Mutual Masturbation Is a Lost Art

Somewhere along the way, we were taught that masturbation is a solo act. Something to be hidden, hurried, or outgrown once we are in a relationship. That once partnered sex begins, mutual self-touch becomes unnecessary or awkward. But I want to tell you the truth. Mutual masturbation is one of the most underrated, underused, and profoundly connective practices we have.

It is a place where performance falls away. Where you get to be witnessed in your real pleasure. Where you show someone how you love yourself, not just how you want them to touch you. Where you both get to slow down and stay present in your own bodies, while still being in connection.

This is not a fallback plan. It is not what you settle for when you are too tired for penetration. It is not a consolation prize. It is a practice in its own right. A way to build trust, to invite curiosity, and to bridge the space between your pleasure and your partner’s without fusing or disappearing.

Mutual masturbation can be hot, yes. But it can also be sweet, tender, exploratory, silly, reverent, or surprising. You can lie side by side. You can watch each other. You can stay clothed or undress slowly. You can use lube. You can narrate what you are doing. You can ask questions or stay quiet. You can moan or stay silent. You can giggle. You can cry. You can stop and start. You can do it with the lights off or the sunlight streaming in. There is no one right way.

For new lovers, this practice builds safety. It lets you learn what your partner enjoys without guessing. It removes the pressure to perform or give. It allows for disclosure. For someone to say, this is what I like. This is what I do when I am alone. This is what turns me on. You get to learn each other without the friction of expectation.

For long-term couples, mutual masturbation can be a reset button. A way to reconnect without falling into old habits or trying to make something happen. It can be especially powerful during times of transition. After birth. During menopause. While healing from trauma. In seasons when arousal feels different or inconsistent. It gives you room to be where you are. To bring your body to the moment without having to explain or perform.

It also helps normalize something most of us do but rarely talk about. Watching someone you love touch themselves with presence and care is an intimate act. Not just sexually intimate, but emotionally intimate. It invites vulnerability. It requires presence. And it often brings up the truth. The real ways we touch ourselves. The real rhythms. The real sighs. The pauses. The edges. The quiet yes that lives behind the eyes.

If this is new to you, start gently. Light some candles. Set a time with no pressure to go anywhere else. Sit close. Get comfortable. Let one of you begin. Let the other follow. Or start together. There is no goal. Just stay curious.

Notice what it feels like to touch yourself while someone watches with care. Notice what it feels like to witness without reaching. You are not trying to match. You are not trying to climax at the same time. You are simply being with what is true in your own body, while offering presence to someone else.

You can make eye contact. You can close your eyes. You can say, I want you to see me. Or, I feel nervous. Or, this feels good. Or, can I try something different?

This is real intimacy. Not the kind sold in movies, but the kind built through honest attention. Through showing instead of performing. Through staying inside your own experience without shutting out your partner.

Mutual masturbation is a gift. Not just of arousal, but of truth. It teaches you to hold your pleasure with presence. To witness someone else without needing to fix or control. To meet somewhere in the middle. Two bodies. Two hands. Two hearts. One moment. No pressure. No shame. Just breath and skin and the sound of someone you love remembering what it feels like to be fully alive.

With love,
Nina