Masturbation: How Society Has Got Us All Fooled 28 July 2007 at 10:06pm

Let’s talk about your genitals:

Are they nice? Do you like them? Are you two friendly? You should be.

Now, really. Think about your genitalia—what they look like, how they feel, what happens when you touch them? If any of these questions made you feel uncomfortable, we’ve got a problem—but if you don’t know the answer to these questions, a much larger issue arises: why? Why does no one know their body? You’ve had it all your life- plenty of time to get to know it, if you ask me. So, what’s stopping curious eyes, imaginations and fingers? That’s exactly what you’re about to find out.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m an extreme advocate for exploration, experimentation and, yes, masturbating! In my 17 glorious years in this life, I’ve explored and learned the intricacies of my body, as I believe everyone should. I’ve sat naked in front of a mirror, more than once, and just looked—learned. Developing as a sexual being doesn’t happen over night (and, despite popular belief that includes Prom night)—it takes time, and it takes self-awareness. I remember five or six years ago, 11pm on Sundays, huddling close to the TV in the kitchen watching Dr. Ruth’s sex show on Oxygen. I’ll never forget a young man calling in for advice, saying that no matter what he did, his girlfriend could never achieve orgasm. As soon as he let slip that she had never masturbated, Dr. Ruth flipped her lid, exclaiming on live television words that are forever seared into my brain: “You can’t know pleasure until you know to pleasure yourself.” That, combined with my many summers spent at the famed Goddess Camp, learning the joys of womanhood and unity, one might say I was raised a little more empowered than most. And while I continue to be a very empowered (and sometimes headstrong) woman, that has little to do with the fact that women everywhere are in the dark about their sexual selves- a truth that strikes a strained note for me, and is something I intend to change.

The many misconceptions the women of today, as well as those of history, have been slapped in the face with have arguably changed what I assume to be the natural course of things, which in my mind is what would happen to a girls development, had society had no disapproving stares, condemning scriptures or age-old texts to hinder what, in my mind, is logical sexual development. It would go a little something like this: a baby girl is born, and by age 9 she’s got a pretty good sense of her body and how things look. By age 11, she’s got some more terms in her vocabulary, but the depth of which she is intrigued by her own self is growing. By age 13, she knows her body, her pressure points, her pleasure centers and how she responds to them, and out creeps the beginning of her sexual identity. Lastly, in this Utopia, the girl has become a young woman and can rejoice in her sexuality, partaking in masturbation often enough to achieve a personally satisfactory orgasm by no later than 16. This “natural progression” of female sexuality is, obviously, a dream. For hundreds of years, in all different types of cultures, female sexuality has been trampled, tarnished, and forced into hiding. One of the most revered and remembered clergy member of the 13th century, Saint Thomas Aquinas, (remembered for his brutal damnation of oh, so many things) called female sexual intrigue one of the “most serious ‘unnatural’ lusts, along with bestiality, homosexuality and unusual modes of intercourse” (1). Well, Aquinas, sex in the world of today has certainly thrown most of your advice to the wind, (sex stores everywhere! Gay pride! The Kama Sutra, ooohhh, the blasphemy!)—so why has female masturbation stayed so taboo?—so frowned upon and discouraged? I ask, why is male masturbation considered by the Catholic church as “misuse or waste of the precious seamen”, where the very same act when preformed by a female is “dismissed as female lewdness”(1) ? Tell me why women in Victorian times were instructed to “shut their eyes while the man expresses his lower nature” (1)?! And I’m begging!—tell me why those very same Victorian women, while creeping along what I consider to be the natural course of sexual development, were viewed as DISEASED, for which the only cure was clitoridectomy?! (2). These women, countless thousands of women, who had their genitals mutilated were robbed of something precious and wonderful; by having their clitoris stolen from them, their sexual drive and presence were mangled, marred and maimed. How can love, happiness and, above all, good sex occur in the bedroom after such a horrific procedure?

It’s simple: it can’t. Coitus is mutual, and a response of pleasure is typically the turn-on. When a female lies still, silent, during the whole process, arousal is more than difficult. A lack of response, sometimes even an “anti-response” to that which men are seeking, causes lust and arousal to plummet.

These clitoridectomies in the Victorian era (that continue today in some cultures—Amnesty International estimates that over 2 million involuntary female circumcisions are preformed every year) caused a skyrocketing of prostitution; clearly, even in the supposed quietness and stillness of a Victorian bedroom, something had been lost from coitus—and although likely few men had any idea what a female orgasm looked like, I’m sure they could tell that sex had indeed become a chore. Sex isn’t supposed to be like that—period. So why has it? It’s because sex is supposed to be mutual, consensual; and for too many women, it’s not. Again, had these women been encouraged (hell, allowed even!) to explore themselves as sexual beings, we as a society would not have fallen into this trap where sex, something that has the ability to be so beautiful, so divine—became a drag.

So where do we stand today? Have these sad, disillusioned stigmas followed us into the 21st century? Sadly, yes. Girls: think about your mother- did she ever tell you, “Honey, it’s good to masturbate”? A hint here or there, if you’re lucky; maybe those fateful words It’s normal during the “sex talk”- but words of actual encouragement? I think not. Boys: have you ever heard a girl announce her pride about being sexually independant, boasting, “Oh man, I gave myself the best hand job ever last night! That orgasm lasted DAYS!”? *Sigh*. The fact is, most girls (and older women too) still obey the age-old DO-NOT-TOUCH sign society has flagged over their vulva, and that to me is a very, very, very sad thing.  But nothing I can say has the actual power of seeing these wrongs still existing in todays women, who are smart, powerful, and liberated. It’s shocking! In the past two days, with masturbation on my mind almost constantly, I caught two separate glimpses into the minds of the women you’d least likely to be shy about masturbating, yet still can’t bring themselves to openly talk about it—and I had no idea what I was about to find. So, let’s get on with it: we begin… It was strange, the complete lack of conceptions I had about the interview I was about to have. My mind was wandering a bit, as usual—a doodle here and there, my curious eyes wandering around the architecturally stiff building I’ve been in one too many times, studying sickly faces through glass panes. Other than that, my mind was blank—waiting. See, although my intentions were to set up a real interview with my gynecologist, the winds changed without giving me a chance to change with it, and before I knew it, my only opportunity for an interview with her was long gone. Panicked, pacing, I’m pondering my possibilities. Wandering into the kitchen for a candy fix, maybe some juice also—LO AND BEHOLD, HOW THE TABLES HAVE TURNED! Fixed slightly off center, clipped to the refrigerator, is the love of my life: an appointment card, scheduled 2 months ago, for Thursday the 7th. Upon relaying this joyful news to my mother, she warns: “..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Erin …it’s a shot-only appointment. You might not even see Dr. Newman.”

My eyes squint, my brow furrows, and I retort with a highly-educated “SHH!” There was no way I’d be leaving that building without the interview. And here we are, waiting for the nurse to finish taking my stats—the usual. Weight, blood pressure, prescription changes, blah blah blah. She leaves, and I go rooting around the drawers, laughing and playing with the leg stirrups, tearing heart shapes out of the crunchy paper I’m sitting on. Soon, I’m told, the doctor would be in to see me. Quickly, I sit down, compose myself (I had a bit of the giggles), and run through a mental checklist of my questions, making sure I’ll phrase them as specifically and directly as possible.

Finally, the proportional but fragile body of Dr. Ilene Newman moseys through the door, smiling in her light blue scrubs, the only thing I’ve ever seen her in. She sits down, starts going through my chart, asking about my prescriptions, scribbling some things about the shot I’m here for. As soon as she’s done, I chime in,“Dr. Newman, I’ve actually come here for something else,” as I pull out the seemingly gigantic yellow legal pad from behind me, and place it on my lap. “What’s that?”

“I’m writing my end of term paper, for English class. It’s called an I-Search, and I get to write about whatever I want. I choose ’social stigmas regarding female masturbation’…”

Her face went blank, and paled slightly. “My, how high school has changed in 30 years…”

“The paper requires some interviews, and I couldn’t think of anyone better than my OBG-YN.” By this time, her usual slight grin of kindness had reappeared, but it was clearly for show. I continued, “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” as I shuffled through pages of black ink standing ferociously out on the yellow paper.

“I hope those aren’t all for me…” she said.

“No, no, they’re not. Just these five here.” I pointed to the questions– I was glad they weren’t, too. Already, there was a strange air in the room. Sitting on the exam table with my pen in hand, looking down at her on the swirly-stool with a nervous look on her face, scrunched up with her legs crossed, reclusively, this didn’t feel like any doctors appointment I’d ever been.

And so we began. Clearing my throat, I looked at her, the paper, her. The paper. “As a doctor, how much do you think masturbation contributes to developing into a sexually healthy individual?” Still scrunched up, she pushed some words around about it being “perfectly normal”—and I felt this interview about to go in a very queer direction…

“I mean,” she said, “you’re talking about if it helps shape a person sexually?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, if that’s what you’re thinking about, then I’d say it contributes. Contributes quite a bit.”

I nod. “Okay…” as I scribble on. “Do you see masturbation as healthy? Are they any medical benefits?”

Her quite demeanor had morphed into squirrelly, the idea of three more clearly making her uncomfortable. “I’d say… um… just write ‘refer to question 1′.”

I don’t want to intimidate her any more, so I just scribble it. “Are any of your patients sexually inhibitied? Meaning, are they social and emotional barriers to their sexual well-being?”

“Yes, lots.”

“…Could you elaborate?”

“Well… let’s break it up into two halves. There’s those women who’ve had, you know, sexual trauma, rape, molestation,” She babbles on about some topics that are frightening, real, delicate, and harmful, all lined up neatly in her Desk Reference book somewhere. What makes these so different than masturbating? That it’s such a “delicate” subject? Hmph.

“Mmhmm..” I continue.

“And then there’s the cultural aspect; many of my patients are from other countries, and they’re shy—they never want to show anything,” as Newman pretends to flatten down her skirt, Marilyn Monroe style.

I nod, scribble some notes, and try to steer her back to the subject. “As a doctor, how important do you consider sexual awareness of ones self, particularily as developed through masturbation?”

“Well, … knowing your body is so important. As far as masturbation goes, I was clueless until … much older. I mean, 30 years ago, women didn’t even know they could be pleasured.”

“Really? As recent as 30 years ago?”

“Well… yeah! I remember this book… Our Bodies, Ourselves … it was a total breakthrough in the ’60’s. It taught girls that they actually have parts that do actual things.”

“Wow, that’s really interesting. Okay, last question: Even in the doctor-patient relationship, what percent of women would you say are hesitant to talk to you about masturbating?”

She looks puzzled for a moment, then responds, “A fair amount”, with a look of sheepishness on her face—a lie, even. At this point, it’s obvious to me that it’s time for me to wrap this up, and let her scurry on back to her diagrams and charts.

A quick needle in my arm, and a band-aid later, and I’m outta there. But as I push open the double glass doors, I can’t help but wonder: If women, grown women, sexually active women can’t talk to their gynecologist about masturbating, who can they talk to?

I really couldn’t keep quiet about my findings, approaching any opportunity to speak out with a strong voice, shocking everyone I told about the obtuse findings I had in the interview. In my quest for the application among people, real people, I didn’t have to look much farther than my kitchen table: A beautiful sun is shining, casting fun shadows from my magnolia tree out front onto the kitchen table, already littered with things: soda, lasagna, candy, chips, you name it. My housewarming party is in full swing, and seated around said table are a familiar group of women, plus a few new ones in my life: multiple life-long friends of my mothers and my own, a couple girls that I’d only known a few years, but all in all, just a group of women—wise women.

As our chat jumped from here to there and back again, another occasion to boast about my findings came up—a personal application of all the research was here. I began by introducing the idea behind an I-Search, the requirements, the stylistic ideas behind writing more than just a research paper, then finally, my topic. I didn’t quite know what to expect from these women, being that I didn’t think too far ahead before I opened my trap (I tend to do that…), but, happily, I received no squirrelly squeals or shocking looks of disapproval, and was instead met with an engaging conversation- henceforth, my group interview.

I relayed the information about the Doc-talk, and they too shared the same surprise I’d come to expect out of wise(r) women. To my right, a hold-nothing-back type of gal straight out of Brooklyn, Ronnie, quickly engaged herself by explaining that it “really is the last taboo”. From there, the conversation was smooth as water, but in a different direction I had anticipated: the idea of masturbation in a marriage, and how even in, supposedly, the “epitome of intimacy”, masturbation is still off-limits. A slightly eccentric Christine chimes in about her and her boyfriend are at least aware of the fact that they each masturbate independently, and how it “seems alright by [them]”. In her heavy Brooklyn accent, Ronnie chimes in, “Oooh, no. If my husband ever thought that I masturbated, much less we talked about it, he’d be mortified.” …Wait, what? The women who’ve been teaching me empowerment, strength and expressing yourself since the day I was born are taking the backseat on this one? What the hell! If empowered women still can’t bring themselves to talk about it, then how in the world are things going to change for the not-so-empowered woman?—the countless thousands of quite, books-smart, sheltered women who deserve sexual freedom, and someone to tell them it’s more than just okay! How will those women ever grow if our empowered, our leaders, can’t even bring themselves to utter the words to their husbands? It frightens me—it truly, indescribably scares me.

After that, even the quieter women joined in, mumbling about how “it just can’t be talked about”. With the general concensus being that masturbation within a marriage clearly being on the No-No’s list, I started to make some curious connections:

According to society, women: 1. can’t masturbate if you’re young- it’s bad for you. 2. can’t masturbate if you’re an adult- it’s “just not done”. 3. can’t masturbate if you’re married- why on earth would a woman feel the need to be sexually independent when she CLEARLY has a man to do that for her?

(Keep in mind none of these rules apply to men: it’s NATURAL for a young boy to experiement with his body; it’s NATURAL for a grown man to pleasure himself- morning wood, anyone?; and of course, it’s NATURAL for a groom to do the deed, too—after all, a guy needs sex way more often than a girl, right?)

Ahem.Pardon me, but this IS the 21st century, and I WILL be grabbing a hold of my sexual independence, regardless of the false pretenses our world has been shaped to believe—and believe we have! They’ve fooled us all! But I’ve got a message for all you in sexual-hiding, perversely insisting on ancient ways of sexually oppressing women—your mothers, your sisters, your girlfriends, YOURSELVES—while men and their hard-on’s roam free across Hollywood and the punch-lines of dirty jokes:

Personal sexuality is innate—an understanding of your body and sexual identity is the best gift you can bring to a sexual relationship, but more importantly, to yourself. Society can dictate, proclaim and order any thing it pleases, but your sexuality isn’t about anyone but you. There’s nothing truer or freer than knowledge of yourself as a sexual being: it’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be bashful about. Your body is the only one you’ll ever have: perhaps you’ll get married in it, have children in it, grow old in it. And believe me—it pays to know your way around. But where do we go from here? It feels like I’m facing an up-hill battle on all fronts, my opponents being criticism, the subdued, and even my best friends. Where is the Path to Progress? How can I change what nearly everyone views as “just the way it is”? …Who knows; maybe I can’t change the world. Maybe I can’t reach out to everyone, encourage them, and teach them that “it’s all good under the hood”. But that doesn’t mean I can’t teach you. Your friends. Your wives, daughters, mothers, all fearing what isn’t there. Yes, I’ll teach you, and hope that you’ll do the same for the rest of humanity, sorely in the dark.

And when in the face of adversity, take my advice—go ahead, say it!: Take a hike, society! And don’t trip over my vibrator on your way out!

I encourage each and every one of you, holding these papers in your hands right now, to learn to understand your body—the ins and outs, the flaps and folds, and just what makes your toes curl. It’ll come in handy (no pun intended!)

Love, Erin.

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