Chapter 1

“I masturbated with 100 women and girls, and it was the most intense orgasm of my life.”

By Miss Hazlehurst, 38.

With a squirt of coconut oil and a soundtrack of steadily intensifying screams from the youth coordinator to my right, I came, and climaxing in these conditions wasn’t exactly easy. I was masturbating to an orchestra of orgasms from 100 other women and girls, all naked, lying on yoga mats. As the initial embarrassment wore off, I became competitive with those girls who were able to get off so quickly.

You see, we had found ourselves in the fellowship hall of The Risen Jesus not as exhibitionists but to learn to harness our sexual energy and channel it towards achieving our personal goals. For these mothers and daughters, single women (like me), and married women without kids, the concept of finding Sapphic love or professional success within the patriarchy or even a closer personal relationship with our Lord and Master was stimulation enough. The room’s cacophony of moans, groans, and squeals rung in the verdict: sexual manifestation is in, even if the thing you’re having sex with is, well, with your fingers and hands.

Men and boys seeing female masturbation as ‘sluttiness’ is on its way to being destigmatized, female sexual experimentation is considered exciting, not only for us but also for the male society, and our sexual well-being is a topic of discussion here at the TRJ, at the office, and at home. It makes sense that female masturbation is being embraced with gusto by women and girls. The concept is simple: our cunt, the most powerful thing a female possesses, using masturbation as sexual expression can forge deeper connections with our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, rekindle our support in the patriarchy and acceptance of misogyny.

This is how and why I found myself in the fellowship hall of the TRJ on a Sunday afternoon with women and girls. Organized by TRJ’s outreach director, Mrs. Sharon Brown, it was an afternoon of conscious sexuality. And I was hoping I’d be served cunt power reclamation on a platter. Which, in all honesty, I desperately needed.

When the masturbation class was mentioned during last Sunday’s attendance, I was burned out in a job that I thought defined me. I was the female marketing director, overseeing a staff of 100 females. My office advertised women the company had for sale. Like all businesses, schools, and government institutions, the company liked to keep its female inventory fresh, young, and up to date. It was hard to watch the older women as we modeled them on our website, knowing I was going to sell them for the best price I could get. Most would be sold to the sex trades, like the whorehouses and strip clubs. Those with special talents, such as playing petgirls, puppy girls, and ponygirls, would be sold to the specialty dealers. A few might be bought by the one percent as playthings for their kids. The look on their faces when they received notice they were to be sold, it was as if they had somehow failed the company after years of dedicating their mouth, cunt, and anus to company orgies, office parties, and doing whatever it took to close business deals. The proud look on their faces as male employees received their year-end bonuses, knowing they helped in fattening the bottom line so bonuses could be handed out to them. I needed to do something different within the company.

Plus, I had broken up with Sally, a 14-year-old who lived down the street. It was a relationship I felt I’d failed as I had a hard time living up to her expectations. The clothes she wanted me to wear, the sleepovers at her house, and the way she’d swap me with her girlfriends as I watched money exchange hands. Like most women my age who date younger girls, it took a toll mentally and physically. She said if I wanted love and a long-term relationship with her, I needed to live up to her simple demands, but after a while, I couldn’t, and so I was a failure in her eyes and mine.

It had become all too clear that I was stuck in my personal and professional life. I wanted meaningful sex with a girl who would appreciate me for who I was, needed professional clarity by taking a new job within the company and renewing my relationship with our Lord and Master. But primarily, I wanted to deploy my sexual energy towards healing myself. Many of the single women and some mothers in the class were also experiencing the dissolution of long-term relationships with their young lovers. Others couldn’t find ‘the one girl’ or just didn’t pay attention to their sexual needs the way they used to when they were younger. The teen girls were there to learn self-satisfaction with their bodies and maybe strike up a relationship with an older woman.

So, ready or not, our clits were set for a high-intensity workout, with “special pleasure” as the end goal. With a life-size statue of our Lord and Master on the cross in the fellowship hall looking sternly at us, we laid out yoga mats in front of him, undressed, and knelt down, ready to begin. To start things off, the required prayer needed to be said; facing our Lord and Master, we clasped our hands in prayer.

“Our Lord and Master, we thank you for this fellowship to learn more about you, your word, and what you require of us. Help us put aside our stupid little female distractions so that we learn your wisdom and be touched by your truth. Help us to love and obey the males in our life. Help us understand the truth and wisdom of the males in our life. Bless the females who guide us and teach us your wants and desires. Forgive us as females, for we are insignificant in your presence and glory. Amen.”

After the prayer, we turned to Mrs. Brown, the outreach director. Tension reached fever pitch when she opened her legs to demonstrate her technique. Lying down on the mat, she began lightly stroking her clit to almost immediate orgasm. It was highly intimidating. Her sensitivity, she explained, comes from using her fingers or a feminine tongue and lips (laughter). She explained that she doesn’t use vibrators to stimulate her clit as it overstimulates it. I and some of the other attendees descended into panic, we hadn’t used our fingers for forever, and plastic sex toys had become our life.

Laying down, the performance anxiety I felt was palpable. Our instruction was to fantasize about our Lord and Master, to look at him as we lay before him. We fell silent as a dozen or so mothers and daughters inserted anal stimulators and anal beads. We giggled as a natural lubricant was passed around, and Mrs. Brown encouraged us to begin touching ourselves.