to bop or not to bop

Before we called it fapping, we called it other things.

Well, not me, personally. I had an ultra-extreme-mega sheltered childhood.

How sheltered, you might ask. A few things come to mind.

I had no idea that the ache that I felt in the center of my right palm when I saw or read something sweepingly romantic was probably from displaced sexual arousal. Because I was a good girl, and I squeezed the knees. Hard.


I knew there were these things called “pornography” and “masturbation” that I should avoid, and help boys avoid (what does that even mean… was I to be some sort of holy prostitute… answer: yes!) and I knew that my parents would freak the hell out when they heard those words. Which was why we went on so many family trips doing athletic things, so my brothers could burn off their libido in the manner God intended: violence.

I am not being entirely facetious here. My parents let my brothers watch any type of  action or horror film they wanted to, as long as they didn’t look at naked girls.

We even had the first VCR in our small, religious hometown. Back in 1979.

Side note: Growing up in a small, religious hometown where you are the majority culture and all the adults are a little too Footloose is a mind-trip.  I still find myself telling stories to friends only to have them disbelieve me.

For example, my dad was known far and wide as having a nose for nudity. And since we had the first VCR, predating any other family by at least three years, movie parties were always held at our house. So everyone knew about my dad’s particular talent.

That boing scene in the girls’ shower in Sixteen Candles (if you were there in the ’80s, you know what I mean).  He walked in during that and had a fit.

Anytime Jamie Lee Curtis took off her top (which happened a couple times). He walked in during that and had a fit.

Even naked butt in the first Terminator movie. He walked in during that and had a fit.

Did it work… short answer, no. One of my brothers created a collage of a woman’s face and body from pictures snipped from my mom’s magazines, then added nipples.

Another one of my brothers like Conan the Barbarian comic books a little too much.

So what was I doing all the while? I was doing homework, or church meetings, or community service, or riding horses at breakneck speed until they worked up a sweat.

Ummmmm…. yeah. That last one was probably latently sexual.


The first time that I encountered the notion that girls actually could/did masturbate was with the song by Cyndi Lauper.

The really really really mind-trippy weird thing was that during the ’80s, the word “bop” still had an overtly clean defintion: a sock-hop dance from the ’50s.

For example, they used to play this song at church dances.  My mom would say things like, “So are you and Johnny going to bop with each other tonight?”


To quote Eric Cartman: It warped my fragile little mind.

What is the point of this post?  I have been listening to a lot of ’80s music as I write my novella set in that era, and I am wondering if I want to write a self-sex scene.  I don’t think I will ever try to write a jerk-off scene because… well, I don’t have a penis. These days, I don’t even have one I can borrow from time to time.

But I do have the bean, you know what I mean.

Next time, I might have to list all the wonderful terms for masturbation that the internet now places just at our fingertips (along with porn).



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