Sexploitations: ’Mock Trial

The art of self-love in a hammock requires discretion first and foremost.

The Hennessy Hammock Backpacker Classic weighs in at a mere three pounds, even with the rain fly. It’s the perfect rainforest-appropriate alternative to tents, which put campers way too close to those slithering, stinging beasts of the jungle. Instructions include how to hang the hammock so it doesn’t slack, how to enter it — think being born, but in the opposite direction — and how to arrange the rainfly so the inevitable tropical deluges don’t dampen your nylon taffeta cocoon.

What the instructions fail to include, for reasons I cannot begin to guess, is a guide on how ladies (or anyone with a vagina) can stealthily go to town on themselves once inside their jungle hammock. That’s why I’ve gone ahead and created it. I want to help other women do two things: Feel empowered to venture into the male-dominated rainforest environment, and feel enthusiastic about fucking themselves silly, if that is what they so desire.

I’ve always been a pretty good problem-solver, especially when it comes to self-pleasure. When lust takes over, obstacles like “there are people nearby” or “completely inappropriate” must be overcome so I can get to O-town on time.

There was that one time atop a pontoon boat in a bioluminescent Belizean lagoon. I was almost caught, but the darkness of the sky obscured my dirty deeds, and a lifetime of practice quieted my irregular breathing. School bathrooms, work bathrooms, bathrooms at Michelin-starred restaurants — no clean stall is immune when my need for self-love arises. The title of the movie Planes, Trains, and Automobiles would describe modes of transportation where I’ve silently fucked myself, but of course only if overnight buses were added to the list.

Then came the hammock. Recently, I spent two weeks camping deep in the Central American jungle with no privacy whatsoever, save for my dear Hennessy jungle hammock. With almost constant downtime, and no entertainment save for a pack of cards (which I lost on the first day), I knew perfecting my sinful talents in this new environment would be my focus.

“If the hammock’s a-swingin’, don’t come a-ringin’,” my mother advised me just before my expedition began, presumably a reminder that my propensity for playing with myself needed to remain secret — if I wanted to be taken seriously as a wildlife journalist. After a great deal of data collection with me as the sole subject, I’ve gathered here the most prevalent tips for ladies looking to discreetly make love to themselves in a jungle hammock. Feel free to disregard if discretion is not what you’re after.

See No Evil
Hello darkness, my old friend. The ménage à moi is a stealth game, and like my solo session on the pontoon boat, the darkness of the deep wilderness at night provides wonderful cover for a well-hung hammock, which moves in obvious synchronicity with repetitive jerking motions.

Speaking of which, keep those movements to a minimum, especially during daytime sessions. Unless you want your fellow (inevitably) male campers to crawl inside your hammock for what could be the most uncomfortable fuck of your life, keep those elbows motionless and let your wrists do the delicate work.

The more taut the hammock, the more it will reveal your DIY time, so try to stay loose and relaxed as you go wild. Keep your legs straight so the sides of the hammock stay loose, and try to prevent those hips from bucking too much, you beautiful self-lover, you.

I set up my hammock on the edge of the camp, because it’s possible to shift to one side such that the opaque portion of the jungle hammock rises higher (the see-through portion is the built-in bug net). This gives you extra visual protection on the side where your fellow campers are sitting around eating beans or whatever.

Hear No Evil
You have to be on the alert in the jungle, whether it’s for jaguars, poachers, or interlopers. Personally, I enjoy listening to a little music when I go to town on myself (Glory Box, anyone?). But when you’re hanging in a hammock, anyone could come knocking for camping-related reasons. Keep your senses alert for the sound of approaching footsteps, your name being hollered, or whispers of “Is she actually masturbating in there?”

Speak No Evil
I don’t know about y’all, but I’ve been making sweet, fervent love to myself since I was a preteen. I like to think I blossomed into sex-positive womanhood early, but I was probably just a little perv. In any case, this early start gave me many years to practice the art of silently reaching and achieving orgasm, lest my parents or roommates know just what it was that’s making me so sweaty all the time. What does this have to do with hammocks? They’re thin, and not built to house moans of pleasure. So keep the noise down.

Smell No Evil
Jungle hammocks are great because they come with a built-in bug net. But as I mentioned before, it’s fairly obvious that they were not designed with female masturbation in mind, so while the mosquitos stay out, the stank stays in. Air it out every so often, in case you ever receive a curious visitor.

Wash those hands, sister. But the aroma of self-love might reveal your naughty side, and possibly prevent your fellow campers from wanting you to participate in group cooking — which may actually be a good thing. Fuck gender roles: You’ve got some masturbating to do!

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