I asked her to tell me more about her youth and her early sexuality. She surprised me.
She told me that one of her earliest, and favorite sexual memories was when she was still living with her parents. They lived in a upper-middle class neighborhood--you know the kind, with large white houses with large groomed lawns, nice cars in garages, large oak trees... I won't tell you the name of the town, for her privacy, but you get the idea.
One day she had come home from school and a construction crew was remodeling the kitchen. She had nowhere to go but upstairs to her room. She decided she'd masturbate. She took off her clothes, laid back on her bed, and before starting, handcuffed herself. She said she rubbed herself, getting off on the idea that she was just upstairs of a group of men and that they had no idea what she was doing. She knew they'd go crazy with lust if they knew what she was doing. If they walked in and caught her.
She couldn't do much in those years to really rebel. It wasn't like she was going to do heroin or steal cars. She was, after all, a nice girl with a nice life. She was good at school and sports, and had friends. She even liked her parents. But there was something extremely satisfying about being as sexually deviant as she could. She loved getting herself off while handcuffed. Later, she would test out as many objects as she could, including her hairbrush, her electric toothbrush, and even buggered herself with a pen.
She loved the idea that her window was open, looking out to a world of conformity and complacency, while she explored her budding sexuality.
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