’t want to just rub my clit; I had done it so many times and it just wasn’t hitting. The ‘itch’ wasn’t going away -I knew only penetration could solve this.

I haven’t had dick inside me in so long, I forget what it feels like. 

I didn’t even want the vibrator mode on, I just needed to feel something inside me and true to it, as soon as I took off my panties and stuck it inside me, I almost cried tears of joy. The break came with a reward. I lay flat on my back, my legs wide open with my punany facing the big window looking onto the balcony. Fresh air, my low moans and thoughts of the last man I fucked fueling and sponsoring the session. Look at the level of romance I accord myself; I listen to myself, I express my feelings, I buy myself flowers, make myself a beautiful meal then finish off by cumming all over myself.

I nutted on the 7^th thrust. It was messy, sticky and all over my thighs. I immediately felt a release, the ‘itch’ had finally been scratched by my dildo and I can finally think straight. The cloud in my mind dissipated and I could feel my stress levels go down. I even smiled.

As I was cleaning myself up, I couldn’t help but think about where all this started, about the first time I ever got the urge to masturbate. I was 9 years old. I remember because it was after I watched my first porno ever and that night in bed, touching my clit felt so relieving, so good. 

I didn’t know what a clit was, or why touching myself gave me that sensation, but it slowly became something I did almost every day till the first time I had sex years later as a teenager. 

I remember carrying a lot of shame with me, I felt so dirty afterwards always and I hated myself for enjoying ‘sin’. Religion played a huge part in the guilt and how dirty I felt, I had no one to talk to or ask questions, I didn’t even know if it was normal or I had an issue, plus, how would I bring up that I knew what porn was by age 10?

I started to feel the guilt again, but not for the same reasons. I mean, should I be out there having sex? Should I just relax and stop having so many rules and just get fucked? 

Well. I always end up crying and alone every time I let a man who didn’t care about me touch my body. Afadhali sai I was alone and smiling, no tears from my dildo not being nice to me after sex. 

I’m constantly torn in between what I want and what I know is best for me, it keeps me sexually frustrated for most of the year. 

I really thought this year would be different. Lots of sex and passion, it’s what I want. But here I am, writing about sex, dreaming of sex. Fucking my dildo on the couch. 

I’ll probably do it again right after I publish this article before I go to sleep. I need a clear mind before work in a few hours.

Do you remember the first time you masturbated?

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