It remains a vivid memory in my mind — the moment I learned about masturbation. I was 11, sitting in the backseat of our minivan on the way home from my grandparents house. It was dark out and I was using my booklight to read my newest purchase “Letters to Judy Blume.” It was the moment I finally understood that these shameful feelings, these urges, well they weren’t bad at all. I kept looking at the reflection in the mirror, thinking someone could tell what I had discovered.
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