Do people even notice my highly flushed post-orgasm skin? "What brand is that blush you are wearing -- you have this healthy glow about you," my friends say.

Because of my state and the lack of consistent male companionship over the last four-and-a-half years, my most reliable, trustworthy and constant lovers have been my dildos and vibrators. They all have names and I have my favorites: "big blue," "the G-man cometh" and my first purchase, the "silver egg." They all serve a purpose -- clit, G spot and just plain penetration. But my most expert and subtle lover still happens to be my hand.

I wasn't always so well versed in the art of self-pleasure. I was actually quite repressed and didn't learn to take full advantage of this incredible machine that I was born with -- my own body -- until I was truly alone and set aside time to study and practice.

But, along with research, my daughter was my mentor in masturbation. When she was about 2 years old she found her clitoris and began loving it.

One might conjure up the visual of the soft timid exploration of an innocent child curious now that she wasn't bound by a diaper all the time. Not my daughter. We're talking a full-on, sweaty, flushed, moaning orgasm. She especially loved to please herself while watching TV in the living room in front of guests. Diligently placing her favorite stuffed animal under her hips, squished between her chubby legs, she rocked and grinded and made preternatural noises to an unmistakable ecstasy-ridden crescendo.

My ex-husband was mortified. What were we to do with our freak "oversexed" girl-child? "Is this normal?" he would chant as we consulted the vapid "What to Expect" handbooks. "God forbid a man might see her and not be able to prevent himself from getting turned on" is what he really meant to say.

I was just plain blown away. I am a product of Catholic schools, and those nuns took great pride in messing with our heads with their sin-speak.

Private Life Romance, relationships, and the personal side of Table Talk