Heavy Petting

Girls can push their buttons too

By Karly Reider

I didn’t know female masturbation even existed before my professor asked me what I thought about its bad rap.

Girls can masturbate? That was news to me. I mean, I certainly hadn’t tried it before. Honestly, I hadn’t discovered it upon straddling a noodle in a public pool at age seven. I hadn’t been walked in on by my sister. I hadn’t done anything with a hot dog other than eat it. I’m just not “that girl.”

A great panic swallowed me like a gaping, fanged vagina. What would I do? What would I say? Who was I?

Being the overachieving student I am, I decided I’d have to try masturbation for myself. It wouldn’t be easy, but neither is exposing the truth. And I was put on earth to expose myself. I mean, the truth.

So I did my fieldwork, and now I am ready to talk. Don’t be nervous; I’m frankly too religious to speak of the many uses of vibrators, dildos, and porcupine quills. Instead, I’m going to lay it out real nice and in metaphor. You know, to ease the nausea.

Or should I say ecstasy? Masturbation, it turns out, is like dropping acid and playing Mario Party with the Grand Pooh-Bah. It’s like drinking 10 Red Bulls and lighting your pubic hair on fire. It’s like tossing ping pong balls into a fishbowl and winning a hammerhead shark.

What I’m really trying to say is that she-bopping is heaven on earth, and the stigma associated with it is ridiculous.

Did I pull this story out of my ass? No, I pulled it out of my vagina. And now you should all do yourselves a favor and pull things out of your vaginas, too. You have no idea what you’re missing.

Illustration by Cathy Lapoine