Posted by Bridget Fidget on December 14, 1998 at 17:20
The Birth of a Desperation Lover
By Bridget Fidget
I discovered my Grandmother’s vibrator when I was about 7 years old. I accidentally found that if I put it between my legs it felt REALLY good, and if I left it there, something INCREDIBLE eventually would happen. Unfortunately, we visited my grandparents only two or three times a year, but did I ever look forward to those visits!
The best times were when we saw my grandparents at their vacation beach house in the summertime because those visits would sometimes last as long as four weeks. In fact, the first time I discovered my Grandmother’s vibrator was at this beach house. It was tricky for me to use it at this vacation home without being caught because the house had a very open design, with rooms leading one to another, without hallways to get between rooms. So there was always traffic flowing through my grandparents’ bedroom when people were home. I had to wait until everyone was gone, which didn't happen very often. Fortunately, everyone would go swimming in the ocean twice a day, and sometimes I could say that I didn’t want to go, and then I could stay home alone. And, of course, I’d have the whole house, including that precious vibrator, all to myself.
And then a miracle happened! When I was about 10 years old, my mom bought herself a vibrator just like my Grandmother's. I thought I had died and gone to heaven! And I bet I used it more than my mom did, too! I still had to be careful not to get caught, though. At first I just used it in my mom’s bedroom where she had it plugged in. But that was really inconvenient, because, again, I would have to wait until only I was in the house. Eventually, I got bolder and would unplug it and take it into my bedroom to use, and then put it back after I was finished. I knew she didn’t use it in the daytime, so I’d sneak into her bedroom, grab it, and then hide it in my room until I could have a short period of privacy. Then I’d have to sneak it back again. Obviously, this required alertness as to what was going on in the house at all times, and it also required planning. Maybe this was the genesis of my life-long ability to plan (or some might say "scheme"). It certainly also began a yearning for privacy, and as I grew up, at every stage of my life, I have quested for greater privacy, and it is something that I still cherish today.
My mom must have eventually had some suspicion as to what was going on, because she started hiding her vibrator. I was so shocked that time when I went to filch the vibrator and found it missing! But being the resourceful person that I am, and being very needful too, I begun a search. To my relief, it had only been unplugged and moved to her bedstead drawer.
It stayed there for some number of months, but then it disappeared from there too. I had thought I had done a good job in putting it back the way I found it, but I must not have done such a good job after all, because she started changing hiding places. But by then it was too late; I had caught on to her game, and I simply searched further afield each time, and voila: There it is! Though the hiding places became increasingly obscure, I never failed to find it. It helped that she never moved it from her bedroom. I do not know why. Maybe she wanted it handy, too! I also don’t know if she was really hiding it, and therefore if a change in hiding places was taking place. Maybe she grew tired of it and had put it away, but would use it occasionally and would just put it back in a different place when she finished. Or maybe she was hiding it from someone else in the family! Who knows? I certainly didn’t care, except that I was sometimes worried she might confront me about it. At any rate, she never said say anything about it to me then, and has never said anything about it to me, even to this day.
I didn’t discover that there was another way to achieve those special thrills in life without my precious vibrator until I was about 13 years old. I was visiting my Aunt and Uncle for a week and I became very needful without my beloved vibrator. Being in despair, I finally rubbed myself experimentally to see what happened. Well, guess what I discovered!
So I now knew that I could thrill myself at any time and without the need for the vibrator. But I still preferred the vibrator best of all, and would rub myself only if I couldn’t use the vibrator.
In 5th grade, when I was about 11 years old, I was first confronted with the path leading to my addiction to desperation. My 5th grade teacher was very pregnant, and the constant pressure on her bladder from her expanding uterus made her constantly squirmy when she sat down, and of course she sat down a lot because standing was even worse for her. She taught almost the entire time whilst seated at her desk, which was positioned at the front of the class so that she could sit behind her desk, facing the classroom. Her legs and feet could be seen squirming and fidgeting by the class because the panel on the back of her desk didn’t come all the way to the floor. I’m sure she didn’t realize that she could be seen doing this.
Her actions became practically hypnotic to me and every day, all day, I stared at her sweetly wiggling feet. My staring eventually upset her because she couldn’t figure out why I was staring. She finally asked me about it, and I mumbled that I wasn’t staring at anything, but after that, I could observe her squirming only if I laid my head down on my desk on top of my crossed arms, peering out from underneath. Fortunately, I sat on the front row, so this surreptitious method of spying still gave me a good view. I had actually been staring for several weeks before she talked with me, and I really don’t know what she must have thought I was looking at. Maybe she thought I had X-ray vision or clairvoyance or something. It apparently never dawned on her to check the back of her desk, or maybe she did and didn’t think to block the view. I don’t know. She wasn’t too bright, and I suppose if she had been smart enough to cut off the source of my pleasure, I might not be writing this story today.
Naturally, this teacher often left the room to relieve herself, but it didn’t help her squirming for very long. I would be momentarily disappointed when she returned, but soon the fidgeting would resume and all was right once again in my squirmy little world. These frequent trips from the classroom did, though, confirm for me what was really going on with her fidgeting. At first, I had been unsure if she really needed to go or was simply nervous. Now, of course, I’m intensely attuned to the signs, and it isn’t often that I can’t tell nervousness from urgency. Back then, though, her trips from the classroom, followed by the temporary abatement of her squirming upon return, were quite helpful to me for gaining a true understanding of the situation. Thus, in 5th grade, I was learning powerful lessons in observation and deductive reasoning, two skills which I continued to hone, and which serve me well to this day.
I soon began to create a ruckus in the classroom whenever she left the room because the short periods of her temporary relief after returning became disappointing to me. The educational value of these trips had already worn off since I had figured out what was really going on, and I wanted to see squirming all the time now.
The class would be in chaos when she returned because of my disruptiveness. There was no one else who could mind the class while she was gone, so naturally she became reluctant to leave. Another lesson for me in planning! I also learned the lesson that there is opportunity in chaos! As you can see, I was learning some powerful lessons in public school, though what I was learning wasn’t exactly part of the intended curriculum!
Eventually my teacher’s pregnancy advanced to the stage that she had to leave the class, and a substitute teacher finished out the year. But the damage was already done, and my life was changed forever.
I think the process of me becoming addicted to desperation squirming was similar to "imprinting". Imprinting is a well-known process in lower animals. The classic example is a baby chick that is very receptive to learning certain things, like who its mother is, for a critical period of only a few hours during its development. If something happens to upset that critical period, like showing the chick a wooden model, the chick is forever confused, thinking the model is its mother.
I think I imprinted on desperation squirming and have been delightfully confused ever since. I probably was prepubescent, even though there were no overt signs of hormonal influences. Most of the people who I know that are sexually kinked became this way very early in life. I do indeed believe that there is a powerful process of sexual imprinting at work at an early age, and that extremely complex subconscious psychological processes at these tender ages interact in strange ways with chance circumstances to produce an enormously broad spectrum of sexual desires.
I digress. At any rate, I soon "generalized" by noticing that many of the kids in my class were often quite squirmy too. I continued to notice this when I was promoted to 6th grade, and of course I have been a keen observer of desperation squirming ever since. I also began to wonder about all of those squirmy kids, and what it must feel like to be so urgent as to be squirmy. Soon, I wondered what it would be like for ME to be so urgent that I’d be compelled to squirm too.
My 6th grade class presented an ideal situation to experiment with this new idea of self-desperation. My particular 6th grade teacher was very strict, and in fact, I had been put into this class because of my bad behavior in 5th grade: bad behavior that was of course induced by my need to make my poor 5th grade teacher more urgent than she already was.
My 6th grade teacher was also VERY strict about bathroom breaks. The breaks were all on a fixed schedule and all the kids had to go at the same time. And she didn’t grant exceptions. Lots of squirmy kids in that class! I sometimes now wonder if she tortured us on purpose because she liked to watch herself.
At any rate, I decided to holdon when I got up some morning, go to school whilst desperate, skip the first break or two and see what happened, knowing that I would be trapped into holdingit. Thinking about it now, I find it quite ironic that my bad behavior resulting from torturing my squirmy 5th grade teacher landed me in a 6th grade class with a teacher whose propensities allowed me to experiment with self-desperation.
Well, I got up on the chosen morning and I was REALLY desperate to go. Much more so than usual, but I was determined not to give in at all. I got dressed and ate breakfast and I walked to school. I was terribly desperate, and I had to walk about a mile. It was chilly that morning, which of course made things even worse. As I walked along, I had begun to develop serious doubts about my plan because the desperation was so bad so early in the day. Ever since I had awakened that morning, I had considered going just a little. But I kept rejecting that idea, as it seemed antithetical to the whole idea of desperation. As a novice, I simply didn’t know how to pace myself, and it was all or nothing for me on that fateful day.
I finally made it to school and I had hardened my resolve to continue with my plan, but I was early, and we always had to stand in line outside the classroom until the starting bell rang. There was no where to sit and it was excruciating standing in line, but I managed to holdon until the bell rang. This was also the last opportunity to use the toilet before entering the classroom, and I kept wistfully thinking about making a quick trip to the toilet and just forgetting about the whole idea. The moment of truth finally came when the bell rang. I marched into class and sat down without relieving myself. The die was cast: I was now trapped.
I felt less urgent once I was sitting. Naturally, however, I grew increasingly desperate, but I would not let myself take advantage of the breaks when they were available. Needless to say, I wasn’t learning very much that morning since I was concentrating on only one thing: not wetting myself. I also wasn’t at all interested in checking out which of the other kids were squirmy. I now had problems of my own.
Finally, after skipping the two morning breaks, the next time I could go was at lunchtime, which was still two hours away. I was now frantic. I had been squirming away all morning, but the desperation was reaching a fevered pitch and so was my squirming. I had started out with ankles-crossed and foot-fidgeting, then progressed to legs-crossed and foot-fidgeting, then to legs-crossed with foot-fidgeting and leg-pumping, and finally I was doing the two-legged butterfly towards the end. But nothing was working now. To my horror, I started leaking into my pants and it was showing! I was losing control and starting to wet myself! I desperately wanted to rub and clutch myself, but I couldn’t do that in class.
Finally, the old battle-ax could no longer ignore my predicament. And guess what? She took pity on me! To my utter horror, she stopped teaching the class, walked up to me, bent over me, and whispered into my ear that I could go to the bathroom by myself if I wanted to. Well, the absolute shock of this embarrassment made me instantly lose all desire to go! So I told her I was all right and that I could wait. I waited until lunchtime without the least urge to go, though my bladder was swollen to the point of being painful. I did observe in wonderment that the shock of this encounter made me lose all urgency even though my poor bladder was so swollen you could see it protruding. Another lesson!
By lunchtime I had dried out, so when I finally got up, no one could see that I had wet myself. I did take this next opportunity to finish relieving myself, though! I had had enough, and I had discovered what I wanted to know.
I didn’t do anything like this again until I became pubescent, but the seeds must have been well planted, because ever since then, desperation and squirming have been the most intensely erotic things in the world for me, and all of my sexual fantasies and my many, many overt acts have involved sexual desperation. And though I didn’t engage in self-desperation again for a few more years, desperation fantasies quickly blossomed when I used my vibrator, and desperation and my vibrator soon became pleasures for me that were inextricably bound.
[Note: My Grandmother’s vibrator was a Wahl plug-in two-speed coil vibrator. Wahl still makes the same basic vibrator with updated styling, and I now have one in practically every room in my house. (And I have plenty of privacy, too!) Check out goodvibes.com if you’re interested in purchasing one. I highly recommend it! For guys and gals, both!]