My Little Problem

I have a problem. You see, I'm 25 this year. You'd think a 25 year old with a degree in law, a black belt in office politics, single and career driven, living by herself, with a really nice car (I love my pink Mini!) and a group of friends straight off a fashion magazine page – you'd think life is peachy. Well, besides my problem, life IS pretty much peachy. You see, only my best friend and my gynecologist knows about it. And now you know about it. That's what I love about the internet – the anonymity of it all. If anyone else knew about it, they'd look at me funny. I'm not sure if anyone else has the same problem, and my gynecologist told me it's not a problem, but I sure feel like it's a fucking problem. I don't know anymore.

You see, where I come from – Singapore – we're pretty much traditional freaks, with the exception of a exceptional few. Asian values, Chinese culture, no sex before marriage. I even feel sorry for the gays here – they're repressed and so few actually come out of the closet. It's getting better nowadays, with people being more open and being more sexually active, but deep down, all this openness and sexuality is all a façade. I don't know about the rest, but I can speak for myself and my friends and the people and social groups I make my rounds in. I was always a hardworking student, we're taught to be hardworking, and I did well enough to get into the best schools in the country, and I'll still say Singapore is the best place to get an education. But here, girls who flaunt their sexuality and sensuality are automatically labeled as sluts and whores. Well, I guess that's true for everywhere else. I'll go over it again. Damn it! I'm a lawyer! I thought words would come easy for me, but… damn. I can't even express myself properly.

Never mind. I'll keep it simple. Neat and simple. Effect, cause and reason.

I have a very swollen clit. It's the size of my thumb. And it's ultra-sensitive. I've given up wearing thongs, well, only on days when my period comes, and I've given up wearing pants. My clit is so fucking sensitive, that just by touching and twiddling it for like, three minutes, I'll orgasm. You think that's fun? You think that's peachy? Try living with it. It's painful and I wish it were different. My best friend, who incidentally is gay, told me it must be like living with a permanent erection, except worse.

It wasn't like that at first. You see, I was a pretty normal kid. I discovered self-pleasure at 13, then lost my cherry to my middle finger at 14, and my virginity at 17, and two weeks later my ass virginity, and both were illegal and statutory rape and anyway anal sex is illegal in Singapore, but no one found out so it's ok, right? If there's one thing I've learnt in law school was that if you don't get caught, then everything's peachy. By 18, I had my first gangbang with the school's rugby team, and the same year, two nipple piercings.

But the thing about me has always been self-pleasure. I used to masturbate faithfully every night, to get the high before I fell asleep, and I'd get these incredible dreams, and I'd wake up hot and sweaty and flushed and entangled in the bed sheets. At first, I explained my sweaty PJs as morning aerobics, but soon I took to sleeping nude, then I began to masturbate in the morning to relieve the tension of those dreams I had during the night. And after these morning sessions I'd have to shower to wash off the smell of sex, and then one day, I found out the fabulous Jet-setting feature of my shower-head, and warm, hard jets of water on my clit led to a heady, crazy orgasm. So every time I take a shower I'd masturbate, and more recently, I've begun to shove the shower-head up my pussy. So that took the total to four orgasms a day.

Now when I orgasm, I feel my head begin to spin, and the world around me seems to quiver and shake and warp and bend, and I feel like I have an out-of-body experience. My girlfriends tell me their orgasms are pleasurable, and make their bodies tremble. My lovers, which are decadently quite numerable, tell me my eyes roll back and my mouth forms perfect 'O's. And that I'm rather noisy as well. But more than physical sensation, my orgasms are literally a mind-blowing sensation. I don't know, but I feel it more in my mind then my body.

This high, this rush, naturally made me addicted to self-pleasure. In my busy Singaporean society, it's impossible to have lovers every night unless you're married, and my married friends assure me that they are getting less than me. So naturally, I masturbate a lot. When I entered university at 19, I was masturbating about seven or eight times a day, sometimes ten, when I was more free. I'd sit at my laptop and browse all the free porn I can find and jill myself off, (you know, if guys jack off, then girls jill off.) frigging myself to satisfaction. I think I had a larger collection than most guys. If I had someone to fuck, then maybe I'd cut back to four that day. But never less than four. Even when I travel, it's the best way to pass time, especially on long bus rides and plane rides. A few swigs from the hip-flask of whiskey that I carry in my LV bag, and a surreptitious hand down the skirt, and bob's your uncle.

I got the clitoris piercing at 20, and I walked bow-legged for days – horse-riding I said, but it hurt more than it pleasured, so I got it taken it off. The hole closed. By that time, I took less than ten minutes to reach orgasm, and they were dying down in intensity, so I compensated by having more. That made for a very sore clitoris every night.

Nowadays, my clit is permanently sore and swollen, an angry red. I think I've spoilt it. I can't even touch it without wanting to just frig myself to orgasm. It's affecting my work. Every time I sit down with my feet closed or crossed, I'll get aroused. So I have to sit with my knees slightly apart all the time. Every time I wear any sort of pants or panties, it'll chafe my clitoris, and make me go crazy. The last time I wore pants, I couldn't even make it to the door. The only safe pants are baggy track pants, and I've shelved my jeans and power-pants away in my walk in wardrobe. Just walking alone makes my inner thighs chafe at my clit, and any prolonged walking will drive me nuts. I've stopped my weekly jogs. My lovers say I'm too easy to satisfy, and although it boosts their ego when I orgasm on their hand before they even get hard, they think it's cheap to use my weakness to their advantage, and most of them don't want to have anal sex – being good clean Singaporean boys.

When I go to work, I usually have to visit the toilet eight or nine times a day to take the edge off, and prevent myself from a very embarrassing, public, office orgasm. I hate long meetings the most, and will try to avoid them at all costs, but if I must go for one, I'll visit the loo first, and deaden my urge, even if its for a while. It's impossible, I tell you. Impossible. I'm at my wits end. I even tried to not masturbate, but that's even crazier, because if I don't then I'd have another few embarrassing moments. Thrice in a public bus, I creamed in the back seat, and left a wet spot on the seat of my skirt. After that I never took the bus again. There was another time at the beach, where I curled up into a ball and bit my lip to prevent myself from screaming. My friends thought I was having cramps, but I was actually coming my brains out. Otherwise, as long as there's a toilet around I'm pretty much fine. I've even stopped cycling because it's too dangerous. I asked my gynecologist if my clitoris seemed unnaturally swollen, and after he checked it and touched it a few times, I came on his hand. He said there was no problem and it worked fine.

So now I don't know what to do. Will I have to live with it for the rest of my life?