"I wanted to say it was no accident and it felt great. But, how
does a five-year-old know what actually was going on?"
FIRST TIME
By Shirley Swift – age 60
It was the wonderful aroma. My potty, so called by my mother, just smelled
wonderful to me. I would deliberately touch myself and smell my fingers. I
liked it. I never tasted it – I just smelled it. I soon noticed that if I would touch
it a little longer that the muscles would tighten up and I’d urinate easier. So,
that’s how I began to justify touching myself and of course that would
happen when I was sitting on the toilet. I always hated having to wash my
hands afterwards, because that wonderful smell would be washed away.
Soon, I would put my hands into my pocket and reach over to touch myself
because it felt good – but I had to rip a hole in the pocket, just big enough
for one finger, to go through and touch so I could have the feeling and the
smell.
I was at my grandma’s house and she was taking a nap. I was supposed to
be playing in the kitchen. I thought about my potty and got up from the table
and went into the walk-in pantry. I put my hand into my pocket and found the
hole. I stood there, content to touch and to smell and then touch some more.
This time, however, I had a lot of time so I just kept touching and a wave of
pleasure came over me and everything tightened up and I had to go to the
bathroom very fast.
I ran toward the bathroom but didn’t make it. I wet myself, leaving a big
puddle on the floor by the bathroom door. My grandma had gotten up and
instead of scolding me, she just helped clean me up, telling me everyone
has accidents.
I wanted to say it was no accident and it felt great. But, how does a five-
year-old know what actually was going on? It just made me feel guilty that I
had wet all over the floor. After that time I made sure to masturbate only in
the bathroom and be very quick and very quiet about it.
I shared a room with my sister. One night I was squatting on my bed and
trying to see myself without the help of a mirror. I had just touched my
swollen clit when she walked in and said, “I see what you’re doing.” Well, I
just covered up and rolled over, feeling so guilty.
I remember masturbating one afternoon and my mother waiting for me
outside the door. She demanded to smell my hands. Of course she smelled
what I thought was the most gorgeous essence ever and she acted so
disgusted that I was “doing that.” More guilt.
I really didn’t know what it was called until I was in 8th grade and read the
definition of orgasm. Wow – other people did it too!
I continued masturbating even after marriage because my husband did not
satisfy me. He didn’t care if I orgasmed or not. I always had to urinate
immediately afterwards and it wasn’t until the past few years that I even
knew about female ejaculation. Now, after 55 years, I have held back for so
long that I have not been able to ejaculate, even though that was the way I
started at age 5.
As I look back I see how sexual expression was not tolerated in my family –
indeed that is the sad state of affairs in the majority of families. It has taken
a long time for me to even be able to talk about this part of my sexuality.
Acceptance of who I am, appreciation of my sexuality was the beginning.
To truly love someone else one needs to love themselves – and unless you
accept yourself, for who you are, for what you believe, for what you act
upon, you can’t love yourself. There are many who need to allow the healing
to occur in their lives concerning their sexual nature…. and accept the
beautiful creation that you are. Then and only then can you reach out to
others in love and in healing.
Copyright 2008 Daniel D. Ziegler
does a five-year-old know what actually was going on?"
FIRST TIME
By Shirley Swift – age 60
It was the wonderful aroma. My potty, so called by my mother, just smelled
wonderful to me. I would deliberately touch myself and smell my fingers. I
liked it. I never tasted it – I just smelled it. I soon noticed that if I would touch
it a little longer that the muscles would tighten up and I’d urinate easier. So,
that’s how I began to justify touching myself and of course that would
happen when I was sitting on the toilet. I always hated having to wash my
hands afterwards, because that wonderful smell would be washed away.
Soon, I would put my hands into my pocket and reach over to touch myself
because it felt good – but I had to rip a hole in the pocket, just big enough
for one finger, to go through and touch so I could have the feeling and the
smell.
I was at my grandma’s house and she was taking a nap. I was supposed to
be playing in the kitchen. I thought about my potty and got up from the table
and went into the walk-in pantry. I put my hand into my pocket and found the
hole. I stood there, content to touch and to smell and then touch some more.
This time, however, I had a lot of time so I just kept touching and a wave of
pleasure came over me and everything tightened up and I had to go to the
bathroom very fast.
I ran toward the bathroom but didn’t make it. I wet myself, leaving a big
puddle on the floor by the bathroom door. My grandma had gotten up and
instead of scolding me, she just helped clean me up, telling me everyone
has accidents.
I wanted to say it was no accident and it felt great. But, how does a five-
year-old know what actually was going on? It just made me feel guilty that I
had wet all over the floor. After that time I made sure to masturbate only in
the bathroom and be very quick and very quiet about it.
I shared a room with my sister. One night I was squatting on my bed and
trying to see myself without the help of a mirror. I had just touched my
swollen clit when she walked in and said, “I see what you’re doing.” Well, I
just covered up and rolled over, feeling so guilty.
I remember masturbating one afternoon and my mother waiting for me
outside the door. She demanded to smell my hands. Of course she smelled
what I thought was the most gorgeous essence ever and she acted so
disgusted that I was “doing that.” More guilt.
I really didn’t know what it was called until I was in 8th grade and read the
definition of orgasm. Wow – other people did it too!
I continued masturbating even after marriage because my husband did not
satisfy me. He didn’t care if I orgasmed or not. I always had to urinate
immediately afterwards and it wasn’t until the past few years that I even
knew about female ejaculation. Now, after 55 years, I have held back for so
long that I have not been able to ejaculate, even though that was the way I
started at age 5.
As I look back I see how sexual expression was not tolerated in my family –
indeed that is the sad state of affairs in the majority of families. It has taken
a long time for me to even be able to talk about this part of my sexuality.
Acceptance of who I am, appreciation of my sexuality was the beginning.
To truly love someone else one needs to love themselves – and unless you
accept yourself, for who you are, for what you believe, for what you act
upon, you can’t love yourself. There are many who need to allow the healing
to occur in their lives concerning their sexual nature…. and accept the
beautiful creation that you are. Then and only then can you reach out to
others in love and in healing.
Copyright 2008 Daniel D. Ziegler
LESS-ONS FOR TRUTH
Reclaiming Acceptance of our Original State
