Yes, and I would have been astounded and disappointed at the answer.
By the time I was 12, I had learned some of the bitter facts of life about
being male — like I was likely to be drafted into the army before I was 20
(something girls didn’t have to worry about); that even if I survived that
I was still likely to die sooner than my female cohorts; that if one day I
married and it didn’t work out, family courts didn’t treat ex-husbands at
all well, and so on. All these things I had learned by age 12.
And then one day I masturbated to my first orgasm and ejaculation. At last,
here was something that, as a male, I could enjoy its exquisiteness several
times a day, an exquisiteness that the girls in my life could not possibly
even begin to imagine.
At that time the words, masturbation, orgasm, and ejaculation were not yet
a part of my vocabulary. But I understood immediately the adaptive reasons
why friction on the penis would stimulate emission of sperm, and also why
it felt so good when it happened. I understood enough biology to know that
this was nature’s way of motivating us males to get the job of impregnating
the females in their midst done. The friction on the penis was supposed to
originate from a vagina, but I had been clever enough to find a way to
enjoy the entire delight without having to solve the impossible puzzle of
procuring a vagina for that purpose.
Of course each time I masturbated I imagined my penis was indeed receiving
its stimulation from a vagina — one belonging to Beth or Sally or
Priscilla or any of the other young ladies in my 7th grade class. But
afterward I often thought about how, when that blessed day came when the
vagina was a real one, I would be the only half of the twosome to enjoy the
coupling, with my partner, at best, enjoying it only vicariously.
In my young mind, enjoyment of sex, solo or with partner, was a special
privilege of being a boy. Sorry girls!
Oh yes — I did learn the truth long before I lost my virginity — that
girls masturbate too. I read it in a book when I was 14.
And yes, I was disappointed that it was not in fact a privilege that only
boys enjoyed. But the M-fantasies that arose from that new knowledge,
picturing Cynthia or Debbie or Alison or any of the other young ladies in
my 9th grade class playing with themselves — that made it all worthwhile.