Here continues the personal sexual history of one of the web’s leading masturbators, Porn O’Graphicus . See all parts by Porn O’Graphicus
As I left off at the end of the previous “chapter,” it was December 1977, I was 12 years and a few months old, and my family and I were on the move again…this time, to Sacramento, California. Unlike our many other moves, I was not happy about it. It had taken me a long time to make friends in New England (a long story for another place and time). But, once I did, I got very sad when I realized that I had to leave them. And, I certainly didn’t like moving in the middle of a school year. Nevertheless, off we went. To finish the story of my days in New England, I was in the 7th grade. This was the first time that I had to take a physical education class and shower afterward. I had already noticed that some of the boys even a year younger than me had already started to go through puberty. However, I was not worried. I don’t remember where I got the information, but I knew that the average age for that to happen was 13 and that it could happen a couple of years earlier or later. In addition, I still wasn’t clear on the orgasm thing, so I probably worried a lot less about it than a lot of other boys. I hadn’t really discussed this with any of my classmates other than in a brief, matter of fact way. None of them made a big deal about it, and I didn’t want to be too forward in asking any questions. That left me not knowing what to expect or what signs to look for to let me know that I was about to hit “the big change.” A couple of storms across the country had delayed the moving van with all of our stuff in it. So, we stayed in three different motels for a couple of weeks. After I recovered from the nearly ear-busting flight and a major allergy attack brought on by a drought-breaking rain, I felt pretty normal. But, on one of the first days we finally got into the house – still waiting for the moving van to show up — I found myself needing to do something that I had never done before. After years and years of always hating to be told to take a nap during the daytime and never sleeping during that time (plus all of the sleeping problems I mentioned in the previous “chapters”), I was sleepy…at noontime! After all these years, I hated to admit this to my parents. But, I was so suddenly and completely in need of some sleep that I told them how I was feeling. They said that it was OK, and so I found a big winter jacket to sleep under and some other soft clothing to cushion my back and off I went to dreamland. I woke up in the early evening, and my parents were discussing getting some food. They went off to a nearby strip mall to get some hamburgers from a cool place that made them with a Greek twist — not that kind of Greek…cut that out! :-) When they drove off, I was all alone in this new, big house. I was standing in the kitchen looking out the small corner window as they drove off, and then stared for a moment at the empty street. Suddenly, with no warning or reason, I began sobbing with full tears coming out of my eyes. I began crying so uncontrollably that I had to support myself with both hands on one of the kitchen counters. I was asking myself why I was crying like this and couldn’t make myself stop. I couldn’t think of any one thing or even a combination of things that would make me be doing it. I tried to make myself stop, but I couldn’t. I desperately wanted to stop before my parents returned because I didn’t want them to either feel bad thinking that I was crying because we had moved again or get mad at me for being a “baby.” But, I blubbered on at full speed for what was probably 20 to 25 minutes but seemed like an eternity since I couldn’t make myself stop. Then, finally, I was able to take some very deep breaths. I kind of held myself (instinctively, I guess) and was able to stop crying even though I still had this feeling that there was a huge abyss inside me and a feeling of foreboding that seemed to have no cause or reason. As I became calmer, I washed off my face. Just then, my parents drove back up with our food. Most of those feelings went away once I realized that people were around. But, all through that meal, I was still shaken inside as to what had just happened to me. I wondered the following at the time, and in retrospect, it became clearer and clearer to me. However, I didn’t realize the full picture until later. Basically, I had a very brief but intense nervous breakdown. Now, at this point, all of my fellow masturbators have to be wondering why in the hell I have included all of this that hasn’t had one sexual overtone to it since I mentioned seeing classmates in the shower. Well, I am telling you all this because I truly believe that it was on that day — Thursday, December 22, 1977 — that my body began to go through puberty. My belief is that when all of the sadness, stress, and sickness of the past few days and months combined themselves with the hormones that suddenly began pulsing through my body, my subconscious finally flung the door open at its first opportunity when I would be alone to allow it to all come out. Now, I know that all sounds sad. And, yeah…it was at the time. But, we all have to go through the bad to get to the good. And, if puberty is starting, the ultimate “good” is not that far away in the grand scheme of things. ;-) However, it would not be an easy road from here to there. As I mentioned in Part 2, my parents had to have both been the world’s lightest sleepers. And, as luck would have it, I was put in one of the bedrooms on the second story, and it had a very creaky wooden floor. Over the years in that house, I had to learn to walk around like some kind of scene out of an Indiana Jones movie trying to avoid the spots where, if I put my foot in the wrong place, I was assured of a certain doom. Frankly, this house was excessively big for a couple with only one child. There was another bedroom across from me that ended up being one of our storage rooms. In some ways, that was good because all of the weight on the floor in there at least gave me 1/2 of what would become my regular journey with not much risk of giving away my location to my parents downstairs (more on this in Part 4). Once we had finally settled in, that room came to be filled with all kinds of things. Both closets were full of stuff. One had my grandfather’s guns that my father still kept even though he was not a hunter (I never messed with those). Another bigger one with sliding doors was almost totally filled with boxes and some old trunks filled with mementos from both of my parents’ past. There was a small day bed that had so much crap piled on it that it could not be used, and there was a small desk where, for whatever reason, the small bookshelf on the side of it had actually been filled up with paperbacks. It is in there, especially with that bookshelf and its contents, where we finally start getting to the good stuff. I don’t remember the specific circumstance of why I was in this room that one could barely walk around in or what I was doing. More than likely, I was in there playing with my Hot Wheels and Johnny Lightning cars making them “race” over whatever bizarre track I made up along the way while always making sure that my all-time favorite driver, Al Unser, Sr., took first place. However it happened, I do distinctly recall two books catching my attention. Like “The Pink Book” from the earlier “chapters,” I don’t recall their specific titles. But, I sure remember their look and contents. One was mostly white with pale blue, and it was all about sexual positions. While that may sound great at first glance, it was by no means spectacular. All of the pictures were of blockish wooden dummies moved into the various positions. Worst of all (at least for me), you couldn’t tell which one was supposed to be the man and which was supposed to be the woman. However, I was still able to draw stimulation from that book, imagining me in one place and a woman in the other as I used new ways to rub my penis that was now finally growing — at least in width — from the same size it had always seemed to be throughout my entire life. But, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. The other paperback was the one that really started to put together all of the pieces that I had been picking up since the things I mentioned in Part 1. Even when I had it around, I thought of this one as “The Yellow Book” because it was indeed a bright yellow. It had no pictures, but it was a pretty full description of sexual development and sex itself. Most importantly, it had a section devoted to male masturbation. It took me quite awhile to even begin to comprehend “The Yellow Book” and its section on masturbation. Even though I was supposedly (to paraphrase the great American philosopher, Yogi Bear) smarter than the average kid, there were words and phrases in that book that I had never seen before. And, it did not help that there weren’t even any “technical” pictures in there to give me more of a point of reference. But, over time, I started getting a picture of what I needed to do and what was in my future. At the point, I felt that it was important for me to learn how to masturbate more for making sure that my plumbing worked for when I would finally have sex with a girl rather than for the pleasure of masturbation in and of itself. And, of course, during this time and well after, I had those usual concerns and curiosities. Yes, I did worry about my then stubby little cock and, just like that guy in the movie Porky’s, did indeed whip out my ruler to see if I had made any progress on getting up at least to the supposed average of six inches. I did want to at least mention those things in passing. But, this “chapter” is going to be extremely long, so I am leaving out the details on those. In addition to having no pictures, another bad part of “The Yellow Book” was that it was not descriptive enough for my 12-year-old needs as to how exactly I should rub my penis in order to get it to come to an orgasm, nor what signs I should look for to know I was on the right track. One thing that kind of screwed me up was that it compared the feeling of a building orgasm to needing to urinate. That led me to a great fear of getting the wrong signal from my body and letting go only to end up pissing all over my bed (at that time, I couldn’t risk walking to my bathroom for fear of being heard thanks to that accursed wooden floor). My parents liked to always bring up bad things I had done in the past, and there would have been no way I would have ever lived down wetting my bed at 12. So, as I went down this road of trying to teach myself how to masturbate to orgasm, I was probably more careful than most. Combined with the fact that I had just now become fully clear on what orgasms were, this probably explains why I never had dry ones (and, I never had wet dreams…go figure). Thus, this is why my path to making myself cum was possibly more difficult than it was for other boys. But, on the good side, since I was taking all of this in and making mental notes almost every night of what I should try, this is what leads me to having such a good memory of this time, which in turn leads me to be able to share it with you all in such great detail (not to mention great memories for me when I decide that’s what I want to have in my mind when I masturbate in the present). During those days of the first half of 1978, I made an accidental discovery thanks to my mother. It is something kind of odd but that still led to a lot of stimulation and thinking as I continued to strive towards my first cum shot. I was in that “storage bedroom” with my mother while helping her put away and rearrange a few things. At one point, she handed me this basketball-sized, thick, clear plastic bag with a zipper on it and told me to put it on top of one of the stacks of boxes in the bigger of the two closets (the one without the guns). At first, the contents of the bag just seemed to be old pantyhose that I did not find interesting in any way. But, when I put the bag where she asked me to, on the other side, I noticed that there were a lot more colorful things in there. I kind of wanted to ask, but I also didn’t want to ask. So, I erred on the side of caution and kept my mouth shut. Now, if you remember from Part 2, this intimate clothing belonged to a woman who didn’t believe that there was such a thing as a female orgasm. My mom was frigid…poor Dad, huh? My curiosity was still piqued, though. I was interested in seeing this lingerie and touching it while thinking about what it would be like to have a real woman in it while lying next to me. Even though I was in another totally dry period as far as porn was concerned, I still had plenty of Playboy models burned into my head — many of them wearing colorful stockings or other silky, frilly, flimsy things. So, I waited several nights to make sure that she was not going to change her mind (as she often did) about the final resting place for that bag. Finally, one night, right before going to bed so I would not arouse suspicion, I grabbed the bag and threw it under my pillows. I then began creating the first of my various contraptions that I came up with so that I could either turn on a small, dim lamp or use the light of my portable black-and-white television set without the reflections being able to be seen by my parents under my door or through the window if they went outside. Satisfied that I was safe enough to be able to cover up the evidence should I hear one of them start to come up the stairs, I carefully unzipped the bag and began taking out its contents. I quickly moved past the run-of-the-mill brown pantyhose and got to colored stockings, sheer frilly black nighties, garter belts, and other usual items. These things all felt so wonderful and new to me even though they were probably ages old. And, don’t get the wrong idea…this was not about imagining my mother in these things — far from it. My mom was the mean, anti-sex, no-such-thing-as-orgasms lady. I was thinking about how a real woman would look and feel in these things. I thought about it so much that I did something quite unusual for a “straight” kid. Thinking that I would somehow get “closer to sex” or perhaps inspire something in me to get to that first shooting of cum, I actually put on a pair of the sheer white stockings that I got out of that bag. They were hard to get into because I was already taller than my mother was. But, somehow, I managed, all the while hoping with all my might that my mother was indeed never going to wear these again and thus find out that her weirdo little son had stretched them all out. :-) So, I just laid there in the dim light, looking at my legs and imagining they were a woman’s. I ran my hand up and down my calf feeling the wonderful sensation of the stretchy fabric. And, as I had recently been trying thanks to inspiration from “The Yellow Book,” in combination with my old tried and true “bed and pillow” rubbing method of pleasing my penis, I was now using my thumb and forefinger to rub up and down my shaft. This really did feel good as well as extremely exciting, naughty, and dangerous. While I did have a decent idea of what a transvestite was thanks to seeing a particular episode of All in the Family years earlier, I didn’t think of it that way. I just felt like I was somehow getting closer to “sex;” although I did like how those stockings felt on my legs…and, every once in a very rare instance, I will revisit that in the present, although I can never quite figure out what woman’s size I am and usually get something way to big or far too small. :-) This particular activity went on for a few months. But, being on the upper floor, it got too hot once 1978 got deep into spring in Sacramento to want to have on any extra clothing no matter how stimulating it was. So, after years of pleasing myself with just enough of my clothes on to free my penis yet make a quick cover-up possible if one of my parents came around, I finally started playing with myself while totally nude. During these early months of ’78, my penis was finally increasing in length as well as girth; no pubic hair yet, but it was a start! With it still too small to give it the traditional grip, I used all kinds of ways to make my cock feel good: rubbing it, bouncing it around, palming it, sticking it in a cardboard tube filled with my mother’s old panties or toilet paper…all kinds of things. But, I still did not get that “moment” I was looking for. And, hey, speaking of moments…I was just weeks away from my 13th birthday! If you think that I forgot about my father’s promise that he made to me on that fateful night back in 1971, you’ve got another think coming! :-) As I realized how close I was to that goal, I made sure that I was extra good. I was not going to let anything screw this up. For those of you who have seen the movie, A Christmas Story, if you think that Ralphie had it bad for that Red Ryder BB Gun, he didn’t have shit on me compared to how bad I wanted to be free to look at Playboy again! This was worse than any Christmas in how slow the days went. And, knowing where I was in life, I was so hoping that, like a lot of other boys got when they turned 13, that it would all come with a good talk from my father where he would explain things to me and maybe, just maybe, I would work up the courage to ask him how to masturbate. The rest of May passed, then June, and finally it was early July. My birthday was here! Early in the day, I got the usual assortment of cards containing money and calls from the relatives. Being a music freak, I got some albums that I had asked for from my parents as well as a gift certificate from the now defunct Tower Records so that I could pick out more stuff on my own (and Tower will figure back into this story in Part 4!). But, there was nothing from my father yet on the Playboys. That evening, we all went out to supper at one of my favorite Mexican restaurants and I filled the rest of my night by listening to the Dr. Demento Show on a local radio station. At this point, I figured that my father was waiting until late when we could talk privately about sex as well as the return of my Playboy privileges. I remembered that all of our talks about it years ago came pretty late, so I thought that the “tradition” would continue. The good Doctor signed off at 10 o’clock, and I told my parents that I was going to listen to a side of one of the albums they bought me before I went to sleep (remember all you younger masturbators out there…this was about five years before the first compact disks started appearing in stores, so we still had vinyl records). I figured that would give my father plenty of time to brush off my mother if that was necessary and that it would be no time at all before I heard him coming up the stairs for my “13th birthday chat.” So, I put on side one of London Town by Paul McCartney & Wings that had come out earlier in the year and was enjoying it, and I spent a little time making sure my room was all neat and tidy so that my father would have absolutely nothing to complain about when he came up. The familiar click-clack of the stylus returning itself to its stand on the turntable came to my ear at about the same time that I heard my mother going into her usual before-bedtime routine. “So,” I thought to myself, “he’ll be up any minute now. I’ll go ahead and flip the record over to side two and wait for him.” With my mother now in bed, I turned the volume down very low as to not piss her off…plus, I wanted to try to be in a very nonchalant position as soon as I heard any steps on the stairway. Morse Moose and the Grey Goose ended, followed again by silence and the click-clack of the turntable shutting off. If this had been Internet times, this is where I would have had a thought balloon over my head with “WTF?” in it. I slowly and quietly opened my door, peered down the stairs, and saw nothing but darkness… …nothing but darkness. I immediately felt nothing but darkness in my heart and soul. I had waited seven, long, desperate years for this prison-length sentence to end. Yet, the warden seemed to have lost the paperwork telling him that my time had been served and that I should have been freed. Analogies aside, I fully realized that my father had broken a promise to me, and that was even more painful than not getting to look at Playboys again. So, with a big lump already building in my throat, I eschewed the other new albums I had received that day, pulled out Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, plugged in my headphones and put them over my ears, put on side one, sat down in my suede beanbag chair, and began to cry…not loudly, not hard, but just feeling that lump in my throat get bigger as long tears streamed down my face as I wallowed in the disappointment and sadness of having something so important to me be forgotten. Oh, but I bummed you all out again, didn’t I? Well, I didn’t go this far to leave you all on a sour note. Besides, wouldn’t you have cried if you were hosed out of a promise to be able to freely look at porn when you were 13? :-) After Welcome to the Machine whirred off into silence at the end of side one, I was through feeling sorry for myself. Still sitting in my beanbag, I took off my clothes and then reached into one of my big album holders. I leafed through my records until I found X Rated by Black Oak Arkansas. For those of you who are not familiar with BOA (one of the raunchiest bands of the “boogie rock” era), here is a picture of the cover so you can see why I pulled out this particular LP. No, this is not the “big moment,” so just settle down! :-) But, I did lie back while looking at the hot southern chick and went back to the usual thoughts I had at times like this for so many years — wishing she was there with me to explain all of this and to lead me into the knowledge that I so desired. I stroked my penis with my thumb and forefinger, and I remember it all feeling so extra good because I had my window open and the breeze was just the right temperature as it blew across my naked body. I didn’t even think much about finally getting myself to cum this particular night; I just wanted to feel good for a while. After wishing, dreaming, and hoping with that beautiful lady on the album cover for about a half hour, I rolled into bed and went to sleep. In the days following my birthday, the deep disappointment of my father’s broken promise faded but never totally went away. For a while, I had hoped that maybe he had just forgotten. On the other hand, I had already begun to perceive that my parents didn’t have a good or normal relationship and that maybe he was biding his time for the right moment. As July faded into August and then September and the dawn of another school year, I began to wonder if he was waiting until Christmas. I was now in 8th grade, the final year of junior high school, and I certainly didn’t want to get to the “big kids” school the following year and be “behind” in my personal sexual learning. Again, I knew what was coming — high school dances, parties, the first true tastes of liquor, and sex. Thankfully, for me, I felt at least a little more grown up and closer to my goals because my body was starting to look the part. I had already started to grow some underarm hair before my birthday, and it was sometime in August when it started showing up around my balls and penis. This made me feel better in some ways because I did not want to be one of those “late bloomers” that I read about in “The Yellow Book” who didn’t reach puberty until they were 15 or even later. I thought that, if I had hair down there, my first ejaculation should happen any day. So, I again rededicated myself to making this happen. I didn’t try every night. However, if I got an erection late at night that was especially hard, I would usually go for it. I was again using no one particular method to stimulate myself, and I would go back again and again to “The Yellow Book” to try to see if I missed something on what I needed to do to make sperm come out of my penis. But, it was still to no avail. With the cooler weather, I again occasionally experimented with my mother’s old lingerie. But, it seemed to be more of a hassle than it was worth to get that stuff out, play with it in one way or another, then get it all back into the bag the same way it came out so she would not notice that it had been tampered with since she had me place it in the closet all those months ago. Then, Christmas 1978 came…but I didn’t…nor did my Playboy privileges as I had hoped. Nothing…no mention of it…not a word…and still the usual anti-sex comments here and there from both of my parents as well as both of my grandmothers (a new and totally unwelcome development). Well, that sure sucked — the whole goddamn family was against me having any fun in a time when even a child could not help notice how sex had come out of the shadows from the 60’s through the 70’s. They could all say what they wanted…I was not going to be deprived. So, here I am…it’s over a year since that day that I believe that my puberty began. Within that time, my penis has grown to well over 4 inches long, I have pubic hair, and I know that I’m supposed to be old enough and developed enough to ejaculate — but I can’t make myself cum. One of the things that I had read about in “The Yellow Book” regarded a very brief passage about lubrication. I had avoided using any lube so far as to not make any mess that my mother would get pissed at me about and then I would get punished. My parents didn’t have anything around the house that I could use that would not be noticed. So, still in the middle of Christmas vacation, I rode my bicycle over to the nearby strip mall (the same one with the Greek hamburgers) where there was a big Long’s Drug Store (another place you will read more about in Part 4). I figured that I would buy some regular name-brand hand lotion like I had seen advertised for years on TV like Jergins or Johnson’s or something like that. What I got instead would become one of my strongest masturbation memories that still sticks with me to this day. But first, I must digress a moment. For some reason, during the 1970’s, it was said far and wide that vitamin E helped people sexually. I don’t quite remember how, and that’s probably because either it was never explained fully or it just went over my young head. However, I fully remember it being joked about by radio disk jockeys, Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show, and even occasionally on situation comedies. So, I’m standing in this Long’s looking at the tons of different creams that they had for sale. Then I saw this big clear plastic squeeze bottle of hand cream. It was some brand that I had never heard of. It had a huge letter “E” on it and touted all over it that it was fortified with that very vitamin. It did not say anything about it improving or adding to any type of sexual function. And, I kind of figured that a cream wouldn’t do much for me in that area. But, I also thought that it couldn’t hurt, especially since this bottle of lotion was half the price of most of the other bottles in addition to being twice the size. So, I picked up this fairly huge bottle of lotion. Fearing that the cashier would know that I was buying it to use as a lubricant for masturbation, I bought some other things like candy bars and a Mad Magazine along with it hoping that I would not raise any suspicions that might get me stopped, my mother called, and my ass whipped. I rode my bike back home and then hid the cream in the garage so that my mother would not ask questions about it. I fished it out later that evening when both of my parents were in the back yard, then stashed it under my bed. With it being Christmas time, some of the things kept in that “storage bedroom” across from mine had been moved around. Some boxes had been transferred from a sewing room type area that had also been used to store stuff. In fact, I had believed that it was in that sewing room where the boxes I saw before our move to Sacramento – the ones with newer Playboys as well as some copies of Penthouse and other magazines — had been stored. I was so certain because that room seemed to have been intentionally laid with sensitive items that I could have never gotten past without disturbing them, thus leading to me being caught red-handed with porn. This is why I had not gotten back during this time to Playboy and other stuff even without my father’s permission…until now. It was a few days after Christmas, and I was being a god boy and putting our holiday music back on the top shelf of the big closet where they had been stored. I was still too short to reach it standing on the floor, so I got on a small step stool to reach the shelf. With so much crap all over the place in that room (especially with Christmas boxes all scattered about), I started to look down to make sure I was going to step on the floor and not something else that I would break or that would cause me to slip. As I had bent my head down to get my bearings, I noticed one of the moved/changed boxes in the closet. Its tape had been sliced open and the flaps no longer closed all of the way. It was mostly covered by another box, but I could see through the one thin strip where the box top parted revealing the contents inside. The background was green and leafy, but out of focus. Then, there was a long white form that appeared to be a woman’s leg adorned with a white stocking. I knew right away that this was not any Playboy cover that I had seen before, so I was not ready to go ape-shit with joy by any means. I figured is was some fashion or sewing magazine of my mother’s. But, I thought that I would check it out anyway to see if whatever it was might make a nice change of pace from my old memories of Playboys past and that woman on the BOA album cover who was my current “love.” I had to move three other heavy boxes to get to this one, and it appeared that all of these ones now on the bottom of the closet had just been moved there. But, only this one was open. Once I finally got to it, I opened up the flaps. And there, right before my eyes was a copy of Penthouse! I cannot fully describe the way that the feelings of joy, happiness, contentment, excitement, naughtiness, and utter arousal all rose up from the soles of my feet through my belly then into my heart and out of the top of my head. Then, reality sunk in quickly. I checked around the door and listened downstairs to see where my mother was. Feeling that she was not an imminent threat to come bounding up the stairs, I immediately came up with a plan. Since I had no idea how long these boxes would be here or if I would ever get the opportunity to dig that much in this closet ever again, I remembered the lesson of not putting all of your eggs into one basket. This was especially true once I realized that there were plenty more “dirty” magazines below that one. First, I grabbed that Penthouse and, as nonchalantly as possible, walked over to my bedroom and stashed it between the mattress and the box springs. I again checked at the stairs to make sure that Mom was not approaching. Next, I needed some “filler” so that this box would not cave in and draw attention after I emptied at least some of its contents. So, deep under the desk where I had found “The Yellow Book,” there was a stack of long-forgotten issues of Redbook, Family Circle, and the like. I grabbed a few from the bottom of the pile as to not disturb the light covering of dust on the one lying on top. It was just the right size to fill up the hole as I grabbed the next three magazines — another copy of Penthouse, a Oui, and a Gallery. I quickly but quietly placed those at the bottom of the old vinyl-covered toy chest that I still had in my own bedroom closet. I made a third run, this time bringing in another Penthouse, a very old copy of Adam, and two newer Playboys. As I made that switch with the old “housewife” magazines, I saw a beautiful old site. It was the July 1970 issue of Playboy — the very one I had been reading over seven years ago when I was punished for reading at night and not being asleep. Wow! Again, words cannot describe how I felt. I was going to make a fourth run at this box of gold which would have put that July 1970 Playboy back in my hands. But, I heard stirrings near the foot of the stairs. So, I had to quickly cover the rest of my tracks and then just pray to the pornography gods that my mother didn’t decide she needed to clean in any of the places I had just stashed all of these magazines (the last spot being a pretty stupid one, right under my bathroom sink). For once in my life, I could not wait until it was bedtime. Since it was Christmas vacation and there was no school again for another week and a half, it was even later than usual (what irony!). So, there I am, fully armed with some lotion to use on my penis as well as the most visual “lotion” I’ve had access to at one time in years (plus it being the first time during puberty). I felt that this called for new thinking and new methods. I engaged my second-generation light-blocking devices (the first one having failed when it gave me away staying up past my bedtime to watch Monty Python’s Flying Circus). I had an old brass bed at this point, and I laid all of my pillows up long ways against one of the posts so that I could sit up somewhat in bed. I pulled out the Penthouse that I had stashed under my bed as well as the magazines that I had put in my toy chest. I felt that it was too risky to get the ones under the sink at this late hour, so I would get those in the morning and move them to an easier to reach as well as more secure location. Unlike years past, this was not a time for reading all of the articles. However, I did stop with some curiosity and downright amazement in my first reading of a Penthouse at their Forum letters and the advice column from the woman I recognized as the famous “Happy Hooker” from the early part of the decade. Once I got to looking at the photos, it was time to get to business. So, I popped open the nozzle on that big bottle of vitamin E cream for the first time. It had an extremely distinctive aroma. It was not “flowery” like a lot of other lotions, but it was by no means unpleasant — at least not to me. It was hard to describe — kind of plastic-like, but not industrial. The cream’s color was an off yellow, and it had a perfect consistency for a lotion — not too runny, but not too thick. Of course, like any youngster, I used far too much of it. In addition, I very quickly learned the lesson that I should have let it warm in my hand for a bit before putting that cold lotion (remember, it’s December) on my hot cock. With my penis now larger but still not big enough to use the typical hand grip that most grown men employ, I needed something more all-encompassing feeling-wise rather than the mere thumb and forefinger that I had mostly been using of late. There is probably a more official name out there for this method that I “invented” that night. But, the best way I can describe it is to call it “The Rope Climb.” With this odd vitamin E cream all over my hands and totally over-lubricating my penis, I had both of my hands shaped in the usual “jackoff grip.” But, because of my short length, I would just do the down-stroke with each hand, quickly switching between left and right, left and right, so that it was if I was constantly pushing into a pussy instead of moving in and out (such as the standard jacking motion duplicates). And, if I have described it well and you are imagining it properly, you can see how this would look like climbing a rope, one hand over the other. This was the best feeling that I had ever gotten from any method of playing with myself, and I really felt that I was on the right track. That sperm just had to come out any time now. But, even with the overabundance of cream that I used, after about 45 minutes, I was getting tired and sore. So, I washed myself off, stashed the magazines, and gave up for the night. And, as an aside, I would not recommend the long-term use of “The Rope Climb.” Even as a now quite experienced masturbator, “The Rope Climb” puts far too much stress on your sperm hole and can end up creating an uncomfortably sore or even burning experience while urinating or even just standing around. You try this method — especially long-term — at your own risk. Anyway, even though I was unsuccessful at making myself orgasm on this first full-blown masturbation session, I really felt that I was on the correct road and that it had to be any day now that I would find out what it really looked like to shoot out sperm. At the very least, it felt damn good both physically as well as mentally. After all, I had begun to claim what I had been promised by my father! Christmas vacation rolled into its second and final week. For various reasons, I was not able to experiment every night nor grab anymore of the magazines that I knew were still in the spare bedroom’s closet. However, what I had was quite stimulating and I was certainly not bored with it like I would be now if you only left me four or five porn magazines for two weeks. :-) New Year’s Day 1979 comes and goes, and it’s now Saturday, January 6th…well, actually, it’s after midnight, so it early on Sunday, January 7th. This was back in the days when the original cast of the Saturday Night Live TV show was still together (minus Chevy Chase) and the rule from my parents was that I had to go straight to sleep after it ended at 1 AM. Well, I wasn’t particularly sleepy, and they were already asleep. I had the weekly television listings that came in the previous Sunday’s paper. I couldn’t find anything on that I wanted to watch at one, but I did notice something at 1:30 that I had never noticed before. It was a half-hour show, but all that was listed was its title. Usually, one would at least get a comment after the title in parentheses giving a clue as to what kind of program it was; comedy, news, drama, religious, whatever. This one had nothing. So, I figured I would stay up and watch it. If it sucked or was some kind of Jesus crap (which was my first guess as to what it would probably be), I would just go ahead and go to sleep. I mention this because two of the most life-changing discoveries for me came on this one night. In this group, I know you can guess what one of them is. But, the other one was this TV show. Its title was SCTV. And, for those of you know what that was, you know why I was so affected by it even though I had gone through something even more earth-shattering than my first exposure to the characters of Melonville. So, what to do for this half-hour before this possibly interesting TV show came on at the ungodly hour of 1:30 in the morning? :-) Since it was such a short time, I only bothered to pull out one of the Penthouse magazines that I had nabbed from the spare bedroom closet. I did my usual setup for the time — pillows long ways on the headboard of my brass bed so that I could sit mostly upright in comfort while still being able to see the magazine. And, due to the mess the vitamin E cream made with how much I was using it and the way I was using it, in order to not get the magazine greasy and maybe get busted that way if either of my parents looked at it, I had already figured out that I should just kind of play around with my penis “as is” for awhile, and then pick one set of pages to stay with after I decided to apply the cream and begin stroking with “The Rope Climb” method. Sadly, I do not remember the specific issue of Penthouse that I was looking at that night*. And, I have never been able to find these pictures in the Penthouse Usenet newsgroup. It was not the Pet of the Month that I was fixating on during this session. Instead, it was the opening pictorial that had one of those typical twists on a popular phrase or title. This one was called, Through a Glass Starkly. And, as is still typical of Penthouse to this very day, it was an oddball setting. It was a nude lady posing in giant drink glasses…stuff like a martini glass and such. *ADDENDUM: Since the time I wrote this, I did find out that it was the January 1973 issue. One thing that I remember very strongly about the woman in this layout is that she looked Japanese. Yes, I had seen and very fondly remembered Gwen Wong and China Lee from Playboy in the 1960’s. But, that was in the pre-pubic years. And, of course, Penthouse was already much more graphic than Playboy was even in the late 70’s, although not quite as much as Hustler…yet. Anyway, this lady in the pictures reminded me a lot of a very sweet girl that I went to school with named Wendy. Like Wendy who was indeed Japanese, this model had extremely fair skin and a very thin but beautiful smile. And, I think that it is this very pictorial combined with my silent crush on Wendy, then all combined with what happened next, that has led to me being a big, big fan of almost any nude pictures of Asian women, especially if they are Japanese*. *ADDENDUM: As it turns out, after seeing the photos again for the first time in 25 years (and a year after writing this “chapter”), the model appears to not be Japanese, but she still has a striking resemblance to Wendy anyway. Now, in the past few days after combining the vitamin E cream with “The Rope Climb” method, I had indeed felt a tingly, ticklish feeling at times in both my balls as well as along the bottom base of my penis. But, it never went beyond that, and I again feared that such a feeling was me needing to pee instead of building semen. But, after only just five minutes or so of working out my penis, that feeling returned. However, this time it was with an intensity and overall shock through almost all of my body. “Oh shit,” I thought to myself. “I must be getting closer to finally doing it. Maybe in a few more days I will finally ejaculate!” Yes, because this had all taken so long and had arrived in so many stages, I had no idea how close I really was not to mention how absolutely glorious it would feel. I applied more of the vitamin E cream to my penis and really started going to town with “The Rope Climb.” Since I stopped to really get creamy, that original feeling had subsided. Now that I was stroking again, and doing it faster and harder than I ever had before, that electric feeling returned within about two minutes with triple the intensity. In the space of just a handful of seconds…I felt a sharp, tingling but extremely pleasant and exciting sensation roll up my back, but concentrated along my spine…the bottoms of my feet began to tingle as if I had touched them on a very low-current exposed electrical wire…my penis was quickly alternating between feeling totally numb and then totally alive with completely arousing sensation… my balls felt like they had been pleasantly squeezed…a whole wave of unbelievable and total pleasure washed over me, feeling both electric at the same time as being held by a beautiful angel…it was so good that I couldn’t help but let out a small yelp of “Ah” even though I was still consciously trying to be quiet…and then it hit in three liquid explosions… …blat…blat…blat… …silence… …disbelief… …post-orgasm quivering… …looking… …staring… …smiling… …oh my god, I just became a man tonight… …relief… …brief listen to make sure I didn’t awake my parents… …great internal celebration! Yes, I had finally done it! It was not totally as I had expected in its look, but the feelings overwhelmed any questions about that…and how! I was still holding my hands right where they were when I came. Being so young, I was still 100% rock hard. When I ejaculated, the semen did not shoot out far or all over the place as “The Yellow Book” told me might happen (that came not too much later). What spurted out of me on this first occasion were three very thick and very large blobs of extremely white semen. I guess that it was so thick on my first ejaculation that it could not get far into the air. As I had watched myself cum for the first time, it seemed to almost just appear until I saw the third and final spurt actually rise up about 3/8 of an inch off the tip of my penis before it flowed all over my cock, my hands, and my young pubic hair. I looked at it all for quite awhile. And, in retrospect, I was able to really see it as it was for such a long time because my load was so incredibly thick. While I would put out bigger loads later in my teen years, none of those was ever of this incredible consistency. But, as is eventually the case with any ejaculation, it begins to separate and the more watery parts of it start to run towards places where you don’t want it to go. At this point, for the many like me who grew up in an environment that was not very friendly to sexual matters, the fear of discovery came into play. I did not want any trace of what I had just done to be left behind. I had a hell of a time trying to quickly learn the physical properties of young sperm that is so thick and voluminous. I cupped one hand over the semen that had run onto my pubic hair, and cupped the other under my penis. Then, I quickly went to my bathroom hoping that, if the squeaky wooden floor awoke my parents, it would sound like I just had to make a quick run to pee. I stood on my tiptoes trying to get as much of my stomach over the sink or at least the counter because that would be easy to clean up…or, so I thought. After standing there for about two minutes to see if one of my parents had awoken, I was satisfied that I was in the clear. Before grabbing the soap and turning on some warm water, I grabbed some of my semen with my right hand so that I could get a close look at it. It was so thick and white with only a small amount of clear liquid coming out of it; nothing like the more usual loads where you could see swirls of sperm in much more clear semen. And, even through the strong scent of the vitamin E cream, I could tell that cum had a distinctive smell to it — and I liked it…something that I will return to again in a later chapter. :-) I did indeed think about tasting a small bit of my cum on this first night. However, it was all mixed with that vitamin E cream now and I didn’t want to eat any of that. So, my first taste of cum would have to wait until a few weeks later (and, maybe I’ll cover that in Part 4). I wanted to look more at everything, including my face as I now could view myself in the mirror and finally see myself as being much closer to being a true adult now that I had finally ejaculated. But, I didn’t want to risk discovery in case I made too much noise washing myself. It was then that I discovered that my thick sperm was not that easy to clean off of my pubic hair with just a quick wash of soap and water. The damn stuff would roll itself into little, tiny cum balls right at the end of my pubic hairs! Pulling them off was not pleasant, than the flicking them into the sink was like trying to get rubber cement off you your fingers! This was troubling me, and I sure didn’t want to come down for Sunday breakfast smelling like semen since I was already having visions that, somehow, my parents would know that I had an orgasm the night even if I was totally clean…the weird things we think in those years, huh? Speaking of those weird things, I was already wondering if I should try to do it again or wait for…well, I don’t know. But, for the moment, the decision was made for me by seeing that it was 1:28. So, I turned on my TV and got blown away again. However, this time, it was by the great Canadian comedy of SCTV. After the show was over, I could not believe what a great night that this had been. In the span of one hour, I had seen the greatest show that I had ever seen on television and experienced my first orgasm. I really, really thought hard for several minutes about whether I should try for my second orgasm. But, since I had let out a small yelp during my first one, I decided not to chance it. So, I went to sleep, and did so feeling very happy, extremely contented, and highly relieved. As fate would have it, I slept so well and so deeply that night that I woke up early. My parents were not awake, but my penis certainly was! So, I first went to take whiz. After that, I waited about five minutes to see if my flushing the toilet had awakened my parents. Hearing no stirring from downstairs, I decided that it would be a good time to try it again. This would be even more fun because the sun was rising and I could have all of the lights on to fully see everything. And, once I was done, it was normal for me to be in the shower. So, I could scrub all the sperm balls that would collect on my pubic hair and my parents would be none the wiser — well, unless of course their secret parent powers detected my ejaculations, in which case I was totally fucked no matter what. :-) So, I had at it again using all of the same methods. But, this time, I did not drag out the Penthouse. I just let my mind drift and mainly got my excitement simply from the fact that I was masturbating and watching myself do it. As I had read in “The Yellow Book,” I learned that, as a young male, I could make myself cum very quickly. While this time felt just as good as my first orgasm, it was different, and I think that was because I was trying to hurry in order to cum before my parents got out of bed. This orgasm was felt totally in my penis — a wonderful, all-encompassing sensation as I could now already anticipate my ejaculation and know that it was imminent. My semen came out just as before — three very thick but not powerfully shot “blats”…yes, b-l-a-t-s, it’s my word and I’m sticking to it. :-) The final one did not have the volume of the third blast from the previous night. But, again, “The Yellow Book” had prepared me well to not expect the same amount of semen every time that I masturbated, especially within the same 24-hour period. And, along with all of the other good feelings was again relief — relief that I was not a “one hit wonder” and could indeed repeat what I had done the night before. I honestly think that I can say after this second masturbatorial orgasm — even though I did not use porn with this one — that I at least partially consciously knew, even though I was extremely keen to have sex with a woman, that masturbation and pornography were going to be something that I would be into at least until I got married. In fact, I remember even then thinking that, if I looked long and hard enough, I could find a woman who would be open about porn and masturbation and not see it as a threat but an enhancement. Yes, these thoughts actually did come out of my 13-year-old mind. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. But, I am telling you all the full truth. After all, what mostly straight guy would admit to wearing women’s stockings and then lie to you about something else? :-) I know that this chapter is the one that those of you out there who are able to stand reading long posts will have been most interested to see. However, the story does not by any means end here. There are many things left for me to tell you all about how I continued to pursue my craft as a young masturbator and then perfect it once I was finally free of the dreaded no-fun-allowed parents. And, while the first time is always the best, the times after that aren’t so bad either. So, I hope that you all will stay tuned for the further tales of my descent into being a dedicated masturbator as well as a seeker and lover of porn. As you will see in the next “chapter,” that search for porn and more self-exploration leads to some unexpected and surprising places for somebody who still doesn’t even have his driver’s license yet. :-)
Here continues the personal sexual history of one of the web’s leading masturbators, Porn O’Graphicus . See all parts by Porn O’Graphicus