Does public masturbation count as outdoor sex? Even if it doesn’t strictly fit that definition, it’s International Masturbation Monday and I want to share with you an almost-completely true story about how my explorations into learning how to masturbate led me to wanking in a semi-public place for the first time.
Since that adventure, I have wanked in public quite a lot. Never blatantly, because non-consensual exhibitionism is not a kink of mine, but jerking off in places where I decide I can get away with it without being seen but know I really shouldn’t be touching myself is really hot. I’ve rubbed my clit in airport toilets, biting my lip to stop my moans travelling. I’ve used a sit-on vibrator under my skirt in an empty-ish carriage on a long journey home, knowing the rumble of the train would hide the rumble of the toy. I’ve sneaked my right hand into my knickers between tall, empty stacks in the university library, pretending I was studiously looking for a book while instead I was holding the shelves to keep me upright.
When it comes to public masturbation, my subsequent adventures in exhibitionist wanking put my first attempt at jerking off somewhere I could potentially be caught to shame. At the time, though, it was the most risky thing I had done, sex-wise, and it was absolutely thrilling.
I can remember it so clearly, even down to the orange cable-knit jumper I was wearing. I was strolling back from my favourite coffee shop in the city I was living in at the time, lingering in the beautiful park that was a few minutes from my flat. It was sunny, and I smiling when my phone buzzed in my pocket. When I saw who the message was from, I settled down on the grass, leaning against a tree a little away from the path.
You see, after a few months of slowly starting to explore my body, the spark that made me take the plunge into frequent masturbation came in the form of some increasingly filthy messages from a pretty boy. The personalised-for-me erotica he wrote for me turned me on more than I’d expected it to, and as we exchanged fantasies I felt more and more comfortable with touching myself as we talked. Our conversations became increasingly focussed around sex, so I was certain that this message would be worth taking a minute to indulge in.
It was. I can’t exactly remember what he said – a continuation of my perving and squirming in the coffee-shop probably, but I do know that it made me gasp with my arousal. My response was undoubtedly one of delighted incoherence, and he asked me if my cunt was wet. It was – of course it was – and I admitted to my arousal with the frankness, which at that time still disarmed my sexting partner.
He recovered quickly, sending a flurry of filthy words that made me drop my phone into my lap and drop my head back against the tree trunk. The grass was slightly damp underneath me, but in that minute I felt like I could sit there forever, riding the wave of arousal as he filled my mind with all sorts of dirty suggestions that pushed all my buttons. Almost without realising it, my hand had slipped under the waistband of my skirt, encouraged by the ache in my cunt.
I was horrified when I realised that I was rubbing my clit through my knickers, and hurriedly withdrew it. I messaged my pretty boy, half-accusing as I told him what his words were doing to me. His taunting reply reminded me that only a slut would be so turned on by the degrading ways of being tied up and fucked that he was describing. I blushed, wiggling, and confessed that I wanted to touch myself so badly, that my clit was hard and needy, but I was in public.
His response was a game-changer: So what?
Even as I was working out that I was in a quiet area of the park and unlikely to be discovered – and before I’d rationalised that even if someone did walk past me they probably wouldn’t see what I was doing – my hand was back inside my knickers. Thinking rationally about it came after the first little moan of pleasure I let out as I found the right spot to push my fingers against and move them in rapid circles. The pressure on my clit felt so good, and I scrolled back through our messages while I wanked. It was exhilarating to sit there against the tree, surrounded by greenness and the tiny sounds of nature. I closed my eyes, thinking about a dominant woman pushing me to my knees and breathing in the smell of warmed grass. I couldn’t stop smiling – I was both incredibly exciting and strangely at peace.
My first adventure into public masturbation ended when a couple walked by, quite close to where I was sitting. They didn’t see me, they didn’t even look my way, but the fear of being seen wanking – while arousing – was too much for me. When they’d passed, I hastily stood up and finished my journey home, unable to stop sniffing my fingers. They smelt like my cunt.
Kink of the Week is run by the wonderful Molly Moore, and you should click the kiss to see who else is getting their kink on.
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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.