Yeah, this is a long post, we can all see that, dipshits. If you're one of these people who wants to bitch about how it makes that shit between their ears that most of us call "brains" hurt to read all the big scary words, then you can just feel free to resume starving to death because you're not double jointed.
I am going to write about my masturbatory life from the age of 12-when I first discovered the Art-until about 23 or so, when I can say I left it behind (no pun intended) to the point that it no longer so much ruled my life. You may find this account to be hilarious, tragic, or both, Maybe you'll say “Damn, and I thought I jerked a lot!” or “Sheeee-ut, I make this wimp, with my five-times-a-day-easily habit, look like a bumbling amateur”. Either way, I pray you find it a worthwhile read.
I think masturbation is in the top 10 of things God blessed mankind with the ability to do. Back it up. Make that “in the top 3”. It's a golden, beautiful gift from the heavens, the ability to jerk off, and there is nothing wrong or harmful about this natural, healthy activity. It's also one of the only pleasure-causing things the fucking western world hasn't been able to make illegal in some way yet so long as you don't throw your load on someone or jerk it in your car next to a school or some shit like that. It is illegal to have sex with someone other than the person you are married to in most states, if you are married, that is. Bet you didn't know that. So in that way, they have somehow made even sex between two consenting adults-no matter how morally bankrupt sex between two cheaters may be-illegal. But to lay on your back (or however you prefer to do it) and throttle your cock while alone in your domicile (that means where you live, dumbshits) is still one of the most perfectly legal things in the world to do. Of course there's probably some shithead politician sitting somewhere trying to figure out a way to write a law against that one too. You'd be surprised. And it just has to be killing the military-industrial complex that they can't find a way to charge you for it.
I had had little knowledge at all as to what “jerking off”, coming, blowing your nuts or masturbation really was for most of my life up until age, say, 12. Oh of course I had had “the sex talk” from my parents at an early age, which in my case was 5, and that was a good time to do it, before I entered elementary school and started absorbing all the playground bullshit and rumors concerning sex that I'd be exposed to for the next, well, for the rest of my life. I knew right off the bat that no, you couldn't get pregnant from kissing, or wearing a bathing suit in direct sun, and that a baby didn't come out of the mommy's belly button or any of the usual misinfo. But still, none of that included any knowledge of what masturbation was, which didn't even come up at the time. And by the way, when I say “masturbation”, I mean nothing short of stroking your own cock in a way that causes jizz to come out. Just stroking it doesn't count.
Tell me, where did you first learn the word “river”? The fuck if you know, right? Well in the same way, I had at some point I my life heard of jerking off, masturbation and every euphemism for the activity which existed under the sun. I can't say where I picked that up any more than you can tell me where you learned the word “river”. That is the case for all of us, I feel it safe to assume. For most of my life I had not jerked off up to the point when I figured out how to do it and did it, but I had of course laid there in bed and played with myself since as early as I can remember. Women do not understand-and can never really conceive of-the one fundamental sexual difference between girls and boys, which is that every part of a girl's sexual apparatus is on the inside, unseen and essentially non-existent to them for most of their girlhoods, while every part of a guy's, including his balls just for good measure, is on the *outside*. So one day when they're maybe 16 or so, the girls will “discover” them selves in the bathtub and realize that yes, that's a pussy and oh my, that must be the clit which I've been hearing so much about!
But as for us guys, the dick is there from minute one and there's no denying or ignoring it by any means. It gets hard, it gets soft, it shrivels up when it gets cold, it feels kinda groovy when we touch it. Hell, male babies play with themselves in the hospital before they even get carried home. It is ALWAYS there, always, literally, front and center. So it always has attracted a lot of our attention and interest. Meanwhile, the girls , up to maybe age 12, could be told everything they have read, been shown in books or been taught about the pussy and clit was a joke and neither of them really existed at all and it was all a big joke........and they'd buy it. So, like all boys, I had frequently taken time to play with my dick as early as I can remember anything ever. Look at the damn thing....it's a friggin'; invitation!
But when I played with it, usually before sleep while laying in bed, I'd twiddle it or rub it, it'd get insanely hard to the point that a cat couldn't scratch it, I'd keep manipulating it in whatever way seemed pleasurable, and nothing more would happen and I'd end up getting bored and going to sleep feeling a little horny and that was that. I felt nothing was missing from this activity. It had a beginning, middle and end. Or what I took to be an end, for the time being. I never had any intense wonder about what lay beyond, into that dark, fog-enshrounded turf, that undiscovered country of which I had only heard whispers, that of Orgasmland. Looking back on it, you would think that for all I had ever heard of jerking off, stroking it, beating it, etc., I would have figured out “Okay, so this is what guys do when they want to have an orgasm, and from what I hear, orgasms are pretty cool, so maybe if *I* did that, I'd have one myself!” Yeah well if we all though that, we would have all figured it out and been doing it a lot sooner.
Plus, this was pre-internet, back when, to see naked women, you had to either come across a porn mag in someone's garbage, steal one from your older brother, sneak a glimpse at your dad's Playboy mags, or borrow whatever porn mags your friend had in his own collection. Yes, believe it or not, the only kind of porn that was really available back then was in print form, on actual paper, and usually in a magazine, and we had to work at getting it, always being vigilant for opportunities to acquire the stuff. Amongst any group of friends in late elementary to junior high and into the first couple years of high school, each guy had his own little stash of print material, and we all knew about each other's and we'd trade and lend them freely to each other. It was a kind of informal “porn network”, if you will. I remember that once when a friend and I were walking through some residential neighborhood on our way to spend a summer day at the town pool, I walked up to some person's garbage can on the curb and said “Hey let's look through this and see if they threw out any porn mags!”. I have no idea at all why I did this. I was not into vandalism at all and knew nothing about the person who lived at this house or their garbage. But we none the less started giddily digging into his garbage. Lucky for us it was all dry, non-food stuff. But in it we found a treasure-trove, the biggest single haul we had ever found of hard-core porn mags. At least twenty of them. The mother lode. We giggled like a couple of ninnies at our stupendous find, each grabbed an armload of them, dumped the rest of the contents of the trash can crassly on the street to make sure we had effectively mined it and ran off to my house to do an appropriate inventory.
I think, statistically speaking, that the age at which I figured out how to successfully masturbate was about the average age at which most guys figure it out, nothing abnormal about that. I do wonder, though, how many of my friends figured it out before I did, and how did they figure it out? I asked a few of them much later down the road and for many it was an accident, such as when they were doing the usual amount of massaging in the shower and it just kind of happened, or maybe an older girl they met while at some campground during a vacation with their parents one summer jerked them off. But as for most of my inner circle......? They didn't have to figure it out, I stepped in and straight-up told them how to do it as soon as I could, saving them the drudgery of having to live yet one more horny, wracking, dreary, teenage day on this awful mortal coil without an orgasm. I have no idea how long they would have waited to accomplish this on their own, but for all I know, the information shared by myself to just a few may have, in time, disseminated itself (no pun intended) enough to allow the entire grade and beyond to have their first O within a matter of days. Hundreds may have come for the first time because of me. As they say, knowledge is power, my friends. Knowledge.....is.....power. At times I wonder just how young I could have been and managed to have a legitimate, worthwhile, Richter-scale-registering O. Ten? 11? No matter.
But I digress, because I have yet to account my own initial experience with masturbation. I was 12, and had gone with a family member to see a certain teenage sex comedy which was in theaters at the time, Looking back on it, I probably should not have been allowed to see such a flick for another year or two due to it's sheer raunchiness and degree of harshly ironic humor, but by the time I left the theater, that was besides the point. In that movie, some guy goes into a bathroom, locks the door and jerks off. Okay so they didn't show his dick but you could tell he was stroking it furiously alright and rather enjoying it. So that night I lay in bed, playing with my cock idly, as usual, and about to get to that point where I got bored and stopped. But I thought, literally “Hmm, what if I just kept on doing it for a while to see what will happen? Just stroke it like normal, but maybe if I keep at it, something will happen like happened to him”.
It didn't take long before I knew I was on to something. That “doing it a little bit longer” strategy was showing some results. At first I got to the point where I'd normally quit out of boredom. But I kept on going, passing through that boredom zone. I somehow just knew there was something on the other side of that zone. I hadn't even come yet but I soon knew I was on to something and it was good. Of course during your first one at least, you're not thinking about sex, at least not for long, because how good it feels is taking you over in itself, assisted by no fantasy at all. Then, at a rate faster than I realized, I ramped up to having the actual O. The feeling was delicious, like a balloon about to pop, and then I just flat out came like a wildcat. Like, well, the way only a kid that age having his first O could. It was blinding, to say the least, like a lightning strike that left me breathless and seeing fucking stars. My cock shot off a hot five-roper, going off like a fucking fire-hose. I think my asshole must have snapped shut hard enough to wake the neighbors. I had been blasted into another realm, it was that mind-altering, mind blowing. This was no half-assed come, this was no accident; it was nothing short of the most monumental experience I had ever had or will ever have, unmatched even to this day which finds me in my early forties. If someone had told me right afterwards that I could do it again and it would be that good, but it would kill me instantly, I would have been found dead in my bed the next morning with my hand clenched around my still-hard cock in a grip so tight the undertaker wouldn’t have been able to make it come loose with a crowbar. And I wouldn't have had a second thought about the shame of literally being caught dead as such, with the sperm all over the place and everything. It was more of a....fucking full-blown religious epiphany than an O.
I lay there quivering, recovering. Coming back to my senses several minutes later, the first words that made it back into my conscious thought process were, as though a voice had spoken it to me from beyond-and maybe it did- “Now I know what the big deal is all about”. Sex, that is. I knew the big deal, the reason, the very core purpose to every dirty joke, porn mag, every stupid attempt to talk to a girl, the reason guys bought fancy cars, the reason they sold those risque nudie ashtrays at truck stops and why there were scantily clad women on the calendars in auto repair shops. I knew now it was all.....about.....the O. That was what the big deal was about. And to this day, I feel that revelation holds true.
I had always thought that my life as a junior-higher was a fucking drag. I had few friends, and was then as I am now, mostly a loner who prefers his own company. I really can't stand most people and their tendency, their seeming inexhaustible appetite for petty bullshit. Just why do you think reality TV is so popular? Because most people are rotten scum suckers, bottom feeders who make these shows the most popular things ever. They're not on the air 7 nights a week because no one's watching them, people. But the day after I jerked off, I went to school and sat on the bleachers of the gym as we all had to do with our classmates, each grade assigned their own side and area so sit at, waiting for the first bell to ring after the busses had delivered all the students to the school. This was like a bad prison cafeteria scene........growing ever more loud and hostile as the bleachers filled up over the course of half an hour or so. If you were something of an outcast or weakling, this was where you were going to be physically assaulted by some upperclass bully. Make it through this in the early hours of Monday morning and you'd probably live until the weekend. The only thing that kept what I supposed would be an apocalyptic meltdown of social order, a fucking insanely brutal, prepubescent free-for-all which would make the prison riots of the late seventies (you know, when they stopped giving inmates free cigarettes? Yeah, those riots) from happening were two teachers always in the gym, keeping an eye on things and preventing it from going totally Lord-of-the-Flies in there. I have no idea if they had any clue at all as to what kind of mortal chaos they kept at bay with their mere presence. This was back when kids feared adults more than each other, and they ruled with an iron fist. Justice was meted out with immediate assignment to after-school detentions, letters written to parents and sometimes even paddling. Being an introverted herbivore rather than a predatory meat-eater, I was usually sitting with my back against the wall in the very top row of bleachers, fearing for my life. To sit closer to the floor level was to enter the 9th Circle of Hell where the real bullies with nasty complexions, lame attempts at mustaches and dried-out, fried looking hair hung out, and certain death, the stealing of lunch money, the pulling down of pants or the stomping-on of one's bagged lunch awaited. I knew a guy who walked through that bunch to go to the washroom once. They caught him, held him down and administered weapons-grade noogies. It was like that scratchy old nature film where on the African plains you see some wildebeest getting dragged down by a pack of hyenas. I had to turn away. That was the last I ever saw of him. I kept a scrupulous eye on those teachers, praying they didn't step out of the gym for even a second or divert their attention elsewhere. If they did, I had to be ready for anything. That is, until I had some fellow grademate walk up to me one day and pick on me in some way. I whacked the glasses off his face and sent them tumbling to the floor several rows down. I barely contacted him at all but he started crying, retrieved his glasses and went back to his seat. It could have been worse, and no one got hurt. But from then on I was regarded as positively lethal. No one fucked with me again, and I went right back to not fucking with anyone either, as I had always done. I did feel kind of bad about what I did to that guy though. Crying in front of everyone was the ultimate humiliation, but hey, better him than me.
But sitting there the day after my epiphany, already wondering when I could manage to drain my balls again, I looked judgmentally around the gym with a feeling of superiority that left me no choice but to regard myself as a god and everyone else as slithering insects at my feet; ignorant, clueless, groping in the dark for what I had just discovered without even knowing it. Turning my head only a little, letting my eyes really do the wandering across the faces of my male classmates. Who of them, I wondered, had also managed to jerk it by then? Him? Nah, he looks too clueless. Maybe him, over there......he just has that look, like he's figured something out but he's not letting anyone in on it. Statistically, at least a few had to have been in the club by then. They had to have been altered in some way by the experience. No one goes through that unchanged. Whoever they were, it was like we were in an invisible brotherhood, one so secretive that we didn't even know who was a fellow member, but we knew we were there, and we knew, should we admit membership to each other, we would be a force to be dealt with, united in our fraternal bond of this secret, new knowledge. But as I said, I was sure to induct my closest friends by telling them. I didn't have to draw any pictures, they got the drift through simple explanation. Mainly I encouraged them to keep going past the “boredom zone” we had all usually stopped at. That was key. The next day they came to school like they had something to tell me about the night before. Oh yes, one by one, they had seen the light.
Of course from then on, I jerked even more and at every chance I got. It didn't take me long (and I mean about 24 hours) to figure out I could come in a worthwhile way three times in a row, that each successive O was harder to achieve and more lackluster than the last, unless I “recharged” for about 12 hours, but it was best if I could somehow wait for 24. Which wasn't often. Between the ages of 12 and probably 23, the only few days I didn't manage to jerk it were when I went on a vacation with my mom and stepfather which involved a road trip. Lack of privacy was what stopped me. During those few days, my balls swelled up noticeably and felt as though they didn't even quite fit into my underwear the same, like they were trying to escape. I guess they had not had a topped-off load in them for years by then, being as I had constantly drained them seemingly every time I could manage to get alone for as little as ten minutes. And ten minutes, that's all I needed. I liked to draw it out longer sometimes, but ten was the minimum time I had to allot back then for one of my little “sessions”. I kept this up until age 23 when I sort of noticed my sex drive cooling off just a bit due to age, but I am and will always still be a frequent masturbator. It is my sincere hope that one day in my bed at some hospice after I have breathed my last, they pull back the sheets to find I died with my cock in my hand, my final, wordless statement to the world.
I have only two more worthwhile bits of information to share with the group: One is that I think I am the only person to have never ever been caught at this. No one ever walked in on me, I was never caught in the act of immediately enough afterwards to have been suspected of having been in the act at all. Now how many of us can say that? Almost everyone has a “been caught/walked in on” story. Not me. I recognized early on that when one is in the throes of masturbatory delight, you're in no shape to be paying attention to approaching footsteps or nearby doors opening. So my rule is and always has been this: Never, ever do it anywhere but behind a locked door.
Two: The greatest masturbation aid I have ever found, and one that feels exactly like a real pussy, is a product called the Fleshlight. Take it from me, thus thing is the ultimate and well worth every penny. I'm not talking “feels like a decent facsimile of a pussy”, but feels like a real pussy. Just be sure to lube it copiously and maybe run it under some warm water before you fuck it. It's best enjoyed stuck securely between the mattress and box spring of a bed, with you kneeling in front of it on a phone book (if you need some added height), and bent forward over the bed. Oh, and do remember to lock the door, won't you, chaps?
I am going to write about my masturbatory life from the age of 12-when I first discovered the Art-until about 23 or so, when I can say I left it behind (no pun intended) to the point that it no longer so much ruled my life. You may find this account to be hilarious, tragic, or both, Maybe you'll say “Damn, and I thought I jerked a lot!” or “Sheeee-ut, I make this wimp, with my five-times-a-day-easily habit, look like a bumbling amateur”. Either way, I pray you find it a worthwhile read.
I think masturbation is in the top 10 of things God blessed mankind with the ability to do. Back it up. Make that “in the top 3”. It's a golden, beautiful gift from the heavens, the ability to jerk off, and there is nothing wrong or harmful about this natural, healthy activity. It's also one of the only pleasure-causing things the fucking western world hasn't been able to make illegal in some way yet so long as you don't throw your load on someone or jerk it in your car next to a school or some shit like that. It is illegal to have sex with someone other than the person you are married to in most states, if you are married, that is. Bet you didn't know that. So in that way, they have somehow made even sex between two consenting adults-no matter how morally bankrupt sex between two cheaters may be-illegal. But to lay on your back (or however you prefer to do it) and throttle your cock while alone in your domicile (that means where you live, dumbshits) is still one of the most perfectly legal things in the world to do. Of course there's probably some shithead politician sitting somewhere trying to figure out a way to write a law against that one too. You'd be surprised. And it just has to be killing the military-industrial complex that they can't find a way to charge you for it.
I had had little knowledge at all as to what “jerking off”, coming, blowing your nuts or masturbation really was for most of my life up until age, say, 12. Oh of course I had had “the sex talk” from my parents at an early age, which in my case was 5, and that was a good time to do it, before I entered elementary school and started absorbing all the playground bullshit and rumors concerning sex that I'd be exposed to for the next, well, for the rest of my life. I knew right off the bat that no, you couldn't get pregnant from kissing, or wearing a bathing suit in direct sun, and that a baby didn't come out of the mommy's belly button or any of the usual misinfo. But still, none of that included any knowledge of what masturbation was, which didn't even come up at the time. And by the way, when I say “masturbation”, I mean nothing short of stroking your own cock in a way that causes jizz to come out. Just stroking it doesn't count.
Tell me, where did you first learn the word “river”? The fuck if you know, right? Well in the same way, I had at some point I my life heard of jerking off, masturbation and every euphemism for the activity which existed under the sun. I can't say where I picked that up any more than you can tell me where you learned the word “river”. That is the case for all of us, I feel it safe to assume. For most of my life I had not jerked off up to the point when I figured out how to do it and did it, but I had of course laid there in bed and played with myself since as early as I can remember. Women do not understand-and can never really conceive of-the one fundamental sexual difference between girls and boys, which is that every part of a girl's sexual apparatus is on the inside, unseen and essentially non-existent to them for most of their girlhoods, while every part of a guy's, including his balls just for good measure, is on the *outside*. So one day when they're maybe 16 or so, the girls will “discover” them selves in the bathtub and realize that yes, that's a pussy and oh my, that must be the clit which I've been hearing so much about!
But as for us guys, the dick is there from minute one and there's no denying or ignoring it by any means. It gets hard, it gets soft, it shrivels up when it gets cold, it feels kinda groovy when we touch it. Hell, male babies play with themselves in the hospital before they even get carried home. It is ALWAYS there, always, literally, front and center. So it always has attracted a lot of our attention and interest. Meanwhile, the girls , up to maybe age 12, could be told everything they have read, been shown in books or been taught about the pussy and clit was a joke and neither of them really existed at all and it was all a big joke........and they'd buy it. So, like all boys, I had frequently taken time to play with my dick as early as I can remember anything ever. Look at the damn thing....it's a friggin'; invitation!
But when I played with it, usually before sleep while laying in bed, I'd twiddle it or rub it, it'd get insanely hard to the point that a cat couldn't scratch it, I'd keep manipulating it in whatever way seemed pleasurable, and nothing more would happen and I'd end up getting bored and going to sleep feeling a little horny and that was that. I felt nothing was missing from this activity. It had a beginning, middle and end. Or what I took to be an end, for the time being. I never had any intense wonder about what lay beyond, into that dark, fog-enshrounded turf, that undiscovered country of which I had only heard whispers, that of Orgasmland. Looking back on it, you would think that for all I had ever heard of jerking off, stroking it, beating it, etc., I would have figured out “Okay, so this is what guys do when they want to have an orgasm, and from what I hear, orgasms are pretty cool, so maybe if *I* did that, I'd have one myself!” Yeah well if we all though that, we would have all figured it out and been doing it a lot sooner.
Plus, this was pre-internet, back when, to see naked women, you had to either come across a porn mag in someone's garbage, steal one from your older brother, sneak a glimpse at your dad's Playboy mags, or borrow whatever porn mags your friend had in his own collection. Yes, believe it or not, the only kind of porn that was really available back then was in print form, on actual paper, and usually in a magazine, and we had to work at getting it, always being vigilant for opportunities to acquire the stuff. Amongst any group of friends in late elementary to junior high and into the first couple years of high school, each guy had his own little stash of print material, and we all knew about each other's and we'd trade and lend them freely to each other. It was a kind of informal “porn network”, if you will. I remember that once when a friend and I were walking through some residential neighborhood on our way to spend a summer day at the town pool, I walked up to some person's garbage can on the curb and said “Hey let's look through this and see if they threw out any porn mags!”. I have no idea at all why I did this. I was not into vandalism at all and knew nothing about the person who lived at this house or their garbage. But we none the less started giddily digging into his garbage. Lucky for us it was all dry, non-food stuff. But in it we found a treasure-trove, the biggest single haul we had ever found of hard-core porn mags. At least twenty of them. The mother lode. We giggled like a couple of ninnies at our stupendous find, each grabbed an armload of them, dumped the rest of the contents of the trash can crassly on the street to make sure we had effectively mined it and ran off to my house to do an appropriate inventory.
I think, statistically speaking, that the age at which I figured out how to successfully masturbate was about the average age at which most guys figure it out, nothing abnormal about that. I do wonder, though, how many of my friends figured it out before I did, and how did they figure it out? I asked a few of them much later down the road and for many it was an accident, such as when they were doing the usual amount of massaging in the shower and it just kind of happened, or maybe an older girl they met while at some campground during a vacation with their parents one summer jerked them off. But as for most of my inner circle......? They didn't have to figure it out, I stepped in and straight-up told them how to do it as soon as I could, saving them the drudgery of having to live yet one more horny, wracking, dreary, teenage day on this awful mortal coil without an orgasm. I have no idea how long they would have waited to accomplish this on their own, but for all I know, the information shared by myself to just a few may have, in time, disseminated itself (no pun intended) enough to allow the entire grade and beyond to have their first O within a matter of days. Hundreds may have come for the first time because of me. As they say, knowledge is power, my friends. Knowledge.....is.....power. At times I wonder just how young I could have been and managed to have a legitimate, worthwhile, Richter-scale-registering O. Ten? 11? No matter.
But I digress, because I have yet to account my own initial experience with masturbation. I was 12, and had gone with a family member to see a certain teenage sex comedy which was in theaters at the time, Looking back on it, I probably should not have been allowed to see such a flick for another year or two due to it's sheer raunchiness and degree of harshly ironic humor, but by the time I left the theater, that was besides the point. In that movie, some guy goes into a bathroom, locks the door and jerks off. Okay so they didn't show his dick but you could tell he was stroking it furiously alright and rather enjoying it. So that night I lay in bed, playing with my cock idly, as usual, and about to get to that point where I got bored and stopped. But I thought, literally “Hmm, what if I just kept on doing it for a while to see what will happen? Just stroke it like normal, but maybe if I keep at it, something will happen like happened to him”.
It didn't take long before I knew I was on to something. That “doing it a little bit longer” strategy was showing some results. At first I got to the point where I'd normally quit out of boredom. But I kept on going, passing through that boredom zone. I somehow just knew there was something on the other side of that zone. I hadn't even come yet but I soon knew I was on to something and it was good. Of course during your first one at least, you're not thinking about sex, at least not for long, because how good it feels is taking you over in itself, assisted by no fantasy at all. Then, at a rate faster than I realized, I ramped up to having the actual O. The feeling was delicious, like a balloon about to pop, and then I just flat out came like a wildcat. Like, well, the way only a kid that age having his first O could. It was blinding, to say the least, like a lightning strike that left me breathless and seeing fucking stars. My cock shot off a hot five-roper, going off like a fucking fire-hose. I think my asshole must have snapped shut hard enough to wake the neighbors. I had been blasted into another realm, it was that mind-altering, mind blowing. This was no half-assed come, this was no accident; it was nothing short of the most monumental experience I had ever had or will ever have, unmatched even to this day which finds me in my early forties. If someone had told me right afterwards that I could do it again and it would be that good, but it would kill me instantly, I would have been found dead in my bed the next morning with my hand clenched around my still-hard cock in a grip so tight the undertaker wouldn’t have been able to make it come loose with a crowbar. And I wouldn't have had a second thought about the shame of literally being caught dead as such, with the sperm all over the place and everything. It was more of a....fucking full-blown religious epiphany than an O.
I lay there quivering, recovering. Coming back to my senses several minutes later, the first words that made it back into my conscious thought process were, as though a voice had spoken it to me from beyond-and maybe it did- “Now I know what the big deal is all about”. Sex, that is. I knew the big deal, the reason, the very core purpose to every dirty joke, porn mag, every stupid attempt to talk to a girl, the reason guys bought fancy cars, the reason they sold those risque nudie ashtrays at truck stops and why there were scantily clad women on the calendars in auto repair shops. I knew now it was all.....about.....the O. That was what the big deal was about. And to this day, I feel that revelation holds true.
I had always thought that my life as a junior-higher was a fucking drag. I had few friends, and was then as I am now, mostly a loner who prefers his own company. I really can't stand most people and their tendency, their seeming inexhaustible appetite for petty bullshit. Just why do you think reality TV is so popular? Because most people are rotten scum suckers, bottom feeders who make these shows the most popular things ever. They're not on the air 7 nights a week because no one's watching them, people. But the day after I jerked off, I went to school and sat on the bleachers of the gym as we all had to do with our classmates, each grade assigned their own side and area so sit at, waiting for the first bell to ring after the busses had delivered all the students to the school. This was like a bad prison cafeteria scene........growing ever more loud and hostile as the bleachers filled up over the course of half an hour or so. If you were something of an outcast or weakling, this was where you were going to be physically assaulted by some upperclass bully. Make it through this in the early hours of Monday morning and you'd probably live until the weekend. The only thing that kept what I supposed would be an apocalyptic meltdown of social order, a fucking insanely brutal, prepubescent free-for-all which would make the prison riots of the late seventies (you know, when they stopped giving inmates free cigarettes? Yeah, those riots) from happening were two teachers always in the gym, keeping an eye on things and preventing it from going totally Lord-of-the-Flies in there. I have no idea if they had any clue at all as to what kind of mortal chaos they kept at bay with their mere presence. This was back when kids feared adults more than each other, and they ruled with an iron fist. Justice was meted out with immediate assignment to after-school detentions, letters written to parents and sometimes even paddling. Being an introverted herbivore rather than a predatory meat-eater, I was usually sitting with my back against the wall in the very top row of bleachers, fearing for my life. To sit closer to the floor level was to enter the 9th Circle of Hell where the real bullies with nasty complexions, lame attempts at mustaches and dried-out, fried looking hair hung out, and certain death, the stealing of lunch money, the pulling down of pants or the stomping-on of one's bagged lunch awaited. I knew a guy who walked through that bunch to go to the washroom once. They caught him, held him down and administered weapons-grade noogies. It was like that scratchy old nature film where on the African plains you see some wildebeest getting dragged down by a pack of hyenas. I had to turn away. That was the last I ever saw of him. I kept a scrupulous eye on those teachers, praying they didn't step out of the gym for even a second or divert their attention elsewhere. If they did, I had to be ready for anything. That is, until I had some fellow grademate walk up to me one day and pick on me in some way. I whacked the glasses off his face and sent them tumbling to the floor several rows down. I barely contacted him at all but he started crying, retrieved his glasses and went back to his seat. It could have been worse, and no one got hurt. But from then on I was regarded as positively lethal. No one fucked with me again, and I went right back to not fucking with anyone either, as I had always done. I did feel kind of bad about what I did to that guy though. Crying in front of everyone was the ultimate humiliation, but hey, better him than me.
But sitting there the day after my epiphany, already wondering when I could manage to drain my balls again, I looked judgmentally around the gym with a feeling of superiority that left me no choice but to regard myself as a god and everyone else as slithering insects at my feet; ignorant, clueless, groping in the dark for what I had just discovered without even knowing it. Turning my head only a little, letting my eyes really do the wandering across the faces of my male classmates. Who of them, I wondered, had also managed to jerk it by then? Him? Nah, he looks too clueless. Maybe him, over there......he just has that look, like he's figured something out but he's not letting anyone in on it. Statistically, at least a few had to have been in the club by then. They had to have been altered in some way by the experience. No one goes through that unchanged. Whoever they were, it was like we were in an invisible brotherhood, one so secretive that we didn't even know who was a fellow member, but we knew we were there, and we knew, should we admit membership to each other, we would be a force to be dealt with, united in our fraternal bond of this secret, new knowledge. But as I said, I was sure to induct my closest friends by telling them. I didn't have to draw any pictures, they got the drift through simple explanation. Mainly I encouraged them to keep going past the “boredom zone” we had all usually stopped at. That was key. The next day they came to school like they had something to tell me about the night before. Oh yes, one by one, they had seen the light.
Of course from then on, I jerked even more and at every chance I got. It didn't take me long (and I mean about 24 hours) to figure out I could come in a worthwhile way three times in a row, that each successive O was harder to achieve and more lackluster than the last, unless I “recharged” for about 12 hours, but it was best if I could somehow wait for 24. Which wasn't often. Between the ages of 12 and probably 23, the only few days I didn't manage to jerk it were when I went on a vacation with my mom and stepfather which involved a road trip. Lack of privacy was what stopped me. During those few days, my balls swelled up noticeably and felt as though they didn't even quite fit into my underwear the same, like they were trying to escape. I guess they had not had a topped-off load in them for years by then, being as I had constantly drained them seemingly every time I could manage to get alone for as little as ten minutes. And ten minutes, that's all I needed. I liked to draw it out longer sometimes, but ten was the minimum time I had to allot back then for one of my little “sessions”. I kept this up until age 23 when I sort of noticed my sex drive cooling off just a bit due to age, but I am and will always still be a frequent masturbator. It is my sincere hope that one day in my bed at some hospice after I have breathed my last, they pull back the sheets to find I died with my cock in my hand, my final, wordless statement to the world.
I have only two more worthwhile bits of information to share with the group: One is that I think I am the only person to have never ever been caught at this. No one ever walked in on me, I was never caught in the act of immediately enough afterwards to have been suspected of having been in the act at all. Now how many of us can say that? Almost everyone has a “been caught/walked in on” story. Not me. I recognized early on that when one is in the throes of masturbatory delight, you're in no shape to be paying attention to approaching footsteps or nearby doors opening. So my rule is and always has been this: Never, ever do it anywhere but behind a locked door.
Two: The greatest masturbation aid I have ever found, and one that feels exactly like a real pussy, is a product called the Fleshlight. Take it from me, thus thing is the ultimate and well worth every penny. I'm not talking “feels like a decent facsimile of a pussy”, but feels like a real pussy. Just be sure to lube it copiously and maybe run it under some warm water before you fuck it. It's best enjoyed stuck securely between the mattress and box spring of a bed, with you kneeling in front of it on a phone book (if you need some added height), and bent forward over the bed. Oh, and do remember to lock the door, won't you, chaps?
