100 Women Volume One

The telephone number was
affixed to the bottom of the ad.

The woman behind the cheap
desk raised not an eyebrow as she finished reading the page in her
hand. Considering the type of publication she worked for, that
probably shouldn't have come as any surprise. Within the context of
the tabloid's usual advertisements from those looking to spank and
be spanked, my little classified was hardly out of
place.

The woman counted the
words ran a quick calculation on a tiny calculator, quoted a price
to which I nodded, and handed me a one-page sheet to fill
out.

I completed the sheet and
paid the fee for publication of the ad to occur over a specified
period of time.

The woman deposited my ad
copy on a stack of similar documents resting in tray on her desk.
The project was underway.

Actually, for
me
,
the project
began on a much earlier day. The roots can probably be traced back
to my first encounters with lesbian philosophy. You know the
philosophy I mean.

It goes something like
this:

No one knows better how to
please a woman than another woman.

As a man, I find that kind
of thinking frustrating. It suggests that, no matter how
considerate or determined a lover I am, I can never hope to be the
equivalent of even the most uninspired lesbian when it comes to
getting a woman off.

Be that as it may, the
premise of the philosophy isn't difficult to understand. It's all
about
knowledge
.
A woman knows things about her vagina that no man can ever truly
hope to know. Even Casanova would have to fall a distant second to
any woman on the subject of what feels good between her
legs.

Knowing how to properly
masturbate your lover, I believe, is an important part of the human
sexual experience, and, frankly, I think masturbation doesn't fully
get the attention it deserves in most discussions of non-solo sex.
It's typically considered just a part of foreplay—a set up for the
main event. While I can't and won't dispute that masturbation is no
substitute for intercourse in the typical heterosexual
relationship, it's no slouch, either. There's still something
delightfully thrilling about playing with another person's
genitals. To bounce them in your hand. To have them slip between
your fingers. To tap and prod and pull and stroke and manipulate
them like some cuddly, stuffed animal. It's the ultimate toy—the
most personal plaything another can give you.

Navigating a woman's
genitalia, with its various nooks, crannies and elusive G-spot, is
a complex matter. There's such an abundance of ways to touch and
stimulate the vagina, not all of which are experienced with equal
pleasure by every woman. For all I know, perhaps homosexual and
bi-sexual women are really just as unsure as straight guys when it
comes to masturbating another female. I suppose it's also possible
that, because of the almost infinite number of playtime
possibilities available in her crotch, even a woman, herself,
doesn't know all the different ways she might be pleasured. If
that's the case, then we're all in need of a good lesson on how to
beat a girl off.

The idea fermented for
years, never going past the planning process, until I reached a
stage of my life where I had sufficient time for the masturbation
study. I thought it through quite seriously, pondering various
challenges and pitfalls involved in convincing several women to
allow a strange man to masturbate them in the name of
science.

For example, a big issue
was where to do it. Would a sane woman enter a stranger's home for
such a purpose?

After considering various
options—including an office (too clinical) and a hotel room (too
slutty)—I decided a furnished apartment in a large apartment
building would be the best setting. It's a private residence with
homey touches already included. There's no through traffic inside
the living space of an apartment, so there's virtually no chance of
being interrupted by an unexpected intruder. Still, there are
always plenty people inside a big apartment
building
—people who are probably
within earshot of a scream for help. Privacy and safety. What's
more, even if a woman accidently bumped into someone she knew, it
would be easy for her to make an excuse, such as saying she was
checking out an apartment for a friend. No one's going to guess
she's there to be masturbated by a guy doing a research project,
right?

I figured the
"likes/dislikes" options covered the basics—enough to get the ball
rolling—and perhaps suggested a few things that some women might
not feel comfortable asking for if they, themselves, had to
initiate asking for it. A couple of options also pushed the bounds
a bit to give the women some things to say "no" to, should they
feel the need not to come across as too slutty.

The last step was to set
up a phone line with a message machine for the calls of those who
would respond to the ad. Coming up with just the right words to put
on the answering machine took a bit of doing. Finally, this is what
I recorded on the machine:

Hi. If you're calling
about the advertisement, here's what you need to know. This is a
research project on female masturbation. First, you must be at
least 18. An I.D. might be required if you look young for your age.
There are three absolutes. The anonymity of those who participate
is absolutely guaranteed. Absolutely nothing is being sold or
purchased. And absolutely no money will change hands. Specifically,
we're seeking female volunteers between the ages of 18 and 50, in
good health, who enjoy masturbation and would like to help
contribute to the knowledge that will be part of a future book on
the topic. As a volunteer, you will experience a variety of
masturbation techniques performed by a male researcher. That
researcher will be clean, healthy, between the ages of 28 and 40,
and considered not unattractive. The study is limited to female
masturbation only. No other sexual practices will be performed,
offered, or solicited. Only those techniques that you explicitly
okay will happen, and you can stop the process at any time. You
will always be in control of what's happening. This is, after all,
a study about your sexual pleasure. And only those things that
bring pleasure to you are of value to us in this study. If you
believe you might be interested in participating or just want more
information, the next step is to leave a message We'll need three
things: a first name—you can use a pseudonym, if you like; a phone
number—with any time limitations or other restrictions for calling
back; and a password—anything such as a color, a flower, a food or
the like will do. I'll ask for the password when I call so that
I'll know I'm actually speaking to you. I won't discuss this or
even hint at it with anyone else who might answer the phone. Thank
you for calling. I look forward to answering all your questions.
Remember, when you hear the tone, leave me a name, a phone number,
and a password. (beep)

Admittedly, I puffed
things up a bit by insinuating there were multiple researchers
involved—which there weren't. But I thought that made it sound more
prestigious than saying it was just a one-man operation.

The password was my way of
fending off the pranksters who'd think it funny to leave the name
and phone number of some unsuspecting woman. The last thing I was
looking for was a sexual harassment suit.

With everything set, now
all I had to do was wait for my first volunteer.

Annie wasn't the first
girl to call. For the first few days, responses to the ad garnered
mostly a recorded collection of telephone hang-ups, sophomoric
jokes, and impolite chastisements—the last coming from aggressively
antagonized women who seemed to be under the impression that the
study was somehow some sort of anti-feminist plot. Also tossed into
the mix were a few choice messages from guys who generously offered
their services as masturbators of any female masturbatees.
Additionally, there were two calls where women actually left a
name, number, and password. However, when I returned the calls, one
was an obvious prank and the other resulted in the woman telling me
she had changed her mind.

No, Annie certainly wasn't
the first to respond to the ad. But she was the first to actually
volunteer to participate.

Her recorded message was
as sparse as could be.

"Annie. Red."

Then she gave a phone
number and hung up. That was it. The entirety of the message. Two
words and a phone number. They were rattled off so quickly and with
so little conviction behind them that it was almost as though they
were being forcibly extracted from her mouth. I remembered thinking
that a little reticence wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It
suggested to me that the caller was genuine and made the call only
after having undergone significant mental wrestling of the pros and
cons of volunteering for this type of study. This was probably
someone who really wanted to do this despite all the internal
voices telling her not to. It might take a little convincing to
push her over the line. However, since she'd already convinced
herself to make the phone call, it seemed to me that she was really
just looking for someone to give her one last shove.

She had given no
restrictions on when I could call back, so, as soon as I got her
message, I wasted no time in dialing the number. As I did, my heart
began to race. I had a good feeling about this one.

There were two rings, and
then I heard a voice.

"
Hello."

"Hello," I echoed with a
restrained amiability meant to sound pleasant but not eager. "I'm
calling for Annie."

There was a second's pause
before the meek response.

"Yes."

"Am I speaking to
her?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a password
for me?"

Her answer was spoken
hesitatingly, but she managed to squeeze out the word,
"Red."

It was her. It was Annie.
Confirmed by the password. (Curiously, "red" turned out to be by
far the most common password chosen by those who responded to the
ad. I had suggested in my recorded message that a color might be
used as a password, and it seems many took that as a
cue.)

"I was very pleased to get
your call," I continued. "Is now an okay time to talk?"

"Yes." Annie was a woman
of few words.

I made a brief
introduction and an abbreviated rendition of what she'd heard on my
recorded message, then concluded with "You can call me Troy. Do you
have any questions?"

"Well," she began, with
the halting start of one thinking it over even as she asks the
question, "how is it anonymous if you put it in a book?"