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I love sex, but I love sex with me more.
By Elizabeth Z Pardue — Written on Mar 09, 2021
I've always been a fan of masturbation, and even if it hadn't been scientifically proven to be really healthy for my body and mind, I'd still prefer it to sex.
I don't mean that as an insult to any of my former or current bedmates; I love sex, too. There's just never been anybody who can love me as I can.
When I was eight years old, I was busted at a Christian summer camp teaching the other girls in my cabin that if they put their pelvises up against the jets at the pool, it would feel awesome.
I'd made this discovery the prior summer, and after perfecting my technique, I was really excited to share the gospel of this amazing new sensation with anyone who would listen.
Unfortunately, after the counselors discovered why we were all lining up in one corner of the shallow end, I was in a world of trouble.
None of those disciplinarians actually explained to me what I was doing by enjoying the sensation of water blasting between my legs, but it was made very clear to me that continuing this practice would somehow earn me an eternal seat in Hell.
This terrified me for about a month until I discovered that I possessed the loophole to those supposedly Satanic pool jets: my hands.
Thus began a delightful intimate relationship with myself that has only grown stronger over time.
It would be another few years before I learned exactly what I was accomplishing by stimulating myself and why I shouldn't go around telling everyone about it. Later, once I was old enough to start letting sexual partners bring me to orgasm, I found that the results were somewhat of a letdown.
I was used to getting myself to climax in a fraction of the time it took others to do it, and even with oral sex, it usually wasn't quite as explosive as when I double-clicked my own mouse.
Luckily, I have had a couple of partners with The Midas Touch — like my husband, whose dexterity is award-worthy. But for the most part, I've settled for a lot of mediocrity so I don't hurt anyone's feelings.
People don't appreciate a lover who answers the "So, was it good for you?" question with, "Well, not as good as when I do it myself."
Let's be honest. Regardless of if it's within a one-night stand or a long-term monogamous relationship, two-or-more-partner sex always has its hang-ups.
A partner can get tired, or isn't in the mood, or wants to talk about a recent argument before we get intimate. (I'm guilty of these things, too, by the way. I'm human.) There are things that I want to try that might weird a partner out and vice versa. The list goes on...
But there aren't any problems with my solo sex life; there never have been, other than people thinking I'm weird for enjoying it.
Even on days when I feel gross or depressed about life, I can give myself a quickie and turn my mood around almost instantly. It's like free medicine!
The list of pros for "dancin' with myself" is enormous: I don't have to do any prep work or worry about what I look like. I can do it quickly and without a mess.
There's always the exact right amount of foreplay. I don't have to worry about getting pregnant or an STD.
I can have as many orgasms as I want without feeling selfish for not reciprocating. I can think about whatever I want, get in any position I want, use whatever toys I want, or make any variety of bizarre noises, without anyone getting uncomfortable and killing the mood.
This list goes way on, too.
Simply put, telling me to go f*ck myself is the opposite of an insult.
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Elizabeth Z Pardue is a creator and polymath based in the South. Her words have appeared in Huffington Post, Time.com, XOJane, Ravishly, and in a bunch of Letters to the Editor columns.