Solo Pleasure with Riah

I love my softness and squishiness. I noticed that about four years ago, I stopped poking and grabbing at my body, and instead caressed and cupped areas like my belly, neck, and thighs. I feel really grateful for the body that has held me up through abuse, divorce, anxiety, depression, transition, and so much joy. So I also stopped self-talk body shaming myself around the same time. I’m curious about my body right now - what it looks like when I let hair grow, play with new nail manicure shapes, and dance it into forms I don’t usually move in. I adore the strands of gray in my dark hair. I could stare at my own eyebrows and lips all day and feel no shame about the vanity in this. I try to have a kind relationship with my body. I remind myself to be kind to it. Out of gratitude, through my curiosity, and because of its trauma. What I put in it, how I touch it, the ways I move it, are all an attempt to be kind to my body. 

I’ve been giving myself “do-it-yourself” orgasms since I was a very young child. Long before I had any concept of being kind to my body. I just did what felt naturally good. And thankfully, my parents never shamed me for it. So it grew into a normal practice for falling asleep, self comfort, and eventually relieving anxiety. When I learned that the good feeling I gave myself by rubbing between my legs was what people felt when they had sex, my mind was blown. That’s when I figured out why people had sex. Why it might be so hard to not have sex—because it could feel so good. 

I am Riah, a 41 year old mixed race, queer woman. I am a divorced mama and am in a long distance relationship with a pansexual man. I’ve been masturbating extremely regularly for 36 years. But during my sexless marriage, I not only lost the desire to have sex with my abusive ex-husband, I also deprioritized self-pleasure. I think I hit a point where I wasn’t sure if I even deserved sexual pleasure. I convinced myself I was fulfilled by all the pleasures of being a mother and good wife; I didn’t need to cum anymore.

Leaving my marriage led to rediscovering my body and prioritizing my pleasure. I was no longer just a “Pinterest Mom,” creating perfect DIY partyscapes for kindergartners. I let myself melt into the solo sex slut I needed and returned to DIY orgasms as a daily ritual.  

I wake up and cum. I cum to go to sleep. I rub myself out of anxiety. I wand my pussy into deep waves of joy while I wait for the oven timer to tell me dinner is ready. I masturbate when I am horny like I drink water when I am thirsty. I answer my body’s needs because I am kind to it, remember? 

As a mom, much of my day is spent in my mama minivan, driving here and there sometimes in hours of traffic. My Toyota Sienna is my office, my safe space, and often my fuck palace. The third row of seats can fold all the way into themselves, get buried into the trunk space, and lay flush against the floor of the vehicle. I used to keep the middle seats out, just in case a date went well. Now I keep them out so I can have room to pull over to the side of the road, jump in the back, and have solo sex before getting in the after-school pick up line. There’s enough space for an entire queen size mattress. So my 4 foot 9 inch curvy body definitely has room to roll around, cum on my knees, and still have room for the groceries. I keep blankets and pillows in the van, and say they are for spontaneous tailgate beach picnics with friends.  

The other day I was running errands and exchanging audio sexts with my partner. Hearing him detail the way he was lightly touching his pubic hair and teasing his dick with soft long strokes made me rush back to my minivan in the mall parking lot. I could feel the lips on my face and between my thighs pulsating to the beat of his moans. I clicked the key button to unlock the door, and then climbed myself into the back instead of the driver’s seat. I looked around to be sure there was no one in the cars to the right and left of me. (I doubt that would have stopped me anyway—it hasn’t in the past) and then I pulled the sunshades up on each back window to provide the impression of privacy. I replayed his audio messages while sitting on the floor of my blanketed minivan, and started unzipping my jeans. I just wanted to give my pussy a little air and some breathing room. My clit was knocking on the zipper with each pulse, and I needed space for my fingertips to tease just a bit. As I replayed his audio that said: “I’m draggin my fingers on the underside of my balls and it tickles in my hair,” I let my own fingers pet my full fat pubic mound and enjoy the tickle of my own hair. With every whine and moan through the speaker of my phone, I could feel my bottom lip begging to be bitten. So I obliged and traced my tongue along the inside of my lip where it was bulging back against my teeth. I closed my eyes and imagined my partner pushing his tongue between my swollen lips and filling my salivating mouth. It was time to lay down.

I queued up a screen recording of us both pleasuring ourselves on a video call. I watched him on his back in the larger screen, writhing in pleasure with his dick in his hand, and eyed the small square full of my tits and a thrusting toy diving into my wet pussy in the corner of the video. I positioned the phone against the shopping bags behind the driver’s seat, and pulled the waistband of my jeans down til they kissed the bottom of my thighs. A stream of thick fluid stretched from my slit to my panties, so strong I had to strum it into separation. I hit play on the four minute video, and laid face down on my belly. This has been my go-to guaranteed-to-cum position all of my masturbating life. I put my right hand underneath me, palm side against my vulva. I tuck my thumb just slightly against my palm and use the hard mound from my wrist to the base of my thumb to give me the pressure I need to pleasure myself. As I watched the video of us playing, I lost myself in my own breathing, letting each exhale get a little louder til I’d worked into a moaning cadence that matched the sounds in our video. My hand was working as it always does, so quick to bring pleasure to my clit. I didn’t want to orgasm too quickly, so I slowed down my movements and changed to a pattern I use when I want to edge. First, I move my hand in slow clockwise circles; then counter clockwise, while raising my hips just slightly away from my hand. I essentially wildly tease in an almost bratty way—don’t let myself get into a full rhythm so I build up a yearning and get wetter with each lift. (Just thinking about this right now to write it is making my nipples hard and my head roll back with anticipation of what comes next.) 

The video ended and I repositioned my hand, slipping slightly to the left to put pressure on my outer labia. I pushed hard enough against my puffy pussy lips to feel my pubic bone and then let my entire body sink into my thumb. With my left hand, I reached out to the camera icon on my phone. My partner deserved to see the delicious orgasm obsessed mess his voice had made of me. Record.

That’s when the humping and grinding really started and I became conscious of how much the minivan was shaking. I both feared and prayed someone would suspect the steaming windows were due to a horny mom that couldn’t make it home without cumming in the parking lot. I vigorously worked my hand up and down, rubbing my vulva into submission. I raised my chin, glanced up through the windshield to see if anyone was nearby, and noticed my iced coffee was swishing back and forth; the minivan was rocking. The possibility of getting caught only made me more turned on and I wanted my partner to know it. So I looked straight into the camera as I moved my hand faster. I managed to summon words in between breathless moans to tell him I needed to cum for him and wished a curious passerby would peek into the window and spy the face I make only for him. I hit send, texted it to him and eased the pace of my strokes. I didn’t really want to climax til I could hear his response to this gift.  

I rarely insert my own fingers into my warmth; I hunger for penetration, but prefer toys or other people’s fingers and cocks to push inside me. When it’s just my hand, I love all the outercourse.  While my right hand explores my vulva and thighs, I grab my left tit with my free hand and squeeze. I often find myself dragging my face against my pillow or couch cushions; I adore all the textures. I use my fingernails to draw kisses on my lips, then tempt them with my tongue to be sucked. So as I waited for his response and delayed my orgasm, I had my hands full.

He reciprocated with a voice memo telling me to “play with your cunt” and furiously moaned out that he’d never been so horny and needed to hear me cum. His long desperate “please” jolted me and blood rushed to every erogenous zone in my body. I felt his begging in my ankles, his horniness in my collarbone, his desire behind my ear, his beseeching on the backs of my knees, and his love through my breasts. So I hit record again.

This time I started with my chin tilted up, eyes heavy with bliss, telling him how soaked and slippery I was. I showed him proof—scooping out a sample of my juices and playing with it between my fingers close up in the camera before using it as lip balm. And then I smooshed my face into the car blankets on the floor of my mama minivan so I could cum hard the way he needed me to; the way I knew best. I popped my thumb out from under my palm so the knuckle could trigger whatever nerve it is on the left side of my plumpness that makes my hips unlock and release that flood of oxytocin laced energy through me.

My orgasm came as I heard laughter outside of the van. All the filthy thoughts I had about being watched battled briefly with the shame of getting caught. I lifted my face again for a moment to do a quick check, but the excitement of exhibitionism won and their laughter was drowned out by my raw ungraceful satisfaction. My partner loves my guttural moans; I never know when they are coming.  They just climb out of a deepness in me. When I heard them escape that afternoon, I followed with delighted screams because I was turned on by my own noises. I was so glad I had recorded it all.