Seeing as how I am supposed to be preparing a PowerPoint presentation this morning, I obviously decided to take my thesaurus and look up "Masturbation".

As one does, when one is supposed to be preparing a presentation.

Anyway, said periodical lists it as: "to manipulate the genitals for self-gratification".

Ouch. Sounds like whoever wrote that was doing it wrong. Let's just think about that for a minute, shall we? Couldn't there be a better term for this?

I looked online and found a site that not only takes some time to explain frappling, but also lists a number of colorful idioms in which to engage in, delightful colloquialisms that can be worked in everyday conversation.

At the coffee machine in the office:

"Morning John."
"Morning Bob."
"How was your weekend?"
"Oh, not too bad. We took the kids to a softball game on Saturday, and yesterday I spent some time dusting the duvet."
"Ah, great."

Now, Bob would know that John was not talking about cleaning linens, but rather about spanking his monkey, erupting Vesuvius, or any other number of synonyms.

Now, the problem is, this web-site lists a number of exciting terms that are terribly cute. But only three of them are for women. That's right, three. And I don't know about you, my friend, but if it has the term "fist" in it, it isn't my idea of a good self-relations session.

What is a terribly good one is "hula-hooping". Interesting, if perhaps a bit old-fashioned. And again, sounds like someone is doing it wrong.

Engaging sixth gear is really man's territory anyway. Or at least it used to be. I had tried to seek an end many times as an adult, without success. The first time I attempted to take care of myself via other methods, I used water works. That's right, I lay down in the tub and idled up under the faucet. This is supposed to be the number one way that women achieve the golden dream on their own.

The only thing that happened to me is I got water-logged.

I discovered the path to enlightenment when I was 22. My then-boyfriend had a mini-massager, which he used on his back. One day, I decided to stay home from work. I saw the massager. I took a chance. I had a wonderful, side-splitting, rollicking good time, a better time than I had had with most of my previous partners.

And I haven't looked back since.

Now I have a vast array of play toys, none of which my partner unit knows about. A Rabbit. A brilliant toy called a Maestro. No less than two mini-massagers (one is carried around in my briefcase. Weird, but true.) A vibrating toy that can be used with or sans a partner.

My collection keeps on growing, and as it does, I challenge the male community to unite and discover fabulous euphemisms to help allay one idea-that while you guys are at work, we are on the bed with a purple sparkly vibrator poised between our modestly moist legs, ready to scream our heads off.

Cheers, Darlings.

-H.

PS-for a laugh: take the Spark's sex test here

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:04 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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