I’ve spent most of today sitting by a Christmas tree while I’ve messed around with various bits of blog admin, eaten chocolate Santas, and generally procrastinated. When I gave up pretending that I was doing anything productive, I laid back and watched the gleam of the fairy lights flick over my body while I rubbed my clit.
I love wanking in the glow of the Christmas tree lights.
There is something so comforting about the warmth of the coloured fairy lights. On a dark winter’s morning they’re the first thing I turn on. No harsh, bright lights, forcing me to confront the grim realities of another day. I’ll face them soon of course, but for just a few minutes I indulge in the tree’s magical glow. I indulge in my body too.
While I frequently get off on the embarrassment and the feeling I’m doing something illicit, sometimes my masturbation is about self-care. My mind might take me to dark and dirty places, but the act of jerking off isn’t shameful. It shouldn’t have to be a hidden thing, and it almost becomes reverent when I’m lying on my back looking up at the Christmas tree.
It’s not dissimilar to prayer, in a way, only I have so much more faith in my body and my perverted thoughts than I ever did in a god. Hand between my legs, exploring the folds of my cunt, I don’t think about what the cold, bleak day ahead holds. Instead I pinch my nipple and let the ever-present stream of filth in the back of my mind flood every inch of my thoughts.
I think about being hurt and being used. Sometimes the depth of the depravity in my own fantasies disturbs me a little but somehow, when frigging myself under the Christmas tree lights, it feels safe. I can explore all the scariest and most exciting things I eroticise, and still come back to myself. It feels good to finger-fuck myself and imagine the most twisted things without feeling guilty about it.
Though I don’t know why the twinkle of the fairy lights above me lets me stop worrying or judging myself, I’m glad that it does. They help me create a little moment in a stupidly busy day that is only about me and my own pleasure. Christmas is stressful, and it is so lovely to be able to escape to a place where I have think about nothing but my finger on my clit.
My finger on my clit, moving faster and faster and faster.
When I come I lie there for a minute, panting and looking up at the pretty lights. Every day, gives me just enough endorphins, just enough energy, to cling to my last remaining tendrils of sanity. It might be an unusual tradition, but early morning orgasms are my favourite part of Christmas.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.