Autobiography of a Masturbator: Porn O’Graphicus, Part 6

 

Here continues the personal sexual history of one of the web’s leading masturbators, Porn O’Graphicus . See all parts by Porn O’Graphicus

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As I left you all in the previous “chapter” of my story, I had promised to begin as I headed off to college and had my first “real” experiences in adult video arcades. I was also considering whether to wrap this all up with that story and a few other items.
After thinking about it over the past few days, I have decided to postpone the arcade stuff and other things of that time to what will become Part 7, and that there probably will be Parts 8 and maybe 9. What I want to get to today is a story of something that kind of overlaps time-wise from the previous two chapters into what will be the time frame of Part 7. And, to be honest, it is something that actually goes through to this very day.

So, in this chapter, I bring you all to my discovery and use of that great masturbation aid…phone sex. I can’t precisely remember when it first occurred to me to try to engage in an “obscene phone call.” Whenever it was, it was certainly well before I had ever heard of “phone sex” whether it was between a couple who knew each other (often a husband and wife separated for whatever reason) or the pay-to-play version that we all think of today.

I had certainly heard of obscene phone calls as a young boy — heavy breathing, “What are you wearing,” and such. I somewhat remember my mother getting some of them from time to time. There were the occasional references to them in a few situation comedies on television as well as occasional jokes I had seen in a few Playboy cartoons and in Mad. But, in those pre-puberty years, I didn’t have the full concept of why somebody would want to engage in an “obscene phone call” other than for humor or harassment value. All I really knew was that the old Hudson & Landry comedy record featuring Obscene Phone Bust with the wild sound effects covering up all of the “dirty” words was freakin’ hilarious. And, I myself had, in those young years, had occasionally engaged in the old game of calling up homes at random, deepening my voice, asking the lady of the house if she would like to take a survey, getting the inevitable “yes” answer to whether her toilet or refrigerator was running, and hanging up laughing my butt off when I told her, “Well, you better go catch it before it gets away!”
But, sometime after that glorious day when I first ejaculated, I hungered for other means of stimulation. I think that I became inspired by that wonderful influence on all males (ha ha), the Penthouse Forum letters section. I seem to remember a letter in there about a man who called some airline reservation number, struck up a conversation with the lady on the other end of the line, and he then claimed that they had a very erotic conversation in which they both masturbated to orgasm.

Now, I didn’t immediately begin to make “obscene phone calls.” Even in the days when “Ma Bell” was still in full force and it almost took an act of god to trace a phone call in the post-Watergate and FBI scandal days, I thought there was no way I could get away with it. This was a time when rotary-dial phones were still in the majority, and they would often cause every line in the house to make various noises that might alert the dreaded parents.

So, my first experience with an erotic phone conversation came with a “help line” in Sacramento established by some pseudo-government agency. I had seen this line that included pre-recorded information on all sorts of topics in a new phone book that arrived at my house. And, some of the topics were sexual in nature. So, of course, I called at my first opportunity to listen to them. They were pretty bland to say the least. But, at times, live people staffed this line where you could ask further questions and they would talk to you about them or research them. So, one night, I finally got up the courage to actually dial zero to speak with someone.

I don’t remember the precise order in which all of these different things happened. Sometimes, I would just be hung up on once I mentioned that I wanted to talk about masturbation or that I actually was masturbating. Other times I would just be fairly nicely told that they were not allowed to talk about that and I would just give up. I almost always got women on this line, so sometimes they would say, “Hold on for a minute,” hand me over to a male who said, “Can I help you,” and I immediately hung up.

The one fairly good experience that I had with this “help line” was with a fairly dry sounding lady who first started giving me the line about how she was not allowed to talk about masturbation. I kept giving her some of what must have been some very lame excuses. Eventually she said that she couldn’t talk about it but that she would stay on the phone with my while I played with myself until I was done. That really got me going even though neither of us was saying much to one another. Every once in awhile she would calmly ask, “Are you still doing it,” “Is it feeling good,” and, “Are you finished yet?” It was so good to finally have a live person involved in my masturbating that I was just loving it. I asked her if she masturbated, and she replied, “Yes, a couple of times, but I have sex with my boyfriend now…you should get a girlfriend so that you can have sex instead of playing with yourself.”

Not much later, she said, “Did you cum yet?” Upon hearing the word “cum” from a live person for the first time, I shot off all over my leg and then thanked her for staying on the line with me. And, I also got her name. Sadly for me, I could never again reach her on that help line, eventually being told that she had stopped working there.

After a few months of getting no more action on the help line, I finally got brave, desperate, and/or horny enough to try something else. Thinking that it was not safe to just call local numbers at random, I thought that the best way to do this was to call up toll-free reservation numbers for airlines and motels. After all, they must deal with oddball calls all the time and certainly wouldn’t want to waste the time to track down one dirty phone caller.

So, late at night, I would get an old telephone book, go to the Airlines, Hotels, or Motels section, find a toll-free number (thus leaving no trace for the parents to discover), and quietly dial the number. I would do this under multiple layers of blankets to muffle my voice as to not awaken my parents downstairs. This was not the most comfortable conditions under which to masturbate, but I thought that it would be worth the reward.

Of course, being a 13, 14, and 15 year old, I didn’t have much imagination or tact. If I got a woman on the line, I would usually just start out after her greeting with, “I wanna fuck.” Great pickup line, huh? :-D

As you might imagine, that led to hang-up after hang-up. However, I found that the pursuit was almost as stimulating as the lone “dirty” phone call that I had actually accomplished up to that point. Adding to that was the waiting and anticipation as I sat in the phone queue. And, while a rock ‘n’ roller like me hates to admit it, hearing certain old-style type “hold music” reminds me of those times and makes me think about having phone sex (although today I have it all legally).

Finally, one night, a breakthrough came so unexpectedly that I almost got scared and hung up. I had called the toll-free number for Swissair in New York. It seemed like I waited an extra long time and I almost gave up (remembering in those days that even big international airlines didn’t always have their call centers staffed 24/7, and that this was also before every reservation line seemed to go to somewhere in India).
Finally, a nice female voice came on the line, greeted me, and I blurted out my usual crude line. Her first reply was a mildly surprised, “What?” So, I repeated, “I wanna fuck.” When she came back with, “Oh yes baby, I want to fuck, too,” I got both excited and scared. Was this somebody who really wanted to engage in an “obscene phone call,” or was this a trap to keep me on the line long enough to trace my number so that the FBI or the Swiss Guards could come and arrest me?

Of course, my young hormones won the day, and she proceeded to talk to me as if I were fucking her. And, even in retrospect, she was pretty good, too! Frankly, she outdid 90% of the professional phone sex operators that I try out today!

She was using all of the right phrases to hit my buttons (especially as a hormone-filled teenager). “Oh fuck me, baby,” “Put it inside me,” “Harder, put it in me deeper,” were among the ones I remember. Then, she started asking me to cum for her. “Cum for me baby…shoot your cum, honey…come on baby and cum…cum…cum.” She started whispering that over and over…”Cum…cum…cum. “” I decided not to press my luck even though I wanted to last longer, and I let forth a powerful orgasm that coated a massive blob of semen on the blanket that I had covered myself with to muffle my voice. “Did you cum, baby,” she asked. I said that I did, and she told me that she came too, wished me a good night, and hung up.

Boy, that was great! But, beginning the next morning, I was shit-ass scared that my number had been traced and that, any time, the cops would roll up and it would be big-time trouble for yours truly. So, even with that great experience, I decided to stop making those calls.
Well, that knock at the door never came. And, as will happen with horny teenage boys, I eventually went back to at least occasionally try to get another call as good as that one was.

I was never able to get that same lady at Swissair. If I remember correctly, they never picked up the phone that late ever again. So, not only do I wonder if that lady remembers that night like I do, I wonder if she actually worked for Swissair or if she was a cleaning lady or a security guard who picked up the phone on a lark and ended up being into talking dirty. Or, I wonder if it was one of those few places that told their employees that the best way to get rid of an “obscene phone caller” was to give him what he wanted so that he would go away. Or, as I found out later, I wonder if I called the wrong number and accidentally got in touch with one of the country’s first phone sex lines who thought I was a paying customer (remembering that, in those early days of phone sex, one would often pay in advance to a mailing address and then be sent a number to call in return).

There were two more times that I was able to get some arousing conversation going calling up these toll-free reservation lines. One was from a lady working for Hilton Hotels who seemed genuinely interested but was really encouraging me to hurry. I think that I told her that I came, but didn’t actually shoot off until after I hung up — hey, at least I was a courteous phone pervert! :-D

The other time was again out of New York, and it was the reservation line for Varig Airlines. The lady on the other end of the line did have some kind of slight accent that I found added extra arousal to the conversation. But, she didn’t seem as genuine as the other two experiences I had. However, it was still great, exciting, dangerous fun, and I again splattered the sound-muffling blanket over my head when she told me that she wanted me to cum in her pussy.

I probably kept up these attempts at least once every two or three months through when I was 15 and just turned 16. But, there was always that feeling that I would eventually call the wrong place — some reservation line that had a “mean” obscene caller where they were already tracing every call waiting to catch that guy but would get me instead. Thankfully, I would discover something new (at least to me) that would get me to give up this dangerous activity even though I had no real access to the new one.

As I mentioned in Part 5, I had gotten my own post office box early in my 16th year and had subscribed to a fairly explicit magazine calledAdam. After finally getting over the one or two pictures in that first issue I received that almost always made me cum right off the bat, I finally got around to more fully exploring the entire magazine.

Now, I want to take a side trip here to point out something. As I also mentioned in Part 5, my father had a couple of really old Adams in his collection — very tame stuff. But, here it was, 1981, and some of the small ads in the back where the same ones from these Adams published in the late 1960’s. Yes, the prices had gone up, but the size, fonts, and pictures were all exactly the same. And, as I bought my final porn magazines before finally going Internet-only for my photographic porn, some of those ads are still running…snapping pussy doll…the same old free hardcore magazine offers…and the indefatigable Spanish Fly. While in some ways it’s nice to know that some things never change, in others it’s sad that most of those small, seemingly eternal ads are total rip-offs that work year after year after year. Even sadder is that attitude still continues to this day from unscrupulous people who try to hose people over porn and know that they can generally get away with it because most people are afraid to complain because it might take away their anonymity. What a shame that we have evolved in so many ways but still cannot be allowed by society to publicly share the need for sexual release. While I learned my own hard lessons from these “eternal ads,” at least I never was suckered by Spanish Fly. :-)

Anyway… Near the back of this Adam (and all subsequent ones) was a plain black and white ad. Later on, it was accompanied by a small, plain drawing of a sexy woman. But, at this point, it was dry as all get-out. However, the contents were more then intriguing. “Phone Sex,” it exclaimed at the top along with a few other details below and then a number that was in Memphis, Tennessee.

Phone sex? What a concept — a way to engage in an obscene phone call without getting in trouble with the police! I could not believe that somebody would be so smart and gracious as to provide such a service! Wow, will that be great to try out in two years once I get out of the house!

Well, as you can imagine, I couldn’t quite wait.

Obviously, there was no way that I could get away with calling a long distance number without my parents noticing it on the phone bill and then calling “Ma Bell” to find out what it was. It’s funny…with that being the only phone sex ad I had ever seen, I wondered why it couldn’t be a toll-free number. Now, you can hardly find a phone sex service that isn’t toll-free on the call itself.

So, I thought, and I plotted, and I schemed. One day, I got an ass-load of quarters and went over to the nearby Long’s Drug Store (the same one where I had been shoplifting Playboys until I got my post office box). They had a pay phone that was inside where one could actually sit while making a call. It did not have a booth; just a half-assed side panel to block some of the sound as people walked by to one of the exits (and it performed that job very poorly — might as well not have been there).

I called this time to get some info. Trying to act very adult and professional (and, as usual, lowering my voice to a more adult-sounding tone), I stated that I was intrigued by their service and wanted to know in what ways that I could take advantage of it without my wife finding out about it (lol). The lady on the other end was very helpful and said that I could send a check or a money order to their post office box in Memphis. They would then send me a receipt along with a string of numbers that I could give when I called in again so that I could have my phone sex. I thanked her for her time and hung up.

Even though I had no idea where I could actually make this call, I got a money order from the post office and mailed it off. A couple of weeks later, I got my receipt and code number. So, I again scraped up all of my coins and headed over to Long’s so I could call long distance without being discovered.

It was not my intention to masturbate during this call out in the open in a drug store. And, I didn’t, but it was damn near impossible to keep to my plan to get the conversation in my head, speed home on my bicycle, and jerk off thinking of what I had just heard. I didn’t know what to expect, and I certainly didn’t plan on this being much of a two-way conversation. I thought that I would pretty much just listen. But, the lady I got kept asking me questions, and I was trying to answer them as quietly as possible so that nobody in Long’s would hear what I was saying. It was an awkward moment, made even more so when I would get distracted by her frank talk of how she would let me fuck her and forget to place more quarters into the pay phone before the automatic recording would come on fussing at me to put in more change or the call would be ended.

Once finished, I did indeed fly home and masturbate like the dickens. But, it was kind of an empty feeling afterward because I had spent all of this money and didn’t by any means get to enjoy the experience to the fullest. So, I never again repeated it in that way, but it stayed in my mind.

In the latter months of my time living with my parents, I started to see a few more ads offering phone sex. But, there was still nothing that I could take advantage of without being discovered. This was the dawn of the age of the infamous “976” numbers, but that would be a total bust if I called one of those from home. Everybody else then offering phone sex was still a long distance number or would only accept credit cards — and it would be a few months before I had one of those, and over a year before I could really use it for what I truly wanted.
I did indeed get a credit card from my parents before I left for college. It was to be used by me for books, supplies, emergencies, and even some fun stuff. Frankly, I was scared to use it — not because of any porn stuff, just for the fact that I was not on good terms with either my mother or father and did not want to be in debt to them for anything more than was absolutely necessary. Imagine this…seriously…my parents called and wrote to me several times that they were worried that I was not having any fun. Little did they know that I was; it just wasn’t on their dime. But, those things will have to wait until Part 7.

In my first year at college, I was forced to live in a traditional dorm room, sharing it with another student, and all of us on the floor sharing one pay phone (this is 1983, folks — no cell phones yet). So, there was no way that I could think about even trying to engage in phone sex there. Had I been discovered, the conservative jock types would have made my life even more miserable than it was when I was stuck in that dorm.

There was no way that I could take that dorm for another term. So, in the summer before my sophomore year, without my parent’s previous OK (and, boy, did I get a ration of shit for that extra expense!), I had myself moved to the off-campus apartments controlled by the university. I still had to share one of the two bedrooms (four students to each apartment), but I got more say in who I would room with. And, there would at least be times when nobody else would be in the apartment. In a stroke of good luck, I got two decent paying part-time jobs and the guy who shared my room moved out! I would have it all to myself for the rest of the school year and I could afford to have my own phone!

Of course, as is so with almost every college student, I was fairly poor and often had to resort to all kinds of odd and downright illegal activities in order to feed and entertain myself as well as my friends. But, as a very horny young man who had thrown away his porn collection before going to college (there would have been nowhere to hide it), there was eventually no way that I could not occasionally buy a porn magazine. And, with that, finally having the freedom of my own room with my own phone led me to finally give in and decide to eat ramen noodles for another month in order to finally experience a phone sex call in the manner in which it should truly be enjoyed.
Looking back on it, this is pretty funny. But, I seriously sat down and studied the few copies of Hustler that I had and started taking notes on each attractive phone sex ad — what was the price, was there a connection fee, was the girl in the ad arousing enough — noting each issue and each page. After probably 90 minutes of note taking and thought, I finally selected one and both nervously and excitedly dialed the number.

I have no recollection of who I called or what her name was. But, it was fantastic, even in those days when phone sex was pretty straightforward — you either talked about fucking or domination, and that was it — no fancy role play like we have today (or, was it there and I just didn’t know it yet?). All I remember for sure was that it was so liberating and overwhelmingly joyful to be able to talk freely on the telephone about sex no matter how much that it was costing me per minute — all the while lying totally naked on my bed and masturbating furiously to the conversation that ended in a gloriously huge orgasm that I allowed to fly all over my body.
And I didn’t give a damn about it being on a credit card held by my parents.

After it was over, I was amazed at how wonderful it felt to talk about masturbating with a live woman. Even after such a heavy orgasm, I was again becoming excited. I began masturbating to my Hustlers, but I kept going back to the rear of the magazine and looking at the ads, wondering what other phone sex services were like. After another couple of hours, I couldn’t help myself. I picked another ad from my notes and was on the phone with another great lady, and she got really dirty (or so I thought at the time) by talking about wanting me to fuck her up the ass, and I again came very hard all over myself in another joyous orgasm.

And I again didn’t give a damn about the credit card. I would pay the charges, and that would be that.

Well, as you might imagine, it didn’t go anywhere nearly that smooth. My parents were so concerned about these “strange” charges on the statement that they took it upon themselves to call the bank about them before they called me. Needless to say, the shit hit the fan.
This led to all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly things that I will mostly leave out. But, in that conversation where both my mother and father were on the line, I started by trying to play it off. But, I eventually became so upset that I poured my heart out to them about always being so horny, feeling guilty because they yelled at me for years never to have sex until I was married, how lonely I was, and how I just wanted to have someone to talk to about the things I wanted to talk about (and that was all true even though I also did indeed simply want to get my jollies). Needless to say, they didn’t show any understanding at all, and the fan couldn’t spin anymore because there was so much shit on it. :-)

Again, leaving out a lot of the story, it wasn’t long before I had all that I could take of both my parents as well as this screwed up university that I was attending. You’ll just have to take my word for it that there was much more to all of this than the fact that I got caught having phone sex.

In the summer between my sophomore and junior year, I moved out of the university-controlled apartments into a very small but nice house in town. I shared it with three other roommates, and I had to share a bedroom with one of them. In many ways, this was a great house in which to really “grow up.” But, at other times, we would have madeAnimal House look like a bunch of choirboys.
With so much activity along with any money we had going to bills, beer, and buds (cannabis), there wasn’t much time or opportunity for me to engage in any phone sex. I do remember one occasion, though.

The person I shared a room with had a waterbed. And, I had just deposited my first big check from the job I had started before totally dropping out of school in the middle of my junior year. So, I decided to reward myself one day while everybody else was out of the house.
Now, we all know that the ladies on the other end of the line on a phone sex call don’t look anything like the pictures in the ads or how they describe themselves. But, who cares, right? It’s all a fantasy, and if she’s good, you can get to that space in your mind where you can believe every word of it.

Well, that’s what I got on this incredible phone sex call, made even more arousing by being able to have it while lying on this waterbed. She described herself as being tall with long blond hair, a small blond bush, long legs, and very pale but extremely soft skin. I don’t remember the meat of the call, but I will never forget how great and genuine she sounded as she was repeating her urge for me to cum. And, cum I did; all over a big towel I had grabbed before dialing her up so that I would not make a mess on another person’s bed. I always wanted to call her back because she was so good. But, that service went out of business before I got another chance.

A year or two later, I had moved into another nearby college town and was moving deeper and deeper into being what I will call for lack of a better term, a neo-hippy. For the first time in quite awhile, I had my own bedroom and could easily use the phone late at night to make phone sex calls (as well as freedom to jerk off to porn mags or while listening to my roommate on the other side of my wall bang the living shit out of his girlfriends).

At this point, I will stop the story and ask you all if you have noticed something yet…something missing from all of this through all of these “chapters” in my story so far. What is it?

Sex. Yes, here I have gone through puberty, high school, and should be a senior in college, and I have still not been able to talk a woman into having sex with me. Frustrating? You bet. Depressing? Most definitely. That moment would come soon enough when I finally got up the money and courage to pay for it. But, in the meantime, my desire to satisfy myself would get me into trouble and make me do for the second time what most here would think unthinkable.

Remembering that this was 1987 when credit card companies were nowhere near as good as they are today at tracking down every little detail, I tried to pull a little funny business in order to get phone sex without paying for it. I am ashamed to admit it and deeply regret doing it, and that is aside from the post-incident actions I took that I will describe in a moment. I include this bummer part of my story because itis part of my story. But, no matter how “addicted” we are to masturbation and/or porn in any form, it should never go so far as to delve into such depths.

Unlike a lot of people who make such mistakes, I learned a lot from mine and was lucky that it only cost me money and not any time. Sure, there were still some lessons to learn about holding out on buying porn so that I could do more important things like, oh, I don’t know…maybe, eat or something. :-) But, I never again let my need for stimulation and ejaculation (or any of my other past and present “hobbies”) go so far as to mess around like this.

While all of this was going down (worse yet, having come from what were two really crappy phone sex calls — like talking to dead fish), the first threats of action came in and they scared the living shit out of me. Fearing investigation by either roommates who might find out or someone with an even higher authority, I took every single porn magazine and newspaper that I had, chucked them in the dumpster, and hoped with all my might that I would not suffer any severe consequences.

Having no porn to add to my masturbation made me even more frustrated and depressed when I was alone at night. The rest of the time was great because I had a fun job and a house filled with partying freaky people with music blasting and weed flowing. But, I was suffering more and more from increasing shyness because I was still being continually rejected by women who I wanted to get to know better and go out with…and, yes, of course, have sex.

It took a long time relatively speaking to shake that off and feel confident that I was in the clear for my transgression over those phone sex calls. While I avoided the ultimate penalty, I still suffered for it…as well I should have no matter what my mental state was at the time. And, even though this will sound funny, I not only came out of it a better and stronger person, but I came out of it a better and more fulfilled masturbator as well.

As time went on, I went through some rough stretches in my life where I sometimes had to share very close quarters with other roommates, had literally no money, or never a good opportunity to have private access to a phone. And, I also had a job for a while where the need for phone sex was nonexistent, but you’ll have to wait for another “chapter” to read about that. :-)

One ironic incident came up in the early 1990’s when I was sharing a big house with several people up in the northern part of California. The other people in that house had been there for a while and I barely knew a few of them through some other friends, so I was the new guy in the house. I had a decent job and a debit card, so I could occasionally get some phone sex late at night. It was from an 800 number, I paid for it, and that was that.

Well, one day, the couple who were kind of the “king and queen” of the house got the phone bill and it had several “976” and “900”” number charges on it.

SIDE NOTE: For the benefit of OnaniaSupport’ s many foreign readers, phone numbers in the USA beginning with the prefix 976 or the area code 900 brought an automatic per-minute charge on one’s phone bill (sometimes quite large), and were by this time notorious for being associated with phone sex.

The “king” of the house confronted me, and said that he and his “queen” determined that I had to have been the one to have made these calls because they had never been made there before I arrived. He then told me that I had to move out within the next 45 days.
Well, I was shocked to say the least. I had not made these calls, but I was being blamed for them and being asked to leave — not because I wouldn’t pay for them (which I offered to do even though I didn’t make them), but because I was a “pervert” for making them.

I didn’t say anything and just went to my room and kind of hid out for most of the remainder of my time there. I was amazed at how I could get blamed for this with no evidence, but wrote it off to the “wheel of karma” for all of the bad things I had done in years past in my pursuit of porn and pleasure.

Oddly enough, I found out who did it totally by accident. While I was still being asked to leave, things had calmed down and we were all on basically friendly terms even though there was still some tension. The “queen” of the house was divorced and had a young child with whom I would play when she had him in the house. He was rolling around a big rubber ball, and he gave it such a shove at one point that it went all the way across the huge living room, bounced off a doorsill, and back into another one of the resident’s bedroom closet. He was not home, and I innocently went in there to get the kid’s toy. The ball had landed on a stack of what appeared to be newspapers. But, these papers were not the Santa Rosa Press-Democrat. They were naughty papers, and they were all open and folded over to phone sex numbers. On the very top was one that I recognized from the bill that was waved in my face a couple of weeks earlier (it ended in 6969 — easy to remember).

Yes, I was tempted…very tempted. But, I kept my mouth shut — not just because I was “taking one for the team” to protect a fellow masturbator, but because I didn’t want to live in a place where people would make such unfounded accusations and throw them onto the street.

I had conversations with some of the other members of the house (minus the actual guilty party) and told them that I knew who it really was. They all sympathized with me, but they could not make a stand against the “king and queen” because they were all in a precarious financial situation (and I fully agreed with them).

Oddly enough, a couple of years later, I was back in town at the local bar and in walked the “king” of the old house. I wasn’t too thrilled about seeing him, especially when he came up to my table wanting to be all buddy-buddy. He realized why I was giving him a less than even lukewarm reception, and he started apologizing profusely and began to tell me the whole story. It seems that the “queen” originally blamed him for the calls and that he was forced to find a scapegoat as soon as possible. In his panic to not lose his regular pussy, he gave into her speculation on who it could have been if not him. So, the new guy (me) got hosed.

There were two blond-headed guys in the house; the “king” and the guy who’s closet I stumbled into. The “queen” was a weird egg to say the least and she always had a theory that blond guys were fucked up and untrustworthy if they were not watched 24/7. Still wanting to be cryptic, I told him that I (brown-haired, FYI) found out who did it by accident before I had left, and that the “queen” made the mistake of blaming the wrong blond guy. The “king” was shocked and embarrassed, and I then went on to explain the whole story, after which filled in some things for him that happened after I left.

The kicker to all of this was what he told me the “queen” said many times after I had been gone a few months — that things sure were a lot better in that house when I was there (plus that she no longer believed that I was the one who ran up the bill with phone sex calls). This would not be the last time that I would hear such a sentiment. The lesson for everybody out there in me telling that not-too-fun part of my story is that a chronic masturbator makes a pretty good housemate if you give him a chance (plus not blame him for phone sex that he didn’t even get to enjoy!).

The other odd part of that is — they guy who did do it was a very handsome man, outgoing, still in his early 20’s, and had plenty of ladies vying for his attention. So, another lesson learned is — not all masturbators and users of phone sex are fat, ugly bastards like me. :-)
A year or two later would be when I would start to learn that having a regular sex partner did not mean that I would want to stop masturbating or having phone sex. Now, this was complicated by a few factors involving my fiancée at the time who had many, many troubles — things that often made sex seem like work. But, even before the troubles began, I still found that I had a deep desire to stroke my cock as well as do that while having phone sex.

Even in the good early days of our relationship, I looked forward to those afternoons when she would be at work and I would be off that day. She had a big beanbag chair that was very comfortable to sit in while naked. And, rather than having any porn around (I had put my new stash in storage), it was easier to use phone sex as stimulation. I again found myself in a second story room where I could be free to open the windows and let the breeze in to roll over my body while I stroked away to the erotic words of the phone sex worker on the other end of the line. I would climax with enormous eruptions of semen that seemed to have increased since I began having sex with this woman on a regular basis. Yet, I would still fuck the living shit out of her at night and not have a problem with it. As time went on, as she sadly descended more into her problems that I tried with all of my might to pull her out of but could not succeed, masturbation was a brief refuge for me, usually coming with no stimulation whatsoever other than from my mind.

Really cutting that story short, I eventually had to leave that scene almost penniless and again found myself having to share space with other people back in Southern California. Even well past the time when I first gained access to the Internet, I was stuck in a situation with people who were nosy, seemingly always around, and definitely not understanding towards anybody who would think about having any type of sex outside of the “normal” man-woman relationship. This was a time where I was glad to see upon my arrival here in Onania that many others had done the same thing as I often got so horny, frustrated, and/or depressed that I would call in sick to work only so that I could have the house to myself and could masturbate freely and have phone sex. I did this for quite a few years before that house became intolerable for other reasons that I will not bore you all with. I ended up packing up all of my belongings that would fit into a 1991 Honda Accord and moved off to Denver, Colorado to start a new life and what I believed would be a new romantic relationship.

Well, that romantic relationship was a bust in less than two weeks (psycho bitch…run!). But, for the first time in many, many years, I had living space all to myself. This was another threshold I passed through in beginning to realize and come to grips with the fact that I really enjoyed masturbation as a full-time sexual pursuit and that maybe I wasn’t cut out for the relationship thing. That was all helped along by the fact that I could do what I wanted when I wanted and eventually had enough expendable income to have a good Internet connection and engage in phone sex at least once every two weeks.

Now that I had this freedom, I somewhat repeated what I had done so long ago in those phone sex incidents where I finally let go from my parents. I was actively searching for phone sex Web sites, mainly preferring those that had a status indicator for each lady informing readers whether or not she was working (key for someone like me who often likes to call at odd times). I would carefully make notes about each one, always trying to find its parent company so I would know whether or not they billed fairly as well as whether or not they gave good service.

It was then that I started to discover truly good phone sex operators. These women went well beyond the “fuck me, baby” type of conversation that I had mostly experienced until that time. These were women who were good at their craft, didn’t take up your time with idle chatter in order to pad the bill, and didn’t mind if you went a minute or two over a pre-paid block of time. Most of all, they are good at finding out what arouses you even if you don’t know it yourself. That began to happen with a couple of ladies that I called — they would mention something out of the blue and it would almost instantly make me want to cum right then and there, taking everything I could give to not shoot so I could hear more, enjoy more, and stroke more.

As things turned out, I got an offer to return to my old workplace in Southern California at a higher position and a higher wage. With my job status in Colorado uncertain at best (thanks to lunatic management), I once again found myself in my old SoCal stomping grounds, not all that far from the old university, the old homes, and the old memories.

It seemed that after 40 years of struggle, I was finally making it and as close to “normal” as an old Grateful Dead Head could ever be. A woman even came into my life, and I thought that even more “normalcy” was headed my way. But, in the end, she was irritating, had an obnoxious laugh, didn’t get me off sexually, and — worst of all — had very bad breath. When she would visit, I couldn’t wait to get her out of the house so that I could masturbate — especially to use my newfound disposable income for phone sex. And, it was through that experience to the about-another- year before I discovered OnaniaSupport that I again took another step towards realizing that my preferred method of sexual release and expression was masturbating to porn in all of its forms, and that it was OK to be that way and be happy and comfortable with it. Onania was the big breakthrough because now I have the place to express myself about it — well, at least to those who read all of this crap that I type out while recharging for another orgasm. :-)

So, even though I have added in this whole Onania scene into my life and all of the stimulation and “Net Friends” it has gained me, I still make time for the occasional round of phone sex. I still try out new ladies on occasion when the mood strikes, but I have a few favorites that I try to visit as regularly as I can. These are good women with great voices and strong imaginations that are worth every penny for every drop of sperm that they cause me to shoot out of my penis. Most will talk about anything and go wherever I want to go until I have had a good ejaculation. It’s fun, it’s relaxing. it’s still very exciting even after all these years, and its so liberating to be able to enjoy it whenever and however I want, being totally free to strip down and spend 20 or 30 minutes talking to a lovely voice that will say the most arousing and nasty thing one could ever hope to hear come out of a human mouth. Phone sex is a great masturbation tool for me; I enjoy it very much, and, like the Internet, can no longer imagine life without it.

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Here continues the personal sexual history of one of the web’s leading masturbators, Porn O’Graphicus . See all parts by Porn O’Graphicus