Tales from Sex Camp

Less marshmallows and scary stories and bonfire bonding, more... erotic massage.

By Tara O'Sullivan
Tales from Sex Camp

Hands up who thinks they could masturbate in a class FULL of people. Come on... hands up! What? No-one? Well a few Saturdays ago at Sex Camp, I did just that when I attended the "Vulva-licious Massage Class".

Preparing for a masturbation master class is a lot trickier than you may think. What does one take to such a scintillating scenario? Your own pillow? Some porn? Your favourite organic lubricant? What about a hand mirror? A vibrator? A pair of tweezers? Aaah!

In the end, I rocked up with nothing but a few butterflies and an open mind, ready to see what this vulva connoisseur could teach me about my beloved lady parts.

Now just to be anatomically clear and correct, what most of us refer to as our vagina, love cave, cha cha, vajayjay… is actually called the Vulva. Yes I know, Princess Kitty sounds way cuter, but my Vulva-licious teacher was adamant we address our genitalia correctly.

So my soon-to-be-very-happy vulva and I grabbed a few cushions and the biggest blanket in the room and made ourselves comfy at the back of the class. As a beginner I wasn’t quite ready to immerse myself in the clusters of couples and singletons, all spread legged and utterly unfazed by the full display of their privates.

Insisting that the average woman takes a minimum of 35 minutes to heat up her engine, our pleasure coach opened the class with a very lengthy warm -up. For 50 minutes we followed her instruction to caress, stroke, and hug every inch of our body (including our earlobes and ankles). We began to breath deeper and add sound to our exhalation - ahhhhhhh… mmmmmmmm.

I have to admit I stifled more than a few giggles. But it actually kinda worked.

When it eventually came time to head south, I was surprised at how relaxed I was. All that breathing and touching had been incredibly soothing and I felt really open and…well, ahem… excited for the next part of the class.

But let’s be honest here ladies, having a woman instructing you about the way to touch your own body is pretty awks. That’s exactly how I felt as I began to follow the exercises that were being demonstrated at the front of the class on an enormous cushion shaped like a vagina. Wait, I mean vulva.

I don't know if it was the over-zealous moans coming from my neighbour or my scrambling attempts to keep my naughty bits under the blanket, but I just couldn’t get into it. There were too many distractions (and I was suffering a serious case of performance anxiety).

I couldn't work out the ‘Doorbell’ action or what this ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ thing even meant. Was I the only one in the class with normal human dexterity?!

I get that the workshop was all about inspiring new ways to self-satisfy, but to me it seemed like the standard moves with fancier names. Despite my lack of libido, I loved the warm -up and the idea of taking a little more prep time before the actual cook off.

So while I didn’t leave feeling ‘sexually enlightened’ or on top of Mount O, I was still pretty floaty and chilled from all that wonderful touchy stuff.