My Sexual Awakening Through Humping and Listening
Posted: 12 Apr 2024 08:32
Hi, all. I’ve posted once or twice before about my experiences overhearing my parents. I recently wrote a lengthier version of it, nested in a gradual lead up that ties into my corner humping kink. The story about overhearing my parents requires context of the previous portions, and they’re pretty hot anyway, so I figure it’s alright. The majority of my tale focuses on my listening episode and what I did during it. I know many of you enjoyed my descriptions of female arousal and masturbation as much as I enjoy describing it let alone experiencing it. Do excuse any typos as I wasn’t exactly totally focused on grammar while sinking into my memories. Love, Vee.
“I wanted to tell the story of how I discovered this kink. Naturally, I’ve always sought out videos and discussions of corner humping “the right way,” as I call it, with feet coming off the ground. I thought it was so intuitive that there *had* to be many people like me. But there was a surprising silence. I didn’t think it was anymore embarrassing than any other form of masturbation might be.
One nigh, frustrated again by my fruitless search for corner humping, I put my phone on my nightstand and decided to go back to the basics. When I masturbate without porn, I like to be my own lover. I cupped my vulva in my hand, feeling it get hot and swollen as I focused my thoughts between my legs reverently.
The network of erotic associations lit up in my mind. My first guess at the possibility of pleasure occurred as a child curiously tapping different areas of my vulva with one finger. Quietly, on the bottom bunk I shared with my sibling. Finding my clitoris dry and far too sensitive for touch without lubrication I didn’t know I needed or could produce nevertheless sent strange zaps up my spine that sent me into a bit of a trance. I gave up trying to turn that feeling into anything else because I didn’t know there was anything. I honestly thought I found my “pee spot” because I couldn’t think of anything else that would be there.
A night soon after, I tried “tickling my pee spot” again. This time, in my pajamas, I put a fairly thick animal encyclopedia between my legs with the spine facing me while laying on my back. The feeling wasn’t as acute as the direct touch to my clitoris, but the pressure felt good. I experimented with the book cracked open and closed as I held it tight between my legs feeling warm fluttery feelings multiply and congregate deeper inside of me.
The spark of erotic energy took hold, and my instincts took over. I wanted to be on my stomach, and tried to position the book under me to press against. Of course, against my mattress, the hefty volume wanted to lean this way and that, never fixed like I wanted it. Plus, underneath the bunk, I didn’t have a lot of mobility: the beds were perpendicular to each other, and on either side of my lower bunk there were essentially walls blocking me.
I heard my sibling snoring, and decided it was safe for me to venture out to experiment. The corner of my bed offered an exposed wooden bed frame that held my mattress. Perilous for my shins, but useful for potentially holding my book in place. I tried to create a tent shape on the corner of my bed with the book, which worked decently well as the spine hadn’t been too worn and still wanted to hold its shape. I lowered myself slightly onto the spine facing my bed. The right angle of my bed corner coaxed my knees open as the hard spine met my still clothed, soft labia and my hard button of a clit.
My heart was racing due to the novel act, the need for stealth, and the mysterious warmth flowing from my stomach down to my toes that hinted at a greater pleasure. With my feet on the ground and my hands holding onto the blankets in front of me, I moved back and forth, feeling the slick book jacket glide smoothly against my satin bottoms. I felt the tickle against that “pee spot” wondering why it didn’t feel this good when I peed. The feeling made me want to squeeze my legs together, but I was keen on getting the most out of my setup. I pressed the base of my clit into the corner of the book and felt it throb in response, which made me return to the exploratory gliding motions that reminded me of how it felt to fly in a dream. Eventually, the pleasant feelings hit a plateau that left me frustrated for reasons unknown. I put the book aside and climbed back into bed feeling warm and excited.
I would make progress one day when my mother called me over to where she was sitting on the couch to look at something. She had her back against the arm of the couch, and I came up behind her. While she was showing me whatever it was, the padded but firm corner of the couch pressed against the length of my clit. I immediately knew I didn’t have time to explore this, but I still wonder if anyone saw me leaning with a suspicious amount of weight on my pelvic region.
Back then, I had a golden hour of free time between my mom picking me up from school and then napping before going to get my sibling. When I was sure she was asleep, I slipped off my shoes and padded over to the couch. I knew which floorboards to avoid, though I wasn’t sure why I was sneaking. The sun was beginning to set and lit up the arm rest like something from the heavens. I decided to climb up and straddle the center of the arm rest. Immediately, I could tell that the increased pressure felt better. I moved to lie on my stomach as I held onto the arm with all four limbs, inching my butt closer to the edge of the armrest so that my legs weren’t trapped amongst the pillows on one side and side table on the other. The feeling was different here: plush cushion gave way to thin cloth and foam that provided just enough protection from the wooden frame. I stilled my wiggle and waited a moment as I could go no further. My heart was pounding in my ears and I felt hot between my legs. I initiated a horizontal climbing movement, bringing my legs up toward my chest and then back down slightly, squeeze the couch with my thighs at the same time. I kept at this movement until I “felt like I had to pee,” and then stopped. I did it again after a couple minutes, again stopping afraid that what I was doing would lead to peeing. In mind, that was all that area was used for, no matter what I was feeling.
I continued pressing against things after that, enjoying the warm tingles as one would enjoy a good stretch. That summer, I added a movement to my repertoire. I loved going to the pool as often as my father would take me and my sibling. It was the start of the season, and we’d just moved to a house with our very first garage. With room for storage, we were each allowed to pick out a pool toy at the store. Naturally, we each selected a pool noodle and made the trip to the community center.
I quickly stripped off my shorts and t-shirt hiding my new suit and met the icy water with glee. I fancied myself to be quite mature, so I used the pool noodle to float and relax, same as a retiree. That didn’t last long, because my sibling wanted to play. They were riding their pool noodle like a horse along with some of the other kids, so I did the same. With the slightly scratchy green foam against my inner thighs, we padded into deeper water. Floating in place, my sibling started bobbing up and down. They opened their legs to sink, and then brought them together quickly to rocket back up, aided by the floatation device. I copied the movement. I spread my legs out wide and my chin bobbed under the water slightly, then snapped them back straight, clamped tight on the pool noodle.
Open. Close. Open. Close. I noticed that descending from the top of the position with my outstretched legs, some water *whooshed* into my swimsuit bottoms and danced across my labia. This is what first brought my attention to the area. What interested me more was when I brought my legs together, my clitoris (formerly known as my pee spot) fluttered rabidly as a bird’s heart. My own heartbeat thudded deeper between my legs. Opening my legs and sinking down, I lost my stomach and felt the water swirl around my bothered flesh like it intended to play with me right back. For the first time, I felt a pleasant ache in my genitals that encouraged me to continue. I didn’t worry about peeing; I was in a pool, so if I did pee it wouldn’t be as bad as ruining a chair.
I naturally held my mask of playful ease as each repetition impossibly built my pleasure and delight. In all prior experiments, my efforts would plateau and cease. Now, as I felt my cool thighs meet my hot lips under my suit, I ascended to bliss. Bringing my legs together sent the pulsing between my legs into a frenzy of both sweet clitoral twitches and deep muscular contractions. Opening my legs, I enjoyed that the feeling continued despite my legs not being pressed together. The pool noodle was firm and insistent against my vulva. The good feelings were only increasing. Drawing my legs together again, I felt my hard clit favor my left side so that the right side rubbed against the noodle (which, in adulthood, would come to be my favorite side to touch).
Lacking language for the experience, I would have described it as “a flying feeling between my legs” or “a feel good tickle.” I found excuses to ride the noodle for a few seconds at a time during the pool day, incorporating it into my normal boisterous play. During the ride home, I was aware of my body in a new way. My nipples felt achy and sensitive, my genitals buzzed with heat.
My feelings of arousal intensified at night, keeping me awake. I’d never had trouble sleeping, but the throbbing between my legs wanted feeding and relief simultaneously. By this time we’d moved and I had my own room. I liked to occupy my time fantasizing about someone I had a crush on, seeing how aroused I could become, thinking I could do nothing about it if I didn’t have a man huffing on top of me. Suddenly, the furniture in my room started shaking. My senses sharpened as I feared something was wrong. Then, filtering through the still air of the hallway, came my mother’s low moans. I didn’t have time to process what was happening before my heart started racing and my vagina instantly became so wet I worried I peed myself. My bed shook along with the mirror in my vanity. Oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes, yes, my mother gasped, accompanied by a muffled slapping sound. Harder, harder!
I sandwiched my hands between my clenched thighs, feeling my swollen labia through my soaked underwear and pajama bottoms. I squeezed harder, hyperextending my legs as if I could contain the fire of my arousal. It never occurred to me to be disgusted that I was listening to my parents have sex. I had never heard nor seen sex outside of simulated scenes in movies my parents would fast forward through. My animal brain took over. I wanted to feel whatever made my mom make those sounds. I didn’t care to imagine what my dad was doing or how he felt, even as his groans of pleasure intermittently echoed her desperate moaning. I knew that I had the potential to feel much more than I ever imagined.
I pulled a blanket between my legs, still on my back, so that half of it was behind me and half was on top of me. I pulled it tight against my body and scissored my legs open and closed desperately. The squelching sound my inner thighs made joined my mother’s animalistic grunts and whines. My mouth was dry from my own panting, and my movements gradually slowed as my parents quieted down for the night. Coming down from the high quickly pulled me toward sleep, but not before I peeled off my pajama bottoms, realizing there was no reason I couldn’t start sleeping naked anyway.
After that, I was turned on by any sign my parents might be preparing to have sex: showers, dates, flirting, smiling, etc. I came home from school and sat in the living room for hours doing my homework or watching TV, only to be interrupted by the excitement of seeing my mom wearing makeup at 8pm on a Tuesday.
She was never dressed around the house, let alone made up. Her standard uniform was a robe with a loose camisole underneath, and loose sleep shorts or “granny panties.” She was 4’11” with brown hair and blue eyes, built small save for wide hips I inherited and large (though deflated from pregnancy) breasts I didn’t. She was no nudist, but around the house she couldn’t care less that her rosy nipples could be seen through her shirt. She wasn’t mindful that standing over me as I read on the floor allowed me a clear look up her loose shorts to her garden of pubic hair. More than anything, bending over sent her breasts swinging and put her cleavage on display constantly.
I never tried to peek or particularly savored these moments, but my young girl’s curiosity about a woman’s body had me lingering a heartbeat longer than usual. She smelled like a woman, sweet musk and perfume wafting after her after she arose from a nap.
Outside of the bedroom, she shamelessly wanted more sex than my dad wanted to give, and admittedly acted very inappropriately in making this known even to her children by awaiting his arrival in pigtails or running around in a new push up bra.
So, I found myself stuck in the living room on a night where my mom almost immediately stole my dad upstairs for sex before I went to bed. Not wanting to alert them by acting differently, I remained downstairs and listened intently. While waiting, I idly brushed the tip of my pencil down the center of my vulva, bringing it back up to circle the slight swell of my clitoris before repeating the motion. I waited about an hour while my dad showered and they presumably engaged in a bit of foreplay before the first moan came. To my pleasant surprise, I not only heard it echo from upstairs, but noises also filtered through the vent right above the couch.
The lights were off in the living room save for a lamp on a far end table, so I felt quite drunk on lust. My surroundings inspired me. I was rarely granted privacy in common spaces during this time. Now, I was alone with the same couch I had experimented with years prior. With my new knowledge of what my body liked so far, I stood up facing the arm of the couch than aligned perfectly with my anatomy. The arm wasn’t circular; rather, it sort of tapered to a rounded edge on the outside while the inside was more rounded. I had a corner more than a curve. I raised myself up on my toes just slightly to position my legs on either side of the corner, which made it more comfortable to lean forward and bring my feet off the ground while my arms gripped the couch on either side. Now, my legs were outstretched behind me, the shaft of my clitoris taking almost all of my body weight, helped only by my arms clinging to the upholstery.
Already, I felt heat course through me from my head to my feet in waves, as well as pulsing from somewhere deep between my legs. The sounds from upstairs were irregular and far apart since they had just begun, which was almost more exciting as I anticipated what I would hear and ultimately be rewarded. The anticipation manifested as butterflies in my stomach, a racing heart, a heavy ache. When I finally heard my mom let out a low groan, some of the built up energy would roll through my body in a wave of dizzying heat and pleasure. Positioned as I was on the couch, suspended, I felt pinned to the spot, a plaything of my own nerve endings that burned. Pressed into the corner, I was forced into impossible bliss with sensation replacing all else in existence.
I eased myself slightly up and down with my arms as my legs remained extended and only parted enough to allow for the corner to press against my mound. I looked down to see the subtle outline of my labia parted by the seam of my pants as well as the couch. This was the first time I paid direct attention to my vulva outside of baths and showers—before, it was as important as my elbow. Now, seeing my labia rub against the couch punctuated by my mom grunting and gasping, I fell in love with my vulva as my true center and tether to this world through pleasure.
Confident in my positioning, I tried opening my legs a little, feeling the blood rush and pound through me. A little more, and I felt a sparkling weightlessness despite all the weight against my now hard clitoris. The flying feeling. Fast, hot licks of pleasure that seemed to begin just above my vagina and continued to race up, across, and through my inner walls. The pleasure simply burned brighter, demanding more fuel. The longer I splayed my legs open, the harder and longer my pelvic muscles throbbed. A soft moan escaped me in response to my mom’s lust drunk babble. Oh, right there. Right there. So good. Right there. Feels so good. Oh, yes. Yes. Yes. Each word swirled whisper-light around my whole body, rewarding my corner balancing act and making me feel so hot I trembled.
I brought my legs back together with pointed toes a foot off the ground. If my legs apart sent heat up into me, squeezing my legs back together packed all of that heat into the shaft and head of my clitoris. Each moment felt more intense than the last. Tears formed in my eyes from sheer overwhelm. I paused long enough to savor the wetness I felt on my labia that spread to my thighs when I closed my legs. I rocked forward and back while slowly opening and closing my legs against the corner. On the corner, there is no control as soon as your feet leave the ground. There is only how you react and shape the pleasure to come. You can move slowly or not at all, but you will explode. I had never had an orgasm before, so my body was as ignorant as I was. I was a glad prisoner to my pleasure with zero anticipation of an end. Pleasure drove me out of my mind, my very spirit seemed to pulse with light.
Hitting a rhythm at the same time as my mom, I once again gazed down on my own sex, feeling like I should be seeing the white hot death of a star rather than simple purple sleep pants now very clearly wet at the crotch. The seam had ridden up and I saw the naked shape of my vulva when I squeezed my legs together. In my peripheral vision, I saw the firm grip of my hands and the bobbing swell of my hips as my legs moved in and out. When I moved up and down at the same time, I heard my wet lips come down and sloppily kiss my soaked underwear. It turned out I was almost as into my own sounds as I was my mother’s. I moved more deliberately to encourage those sounds, which then produced even more lubrication from my throbbing vagina.
My mom barely uttered coherent sentences, her alternating guttural groans and higher pitched whines wove together with my heavy breathing, the soft swish of fabric, and the wet impact of my labia against the corner. Looking to my left, I saw my side profile reflected in the TV screen. More than that, I saw the living room where I opened birthday presents and had movie nights and vacuumed. Now a new layer of my being was revealed. I returned to a more slow and deliberate scissoring of my legs against the corner for a visual treat as I listened to my mom yelling more that moaning, sometimes punctuated with wild laughter in disbelief of whatever she was experiencing. I stole those reactions and feelings and let them flow into every flex of my legs as they methodically moved in and out. Watching my reflection, I charted which angles produced which feelings, mostly enjoying the look of my legs spread as far as they could go as I felt my muscles buck with an overload of pleasure. Then together, turning those disparate spasms into a thudding gallop. Inside my shirt, my nipples lightly brushed the fabric with every humping motion. I looked down my collar. By now, the very tips were raw with pleasure-pain and almost red as opposed to their usual light pink. The sight of my bare flesh made me crave the nudity I had learned to love in the privacy of my bedroom. I knew my parents weren’t coming downstairs anytime soon, and my sibling was upstairs in their room. I compromised. My top had buttons that I easily pulled open with one hand. Next, I loosened the tie of my waistband so that my pants fell away from my hips. I now saw the wetness shining on the outside of my underwear. My inner thighs were red from friction. My labia had eaten the fabric of my panties so that the bright, wet, rosy lips showed on either side firmly working against the corner while my clitoris and inner labia bulged protruded more than I had ever seen.
Seeing my vulva so aroused drove me to kick my legs in and out a little faster and less controlled. The small amount of breast tissue I had was pushed together by my pinned arms and my nipples hardened even more against the open air.
I’d almost forgotten to listen to my mom’s sounds, so distracted by my erotic pursuits. Then her moans hit a rhythm that was tinged with begging and helplessness. The feelings between my legs changed. Waves of pleasure focused into a single molten note of blissful pressure. I frantically worked my legs in and out, leaning into the fire. Then, I gasped as my pelvic floor tightened, growing tighter and together for ten seconds as I squeeze my legs together in an instinctive attempt to hold onto control. A very small amount of liquid shot into my underwear before the tension rebounded. My spine buckled and I humped up and down as my first orgasm hammered through my whole body, warm and sparkly. The muscles around my vagina squeezing and releasing heavily. My contractions were still going as I worked at dressing myself again. As the mental fog cleared, I realized my clothes were too wet to be worn. Sounds were still coming from my parents’ bedroom as I crept up the stairs to change and deposit my ruined pants and underwear in the bathroom hamper. The bathroom was right next to their bedroom, so I was doubly aroused, but scared to be found out. I lingered in the bathroom out of curiosity, feeling renewed wetness gather in my clean pair of shorts. In addition to the moans exchanged between the two, I heard wet sounds similar to the sounds I made on the couch corner. Instead of skin on fabric, it was skin on skin. A squelching sound accompanied every slap, followed by my mother’s groaning. I was a quick learner.
The corner of the bathroom counter was up much higher than the couch arm. Not wanting to waste another pair of pants, I dropped my shorts to the ground. I wasn’t wearing underwear underneath them. I climbed up on the counter using the toilet as a stepping stool. As if I’d been doing it for years, I took my position straddling the cold white corner as my hands gripped the sides. The iciness shocked me. I moved my legs in and out few times before deciding the counter was much too hard. Jumping down, I grabbed my pants back out of the hamper and folded them twice to provide a little padding like the couch had. I climbed back up, putting pressure on the base of my clitoris and extending my legs out on either side of the much softer corner.
On the bathroom counter, I could be more upright because it was higher off the ground whereas the couch had me leaning forward more to make sure my legs were elevated. The small amount of light from outside coupled with my night vision let me survey the scene in the large mirror over the sink. I’d changed into a tank top to go with the shorts that were now on the ground. The material was loose but close fitting, so my chest was mostly masked save for my nipples shamelessly making themselves known. I was naked from my bellybutton down. My hips framed the flat span of my lower abdomen. The plump swell of my pubic mound captured my attention as it claimed the corner. I lingered there for a moment feeling the faint thumps from my parents’ bedroom vibrate through the counter under my hands, though the heartbeat between my legs drowned out anything I might have felt there.
The action next door slowed somewhat, and I returned to listening for the next moan. I let the waves of pleasure undulate through my body balanced on the corner, legs hyperextended. My mom let out a long, drawn out sigh of pleasure that made my whole body flash hot. My vaginal muscles shuddered as a fierce ache pounded from my clit to my taint. My genitals were still swollen from my first effort; now, the second would border on painful were it not for layers of pleasure and arousal wrapping the pain in pink tissue paper. The pain became need instead.
Each vocalization from my mother signaled me to move my legs, and when she was silent I would stop. Being higher up added to the eroticism, as well as having an improved view of myself in the mirror. I didn’t know I was edging, prolonging the pleasure felt as natural as squinting my eyes against the wind. Yeessss. I flutter my legs open and closed with a medium range of motion, rocking back and forth at the same time. Silence. I hover with my legs apart, letting my throbbing vulva send a steady trail of lubrication down to pool on the cloth. Oh, oh, oh! Oh my God! Oh my God! My eager scissoring transfers the wetness to my inner thighs that are already sticky, creating unique soft wet sound. I realize I love being wet, I have an urge to reach and spread the wetness all down my legs. Silence. My legs squeeze together. I crane my neck to see my butt and legs in the mirror. The movement itself almost sends me over the edge and I freeze while admiring the space between my toes and the ground—I feel weightless and heavy at once.
After a couple minutes, her noises became more regular again and I heard my dad’s deep breathing as well. Every pulse of my legs open and closed (now with a wider range of motion) felt like heaven. My entire vulva felt as sensitive and blissed out as my clitoris. Though my ignorance of my anatomy made me think all of this pleasure had something to do with peeing, it led to an experiment that would forever change my sex and masturbation preferences. In my arousal, I scarcely needed the scissoring movements as much as I enjoyed them. I tried opening my legs as wide as they would go on the corner. I had to be careful not to kick the toilet, but once I had achieved it, I felt a new twitch in my vulva. All my humping had affected my urethra—finally, my actual “pee spot.” The feeling of that small, sensitive bordering on itchy twitch was maddening. The wetness gathered on the fabric provided protection against too much friction. The twitch turned into a throb that spiderwebbed in a focused way toward the head of my clit as well as my g-spot. Anyone with a vulva will tell you that g-spot stimulation is overwhelming at times, and taking it right to the edge of unbearable is what yields the most sublime sensation, even ejaculation. I used my arms to very gently grind against the corner with my legs spread wide as I listened to my mother whine, her breath jolted by every thrust against her body. The external tickle on my urethra felt like riding the pool noodle, incredibly addicting. Much later in life, I came to enjoy having it tapped gently or licked while being digitally penetrated. Never did I reveal the memory I associated with it, soaking my already damp pajama bottoms with a mixture of slowly leaking ejaculate and a seemingly bottomless well of lubrication.
After my urethra seemingly had enough direct stimulation, I returned to flexing my legs, swinging them out and in, eyes trained on my soft V in the mirror with my swinging legs dancing in my peripheral vision. When my mom started to have a climatic built of moans that had my dad shushing her, I felt that same deep clenching of my pelvic muscles. Instead of going faster, I felt the urge to hold my legs open again at this point of no return. The orgasm moved in slow motion, but was just as strong. The pressure continued coiling harder and harder around my vagina and anus. Then the pressure grew slightly to encompass more of my vulva before those muscles clamped down like a steel trap. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold my gasp as my pelvic floor squeezed and released rapidly, the releases so strong that my vagina made lovely wet popping sounds each time. The contractions radiated through my abdomen as my uterus spasmed as well, which felt strange, but would continue to happen anytime I’d been overstimulated.
Sometime during my recovery, the sounds from my parents’ room had turned to talking and giggling. I quickly cleaned myself up as best I could and went to my bedroom back in the pajama shorts I was smart enough to save. I was starving, tired, and my vulva was pleasantly buzzing. I was utterly satisfied.”
“I wanted to tell the story of how I discovered this kink. Naturally, I’ve always sought out videos and discussions of corner humping “the right way,” as I call it, with feet coming off the ground. I thought it was so intuitive that there *had* to be many people like me. But there was a surprising silence. I didn’t think it was anymore embarrassing than any other form of masturbation might be.
One nigh, frustrated again by my fruitless search for corner humping, I put my phone on my nightstand and decided to go back to the basics. When I masturbate without porn, I like to be my own lover. I cupped my vulva in my hand, feeling it get hot and swollen as I focused my thoughts between my legs reverently.
The network of erotic associations lit up in my mind. My first guess at the possibility of pleasure occurred as a child curiously tapping different areas of my vulva with one finger. Quietly, on the bottom bunk I shared with my sibling. Finding my clitoris dry and far too sensitive for touch without lubrication I didn’t know I needed or could produce nevertheless sent strange zaps up my spine that sent me into a bit of a trance. I gave up trying to turn that feeling into anything else because I didn’t know there was anything. I honestly thought I found my “pee spot” because I couldn’t think of anything else that would be there.
A night soon after, I tried “tickling my pee spot” again. This time, in my pajamas, I put a fairly thick animal encyclopedia between my legs with the spine facing me while laying on my back. The feeling wasn’t as acute as the direct touch to my clitoris, but the pressure felt good. I experimented with the book cracked open and closed as I held it tight between my legs feeling warm fluttery feelings multiply and congregate deeper inside of me.
The spark of erotic energy took hold, and my instincts took over. I wanted to be on my stomach, and tried to position the book under me to press against. Of course, against my mattress, the hefty volume wanted to lean this way and that, never fixed like I wanted it. Plus, underneath the bunk, I didn’t have a lot of mobility: the beds were perpendicular to each other, and on either side of my lower bunk there were essentially walls blocking me.
I heard my sibling snoring, and decided it was safe for me to venture out to experiment. The corner of my bed offered an exposed wooden bed frame that held my mattress. Perilous for my shins, but useful for potentially holding my book in place. I tried to create a tent shape on the corner of my bed with the book, which worked decently well as the spine hadn’t been too worn and still wanted to hold its shape. I lowered myself slightly onto the spine facing my bed. The right angle of my bed corner coaxed my knees open as the hard spine met my still clothed, soft labia and my hard button of a clit.
My heart was racing due to the novel act, the need for stealth, and the mysterious warmth flowing from my stomach down to my toes that hinted at a greater pleasure. With my feet on the ground and my hands holding onto the blankets in front of me, I moved back and forth, feeling the slick book jacket glide smoothly against my satin bottoms. I felt the tickle against that “pee spot” wondering why it didn’t feel this good when I peed. The feeling made me want to squeeze my legs together, but I was keen on getting the most out of my setup. I pressed the base of my clit into the corner of the book and felt it throb in response, which made me return to the exploratory gliding motions that reminded me of how it felt to fly in a dream. Eventually, the pleasant feelings hit a plateau that left me frustrated for reasons unknown. I put the book aside and climbed back into bed feeling warm and excited.
I would make progress one day when my mother called me over to where she was sitting on the couch to look at something. She had her back against the arm of the couch, and I came up behind her. While she was showing me whatever it was, the padded but firm corner of the couch pressed against the length of my clit. I immediately knew I didn’t have time to explore this, but I still wonder if anyone saw me leaning with a suspicious amount of weight on my pelvic region.
Back then, I had a golden hour of free time between my mom picking me up from school and then napping before going to get my sibling. When I was sure she was asleep, I slipped off my shoes and padded over to the couch. I knew which floorboards to avoid, though I wasn’t sure why I was sneaking. The sun was beginning to set and lit up the arm rest like something from the heavens. I decided to climb up and straddle the center of the arm rest. Immediately, I could tell that the increased pressure felt better. I moved to lie on my stomach as I held onto the arm with all four limbs, inching my butt closer to the edge of the armrest so that my legs weren’t trapped amongst the pillows on one side and side table on the other. The feeling was different here: plush cushion gave way to thin cloth and foam that provided just enough protection from the wooden frame. I stilled my wiggle and waited a moment as I could go no further. My heart was pounding in my ears and I felt hot between my legs. I initiated a horizontal climbing movement, bringing my legs up toward my chest and then back down slightly, squeeze the couch with my thighs at the same time. I kept at this movement until I “felt like I had to pee,” and then stopped. I did it again after a couple minutes, again stopping afraid that what I was doing would lead to peeing. In mind, that was all that area was used for, no matter what I was feeling.
I continued pressing against things after that, enjoying the warm tingles as one would enjoy a good stretch. That summer, I added a movement to my repertoire. I loved going to the pool as often as my father would take me and my sibling. It was the start of the season, and we’d just moved to a house with our very first garage. With room for storage, we were each allowed to pick out a pool toy at the store. Naturally, we each selected a pool noodle and made the trip to the community center.
I quickly stripped off my shorts and t-shirt hiding my new suit and met the icy water with glee. I fancied myself to be quite mature, so I used the pool noodle to float and relax, same as a retiree. That didn’t last long, because my sibling wanted to play. They were riding their pool noodle like a horse along with some of the other kids, so I did the same. With the slightly scratchy green foam against my inner thighs, we padded into deeper water. Floating in place, my sibling started bobbing up and down. They opened their legs to sink, and then brought them together quickly to rocket back up, aided by the floatation device. I copied the movement. I spread my legs out wide and my chin bobbed under the water slightly, then snapped them back straight, clamped tight on the pool noodle.
Open. Close. Open. Close. I noticed that descending from the top of the position with my outstretched legs, some water *whooshed* into my swimsuit bottoms and danced across my labia. This is what first brought my attention to the area. What interested me more was when I brought my legs together, my clitoris (formerly known as my pee spot) fluttered rabidly as a bird’s heart. My own heartbeat thudded deeper between my legs. Opening my legs and sinking down, I lost my stomach and felt the water swirl around my bothered flesh like it intended to play with me right back. For the first time, I felt a pleasant ache in my genitals that encouraged me to continue. I didn’t worry about peeing; I was in a pool, so if I did pee it wouldn’t be as bad as ruining a chair.
I naturally held my mask of playful ease as each repetition impossibly built my pleasure and delight. In all prior experiments, my efforts would plateau and cease. Now, as I felt my cool thighs meet my hot lips under my suit, I ascended to bliss. Bringing my legs together sent the pulsing between my legs into a frenzy of both sweet clitoral twitches and deep muscular contractions. Opening my legs, I enjoyed that the feeling continued despite my legs not being pressed together. The pool noodle was firm and insistent against my vulva. The good feelings were only increasing. Drawing my legs together again, I felt my hard clit favor my left side so that the right side rubbed against the noodle (which, in adulthood, would come to be my favorite side to touch).
Lacking language for the experience, I would have described it as “a flying feeling between my legs” or “a feel good tickle.” I found excuses to ride the noodle for a few seconds at a time during the pool day, incorporating it into my normal boisterous play. During the ride home, I was aware of my body in a new way. My nipples felt achy and sensitive, my genitals buzzed with heat.
My feelings of arousal intensified at night, keeping me awake. I’d never had trouble sleeping, but the throbbing between my legs wanted feeding and relief simultaneously. By this time we’d moved and I had my own room. I liked to occupy my time fantasizing about someone I had a crush on, seeing how aroused I could become, thinking I could do nothing about it if I didn’t have a man huffing on top of me. Suddenly, the furniture in my room started shaking. My senses sharpened as I feared something was wrong. Then, filtering through the still air of the hallway, came my mother’s low moans. I didn’t have time to process what was happening before my heart started racing and my vagina instantly became so wet I worried I peed myself. My bed shook along with the mirror in my vanity. Oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes, yes, my mother gasped, accompanied by a muffled slapping sound. Harder, harder!
I sandwiched my hands between my clenched thighs, feeling my swollen labia through my soaked underwear and pajama bottoms. I squeezed harder, hyperextending my legs as if I could contain the fire of my arousal. It never occurred to me to be disgusted that I was listening to my parents have sex. I had never heard nor seen sex outside of simulated scenes in movies my parents would fast forward through. My animal brain took over. I wanted to feel whatever made my mom make those sounds. I didn’t care to imagine what my dad was doing or how he felt, even as his groans of pleasure intermittently echoed her desperate moaning. I knew that I had the potential to feel much more than I ever imagined.
I pulled a blanket between my legs, still on my back, so that half of it was behind me and half was on top of me. I pulled it tight against my body and scissored my legs open and closed desperately. The squelching sound my inner thighs made joined my mother’s animalistic grunts and whines. My mouth was dry from my own panting, and my movements gradually slowed as my parents quieted down for the night. Coming down from the high quickly pulled me toward sleep, but not before I peeled off my pajama bottoms, realizing there was no reason I couldn’t start sleeping naked anyway.
After that, I was turned on by any sign my parents might be preparing to have sex: showers, dates, flirting, smiling, etc. I came home from school and sat in the living room for hours doing my homework or watching TV, only to be interrupted by the excitement of seeing my mom wearing makeup at 8pm on a Tuesday.
She was never dressed around the house, let alone made up. Her standard uniform was a robe with a loose camisole underneath, and loose sleep shorts or “granny panties.” She was 4’11” with brown hair and blue eyes, built small save for wide hips I inherited and large (though deflated from pregnancy) breasts I didn’t. She was no nudist, but around the house she couldn’t care less that her rosy nipples could be seen through her shirt. She wasn’t mindful that standing over me as I read on the floor allowed me a clear look up her loose shorts to her garden of pubic hair. More than anything, bending over sent her breasts swinging and put her cleavage on display constantly.
I never tried to peek or particularly savored these moments, but my young girl’s curiosity about a woman’s body had me lingering a heartbeat longer than usual. She smelled like a woman, sweet musk and perfume wafting after her after she arose from a nap.
Outside of the bedroom, she shamelessly wanted more sex than my dad wanted to give, and admittedly acted very inappropriately in making this known even to her children by awaiting his arrival in pigtails or running around in a new push up bra.
So, I found myself stuck in the living room on a night where my mom almost immediately stole my dad upstairs for sex before I went to bed. Not wanting to alert them by acting differently, I remained downstairs and listened intently. While waiting, I idly brushed the tip of my pencil down the center of my vulva, bringing it back up to circle the slight swell of my clitoris before repeating the motion. I waited about an hour while my dad showered and they presumably engaged in a bit of foreplay before the first moan came. To my pleasant surprise, I not only heard it echo from upstairs, but noises also filtered through the vent right above the couch.
The lights were off in the living room save for a lamp on a far end table, so I felt quite drunk on lust. My surroundings inspired me. I was rarely granted privacy in common spaces during this time. Now, I was alone with the same couch I had experimented with years prior. With my new knowledge of what my body liked so far, I stood up facing the arm of the couch than aligned perfectly with my anatomy. The arm wasn’t circular; rather, it sort of tapered to a rounded edge on the outside while the inside was more rounded. I had a corner more than a curve. I raised myself up on my toes just slightly to position my legs on either side of the corner, which made it more comfortable to lean forward and bring my feet off the ground while my arms gripped the couch on either side. Now, my legs were outstretched behind me, the shaft of my clitoris taking almost all of my body weight, helped only by my arms clinging to the upholstery.
Already, I felt heat course through me from my head to my feet in waves, as well as pulsing from somewhere deep between my legs. The sounds from upstairs were irregular and far apart since they had just begun, which was almost more exciting as I anticipated what I would hear and ultimately be rewarded. The anticipation manifested as butterflies in my stomach, a racing heart, a heavy ache. When I finally heard my mom let out a low groan, some of the built up energy would roll through my body in a wave of dizzying heat and pleasure. Positioned as I was on the couch, suspended, I felt pinned to the spot, a plaything of my own nerve endings that burned. Pressed into the corner, I was forced into impossible bliss with sensation replacing all else in existence.
I eased myself slightly up and down with my arms as my legs remained extended and only parted enough to allow for the corner to press against my mound. I looked down to see the subtle outline of my labia parted by the seam of my pants as well as the couch. This was the first time I paid direct attention to my vulva outside of baths and showers—before, it was as important as my elbow. Now, seeing my labia rub against the couch punctuated by my mom grunting and gasping, I fell in love with my vulva as my true center and tether to this world through pleasure.
Confident in my positioning, I tried opening my legs a little, feeling the blood rush and pound through me. A little more, and I felt a sparkling weightlessness despite all the weight against my now hard clitoris. The flying feeling. Fast, hot licks of pleasure that seemed to begin just above my vagina and continued to race up, across, and through my inner walls. The pleasure simply burned brighter, demanding more fuel. The longer I splayed my legs open, the harder and longer my pelvic muscles throbbed. A soft moan escaped me in response to my mom’s lust drunk babble. Oh, right there. Right there. So good. Right there. Feels so good. Oh, yes. Yes. Yes. Each word swirled whisper-light around my whole body, rewarding my corner balancing act and making me feel so hot I trembled.
I brought my legs back together with pointed toes a foot off the ground. If my legs apart sent heat up into me, squeezing my legs back together packed all of that heat into the shaft and head of my clitoris. Each moment felt more intense than the last. Tears formed in my eyes from sheer overwhelm. I paused long enough to savor the wetness I felt on my labia that spread to my thighs when I closed my legs. I rocked forward and back while slowly opening and closing my legs against the corner. On the corner, there is no control as soon as your feet leave the ground. There is only how you react and shape the pleasure to come. You can move slowly or not at all, but you will explode. I had never had an orgasm before, so my body was as ignorant as I was. I was a glad prisoner to my pleasure with zero anticipation of an end. Pleasure drove me out of my mind, my very spirit seemed to pulse with light.
Hitting a rhythm at the same time as my mom, I once again gazed down on my own sex, feeling like I should be seeing the white hot death of a star rather than simple purple sleep pants now very clearly wet at the crotch. The seam had ridden up and I saw the naked shape of my vulva when I squeezed my legs together. In my peripheral vision, I saw the firm grip of my hands and the bobbing swell of my hips as my legs moved in and out. When I moved up and down at the same time, I heard my wet lips come down and sloppily kiss my soaked underwear. It turned out I was almost as into my own sounds as I was my mother’s. I moved more deliberately to encourage those sounds, which then produced even more lubrication from my throbbing vagina.
My mom barely uttered coherent sentences, her alternating guttural groans and higher pitched whines wove together with my heavy breathing, the soft swish of fabric, and the wet impact of my labia against the corner. Looking to my left, I saw my side profile reflected in the TV screen. More than that, I saw the living room where I opened birthday presents and had movie nights and vacuumed. Now a new layer of my being was revealed. I returned to a more slow and deliberate scissoring of my legs against the corner for a visual treat as I listened to my mom yelling more that moaning, sometimes punctuated with wild laughter in disbelief of whatever she was experiencing. I stole those reactions and feelings and let them flow into every flex of my legs as they methodically moved in and out. Watching my reflection, I charted which angles produced which feelings, mostly enjoying the look of my legs spread as far as they could go as I felt my muscles buck with an overload of pleasure. Then together, turning those disparate spasms into a thudding gallop. Inside my shirt, my nipples lightly brushed the fabric with every humping motion. I looked down my collar. By now, the very tips were raw with pleasure-pain and almost red as opposed to their usual light pink. The sight of my bare flesh made me crave the nudity I had learned to love in the privacy of my bedroom. I knew my parents weren’t coming downstairs anytime soon, and my sibling was upstairs in their room. I compromised. My top had buttons that I easily pulled open with one hand. Next, I loosened the tie of my waistband so that my pants fell away from my hips. I now saw the wetness shining on the outside of my underwear. My inner thighs were red from friction. My labia had eaten the fabric of my panties so that the bright, wet, rosy lips showed on either side firmly working against the corner while my clitoris and inner labia bulged protruded more than I had ever seen.
Seeing my vulva so aroused drove me to kick my legs in and out a little faster and less controlled. The small amount of breast tissue I had was pushed together by my pinned arms and my nipples hardened even more against the open air.
I’d almost forgotten to listen to my mom’s sounds, so distracted by my erotic pursuits. Then her moans hit a rhythm that was tinged with begging and helplessness. The feelings between my legs changed. Waves of pleasure focused into a single molten note of blissful pressure. I frantically worked my legs in and out, leaning into the fire. Then, I gasped as my pelvic floor tightened, growing tighter and together for ten seconds as I squeeze my legs together in an instinctive attempt to hold onto control. A very small amount of liquid shot into my underwear before the tension rebounded. My spine buckled and I humped up and down as my first orgasm hammered through my whole body, warm and sparkly. The muscles around my vagina squeezing and releasing heavily. My contractions were still going as I worked at dressing myself again. As the mental fog cleared, I realized my clothes were too wet to be worn. Sounds were still coming from my parents’ bedroom as I crept up the stairs to change and deposit my ruined pants and underwear in the bathroom hamper. The bathroom was right next to their bedroom, so I was doubly aroused, but scared to be found out. I lingered in the bathroom out of curiosity, feeling renewed wetness gather in my clean pair of shorts. In addition to the moans exchanged between the two, I heard wet sounds similar to the sounds I made on the couch corner. Instead of skin on fabric, it was skin on skin. A squelching sound accompanied every slap, followed by my mother’s groaning. I was a quick learner.
The corner of the bathroom counter was up much higher than the couch arm. Not wanting to waste another pair of pants, I dropped my shorts to the ground. I wasn’t wearing underwear underneath them. I climbed up on the counter using the toilet as a stepping stool. As if I’d been doing it for years, I took my position straddling the cold white corner as my hands gripped the sides. The iciness shocked me. I moved my legs in and out few times before deciding the counter was much too hard. Jumping down, I grabbed my pants back out of the hamper and folded them twice to provide a little padding like the couch had. I climbed back up, putting pressure on the base of my clitoris and extending my legs out on either side of the much softer corner.
On the bathroom counter, I could be more upright because it was higher off the ground whereas the couch had me leaning forward more to make sure my legs were elevated. The small amount of light from outside coupled with my night vision let me survey the scene in the large mirror over the sink. I’d changed into a tank top to go with the shorts that were now on the ground. The material was loose but close fitting, so my chest was mostly masked save for my nipples shamelessly making themselves known. I was naked from my bellybutton down. My hips framed the flat span of my lower abdomen. The plump swell of my pubic mound captured my attention as it claimed the corner. I lingered there for a moment feeling the faint thumps from my parents’ bedroom vibrate through the counter under my hands, though the heartbeat between my legs drowned out anything I might have felt there.
The action next door slowed somewhat, and I returned to listening for the next moan. I let the waves of pleasure undulate through my body balanced on the corner, legs hyperextended. My mom let out a long, drawn out sigh of pleasure that made my whole body flash hot. My vaginal muscles shuddered as a fierce ache pounded from my clit to my taint. My genitals were still swollen from my first effort; now, the second would border on painful were it not for layers of pleasure and arousal wrapping the pain in pink tissue paper. The pain became need instead.
Each vocalization from my mother signaled me to move my legs, and when she was silent I would stop. Being higher up added to the eroticism, as well as having an improved view of myself in the mirror. I didn’t know I was edging, prolonging the pleasure felt as natural as squinting my eyes against the wind. Yeessss. I flutter my legs open and closed with a medium range of motion, rocking back and forth at the same time. Silence. I hover with my legs apart, letting my throbbing vulva send a steady trail of lubrication down to pool on the cloth. Oh, oh, oh! Oh my God! Oh my God! My eager scissoring transfers the wetness to my inner thighs that are already sticky, creating unique soft wet sound. I realize I love being wet, I have an urge to reach and spread the wetness all down my legs. Silence. My legs squeeze together. I crane my neck to see my butt and legs in the mirror. The movement itself almost sends me over the edge and I freeze while admiring the space between my toes and the ground—I feel weightless and heavy at once.
After a couple minutes, her noises became more regular again and I heard my dad’s deep breathing as well. Every pulse of my legs open and closed (now with a wider range of motion) felt like heaven. My entire vulva felt as sensitive and blissed out as my clitoris. Though my ignorance of my anatomy made me think all of this pleasure had something to do with peeing, it led to an experiment that would forever change my sex and masturbation preferences. In my arousal, I scarcely needed the scissoring movements as much as I enjoyed them. I tried opening my legs as wide as they would go on the corner. I had to be careful not to kick the toilet, but once I had achieved it, I felt a new twitch in my vulva. All my humping had affected my urethra—finally, my actual “pee spot.” The feeling of that small, sensitive bordering on itchy twitch was maddening. The wetness gathered on the fabric provided protection against too much friction. The twitch turned into a throb that spiderwebbed in a focused way toward the head of my clit as well as my g-spot. Anyone with a vulva will tell you that g-spot stimulation is overwhelming at times, and taking it right to the edge of unbearable is what yields the most sublime sensation, even ejaculation. I used my arms to very gently grind against the corner with my legs spread wide as I listened to my mother whine, her breath jolted by every thrust against her body. The external tickle on my urethra felt like riding the pool noodle, incredibly addicting. Much later in life, I came to enjoy having it tapped gently or licked while being digitally penetrated. Never did I reveal the memory I associated with it, soaking my already damp pajama bottoms with a mixture of slowly leaking ejaculate and a seemingly bottomless well of lubrication.
After my urethra seemingly had enough direct stimulation, I returned to flexing my legs, swinging them out and in, eyes trained on my soft V in the mirror with my swinging legs dancing in my peripheral vision. When my mom started to have a climatic built of moans that had my dad shushing her, I felt that same deep clenching of my pelvic muscles. Instead of going faster, I felt the urge to hold my legs open again at this point of no return. The orgasm moved in slow motion, but was just as strong. The pressure continued coiling harder and harder around my vagina and anus. Then the pressure grew slightly to encompass more of my vulva before those muscles clamped down like a steel trap. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold my gasp as my pelvic floor squeezed and released rapidly, the releases so strong that my vagina made lovely wet popping sounds each time. The contractions radiated through my abdomen as my uterus spasmed as well, which felt strange, but would continue to happen anytime I’d been overstimulated.
Sometime during my recovery, the sounds from my parents’ room had turned to talking and giggling. I quickly cleaned myself up as best I could and went to my bedroom back in the pajama shorts I was smart enough to save. I was starving, tired, and my vulva was pleasantly buzzing. I was utterly satisfied.”
I’m glad it’s not just hot in my own head and that others can appreciate and/or relate.