TALES OF TOUCHING

Don't all men fantasize about female masturbation? I think probably, yes. I certainly had,

since my teen years. Though marriage brought

hiatus to my self pleasuring it did not put an end to my fantasies-female

masturbation still fascinated me. So, when our marital sex games began to pall, I

boldly suggested to my wife that she try her hand at it for me to see. Being fully

into Equal Rights, Chelsea announced she would show me how she masturbated only if

I showed her how I did it. Ladies first I insisted, old chauvinist that I am.

Chelsea sat on a yellow canvas chair, one leg up and, to feed my own fantasies,

panties on. With two fingers she caressed a pink shallow nipple, gently pinching,

pulling and rubbing it until it stood rosy red and stiff. At the same time, the

other hand rubbed the I crotch of her panties, her middle finger going deeper and

deeper into the center crease, pushing the silk in until it began to darken with

her dampness. As a girl I always used to masturbate with my panties on." Chelsea

explained. "I pulled the cloth against my clitoris and inner lips while keeping

my thighs tightly shut. I learned this technique from another girl-we used to do

it together in the dorm." Later she learned other techniques, without panties but

with handy smooth objects such as the handle of her hair brush. "My hairbrush

handles were always goopy," she laughed. "The cat loved to lick it." I handed

Chelsea a hairbrush and, slipping off her panties, she demonstrated how in her

post-graduate years she used to get off. This time, she gradually slipped the

smooth plastic handle between her dripping labia until it sank all the way in,

then pushed it in and out. With the other hand she massaged her clitoris which,

as her excitement began to mount, bobbed its little head in and out in the most

fantastic manner. Until then I believed what the sexologists said. that the

glans clitoris, when excited, disappeared like a thief in the night into its

tent. Not Chelsea's. By now my own excitement began to mount. Shedding my shorts, I

took my bobbing penis in my right hand (some men prefer their left) and, the way

I did to my phantom I, began the slow manipulation uluation of my stiff organ's

satiny skin until the glans ballooned up to the size of an overripe plum.

Sensing Chelsea's approaching orgasm I moved closer and quickened my own strokes to

match hers. Then Chelsea started to moan I moved my working fist faster, pressing

the head with thumb above and forefinger on the trigger below the cleft-a surefire

way to climax on cue. The art of my ejaculation hit Chelsea right on the button

just as she too orgasmed, viscosity sinking into the thick black fiber of her

bush and mingling with her own gurgling juices below. Our excitement continued

even after orgasm and led to our mutually masturbating each other for another

simultaneous climax. Mutual masturbation, I came to learn, is the best way to get

to know not only your own body but your partner's as well. I became familiar with

where to touch, what pressure to use, how to increase my strokes and, among other

delights, the vicissitudes of the elusive clitoris and the even more mysterious

tunnel of love. Similarly, Chelsea learned from my body, stroking me with a

pleasure no machine or artificial aid can give or receive. Eat your heart out

AccuIac. Mutual masturbation, in those times when sex was not desirable or

possible, helped our marriage and improved our love life immeasurably. My

lifetime of self-pleasuring had found a partner in life-and love.