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

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

After getting a few replies to my intro both here and by direct e-mail, I am so excited and aroused by all of this that I am going to share in more detail some of the things I referenced in my first post. It has already passed through my mind that maybe I should start a masturbation blog like the ones I began discovering yesterday afternoon that ended up leading me to this Yahoo Group. However, I already have another “rant” Web site that keeps me quite entertained when the urge to masturbate doesn’t take over my body and I’m recharging my semen. That site is very fulfilling to my artistic side. Thus, even though I am definitely a masturbation addict, I am not one of those who does nothing but play with himself in his free time (although it is a big majority). :) So, in between now and a kind of dreamy state that I was in earlier this morning after my third intense ejaculation since finding this scene yesterday afternoon, I decided that I did indeed want to explain how I got to where I am today for my own arousal as well as all of yours. As I have planned it out so far, this will probably be a nine-part series that I will post here over the next few days and months as the mood strikes me. Also stuck somewhere in all of that will be some things to all of the guys who might want to hook up with me in one way or another as I sort out in my mind in what ways I am going to be comfortable in sharing what is usually a very private “hobby.” With something that seems like it will have nine “chapters” to it, I think that it is best to start at the beginning. I will be interested to see how many of you respond that you had a similar start in this world of masturbating and the strong need to seek out pornography as well as how many are shocked in how it all began or simply wish that they got the type of start that I did. And, before I get into the story, at the end of this post will be an idea that I have blatantly ripped off from Richard Lovel. I hope that he as well as the rest of you will not mind that I have copied both his method and naming of the way that he has provided some very fine inspiration for our masturbatorial needs (yes, I know that “masturbatorial” isn’t a real word, but it should be!). My entry into the true world of masturbation and pornography began in about 1969 or 1970 when I was either four or five. I can’t give a more specific date because this comes right after the time when I can really fully recall the things that were happening around me, plus the fact I certainly didn’t have some kind of scheduling book that I had written an entry in saying, “Seek out pornography and learn how to masturbate.” Shit, I could barely stay on the swing set without hurting myself at this point in my life. :) Of course, this is an age for almost all of us when everything seems so big and new. This includes my parent’s bedroom with its big canopy bed. Almost anything in there was of interest to me, although I already knew that the things in there were not toys and had to be looked at respectfully. This included a small, old bedside table that was on my father’s side of the bed. It was made of a dark stained wood and had an old-timey look to it like something that would have come from one of my grandmothers’ houses. It had a decent-sized drawer on the top that was filled with some small tools that my father used when he used to work for an entity involved in big construction projects (I don’t want to be more specific because, for all I know, that old jackoff is a member here, too!). I was always fascinated by those things, as well as his big slippers that he kept underneath this stand — which, like almost all kids, I tried to put my small feet in and walk around in his shoes. But, where we start to get to the good part is what was under the drawer and above the floor where those slippers were put. There was a fairly large area that was open where my parents used to put magazines. Of course, like any young kid, the pictures and colors of these publications attracted me. But, I was also able to understand a lot of them because I was fortunate enough to have been taught to read very early. And, it was not that I could just read the words, but comprehend them as well (or, be smart enough to look them up in our huge family dictionary). For example, I was told in the first grade that I was already reading at an 8th grade level, and it wasn’t too long after that that I tested up to a 12th grade level. In other words, I’m one of those people who is too smart for his own good — and I wonder how many of us masturbation and porn addicts fall into that category…curiosity kills the cat, and I wonder if it also chokes the chicken. :) Anyway, my first memories of the magazines in that nightstand where typical fare…some “outdoorsman” magazines, a few news titles, and “housewife” stuff like “Redbook.” I had fun leafing through them from time to time, and mainly enjoyed getting my mother to cook some recipe that I thought looked good. Now, I don’t know if I had never noticed different magazines in there for some reason, or if they were moved there later, and — if the latter — whether it was on purpose or not. But, one day, I definitely had my eye caught by a difference in that stack. There were several magazines in there that looked different right off the bat. All of the magazines were in there so that, at first, you could only see their bottoms as they were neatly piled in their space. What I to this very day remember is that these “new” magazines were not flat on the end — they were curved and stapled together with no spine giving the title. Well, this just had to be investigated right away. So, I carefully pulled off all of the “regular” magazines one-by-one off the pile until I got to the first one with this odd spine. I don’t know if I can fully describe my feelings on what I saw because you are asking me to get fully back into being a 4-5 year old which is now well over 36 or more years in my past. But, an incredible electric sensation ran up my back, through my belly, and all over my body. I don’t know why that happened because there wasn’t anything outwardly pornographic that I was looking at on the cover of this magazine — no nudity, no “bad” language. Perhaps even a young boy gets some subconscious or maybe deeply buried genetic reaction when he runs into something of this sort for the first time even though its content is not apparent. Whatever it was and whatever caused it, I liked it and knew right then that this magazine represented the good stuff of life as well as something that was at least a little bit clandestine. As I’m sure is the case for many of you, especially if you are in my general age group (42 this July 2007), that magazine I was seeing for the first time and arousing my inner masturbator even though I hadn’t even looked inside of it yet was Playboy. Unfortunately, I do not remember which specific issue that I first laid eyes upon. However, I do remember that after I pulled that first one off the stack that there were more, and more, and more. One thing that I do specifically recall is that I looked at all of the covers first and particularly noticed that the magazines were dated all the way back to 1964 — something that I found, let’s say, interesting even at that time because I knew that was the year that my parents got married. Already being a child who was big on organization, I started arranging these Playboys in chronological order. I thought that my parents would be proud of me for tidying up their magazines in such a way. So, I still had not yet opened up any of these magazines. But, I was looking at the hot 60’s chicks on the covers and noticing the blurbs for the articles inside. I recognized some of the names from the entertainment world and politics and thought to myself that this must be a very important magazine, especially since it was much thicker than any of the other ones in the stack. So, here I am, sitting on the floor next to my parent’s bed, surrounded by Playboys scattered on the carpet in different yearly piles, trying to get them all organized before I start reading them. I remember what happened then, but I don’t remember which one of them it was. But, one of my parents entered the room. There were no hysterics or anything of that sort. But, I strongly remember that I was told, “I don’t know if you are supposed to be looking at those. Put those away and I’ll talk to your (mother/father) about it tonight.” I of course asked, “How come? What’s wrong with these magazines?” “Well, they are for adults and I don’t know if you’re old enough yet for them,” I was told. “Just put them away and we’ll talk about it tonight.” I did just that and pointed out that I had put them in order for which I got a thank you. Since I was still at an age where I always wanted to please my parents, I put the Playboys at the very bottom of the stack and covered them up with all of the Redbooks, McCall’s, and other such stuff. Then, later that night, that talk did come. I knew that it was coming because I heard hushed parts of it while I was playing in my room. My father came in and said that I did indeed have permission to look at those magazines. He said something about me being a very good and smart son and that I was certainly mature enough to handle them. But, I had to treat the Playboys very nicely, not color in them, and I could absolutely, positively never, ever tell anybody about them or show them to any of my friends. On that last point, that was easy because my mother would hardly ever let any of my friends into the house — we always had to play outside (remember all you young masturbators out there, this was well before any regular person had ever heard of Pong much less Atari, Nintendo, or a PlayStation) . As for his other stipulations — I don’t know why, but I had no problems with his other rules. I guess that I already sensed that this was something very special, very “adult,” and something that probably no other kid got to do — at least not with an OK from his parents. For whatever reason, I never asked my father any other questions about these magazines like why he got them, what they were for, what Mom thought of them, etc. In some ways, I wished that I had, especially as you will see as this story continues here as well as in further “chapters.” So, the deal went like this. I could borrow two or three of them at a time like at the library (a place that I was already very fond of). And, I could only have them once I completed any homework that I had been given from kindergarten and, later, the first grade. Once I was through with those, I could take them back to my father and pick out a couple more. I was sitting on my bed during this father-son chat. When it was over, he laid three of his Playboys on the corner of my bed and said, “There you go. Now, if you see or read anything in there that you have a question about, make sure to let me know.” Then, he left to go take a shower, and I started reading. Again, the very first issue that I read is lost to my memory. However, one of the first things that I noticed was that Playboys had a distinctive smell to them. No, I’m not talking about a jizzy type of smell…get your mind out of the gutter for just once! :) No, it was the ink, paper, or something that always let you know that you had a Playboy, and this was well before they started sticking cologne samples in them. Now, for you younger guys who have never seen a print copy of an old Playboy, they started out with the first half being very benign. I learned very quickly to look for that one promo ad that was in every issue of the time — something about the type of many who enjoyed Playboy — and that was the point where the really good stuff would start. But, I was interested in the whole thing, and I did indeed start going through it page-by-page from the front cover. I remember those articles having very important people being discussed and interviewed — stuff about Vietnam, civil rights, the Kennedys, the counter-culture, and something called the sexual revolution. Yes, there were things in there that I didn’t understand or misunderstood due to my young age. But, again, I had the sense that this was something very…oh, I just don’t know how to describe it because I didn’t have a word for it at the time. Whatever it was, it was certainly out of the ordinary (or, maybe not…I guess I’ll find out if anybody comments on this). So, I had this sense that I had better not ask too many questions about what I was looking at or I would lose the privilege of being able to read Playboy. Sometime in those first days after I got to start reading these magazines, my father saw me checking one out and asked what I thought. “These cartoons in here are funny, but I don’t get all of them.” My father replied, “Well, don’t worry; you’ll get them all someday.” I took him at his word and just left it at that. Indeed, the cartoons were often funny, for even a young boy can understand the oddball situation of a man walking in on his wife while she’s having an affair and the other usual gags used in Playboy to this very day. Well, that’s skipping ahead in the story just a little bit. And, I already know what you all really want to read about. :) As I got about half-way through my first full experience reading a Playboy, I passed into “the good stuff” which, in those days, always seemed to begin after the Playboy Interview with some kind of short story by some guy who I would not recognize until many years later (very famous writers such as Isaac Asimov and Ray Bradberry). I got to my very first pictorial. The first page was on the right. And, while the first photo was certainly erotic, it showed no nudity. Then, when I turned the page, there came that special, electric feeling all over my body again. It was then that I realized why this magazine was so special and so “secret.” There were beautiful women with no clothes on…picture after glorious picture. I don’t recall getting a little kiddy stiffie right away while looking at these, but I was most certainly sexually aroused. Now, let me digress for a moment. Unlike many of the people here who have shared their pre-pubescent experiences with pornography and masturbation (at least the ones that I have read so far), I was not really a young penis stroker. Yes, it would get hard on its own now and again. If I really thought about it, I could make it get hard on its own without touching it. I think that I asked one of my parents why it got “big” like that on at least one occasion and was told, “Well, it’s just one of those things that your body does.” So, with my parents not making a big deal about it, I didn’t give it much thought other when it happened and it felt kind of good (especially when I took my first elevator rides and experienced that feeling when it was stopping and it felt like your testicles were floating in the middle of your scrotum for a few seconds). But, as time went on, I did find that lying face down on my bed or pillow while I had an erection felt pleasant, and I would kind of move back and forth very, very slowly while reading Playboy, especially when seeing a page with any nudity on it whether it was a photograph or a drawing. This was still before I got any “official” sex education from my parents (read on), so I had zero clue as to what I was doing (again remembering that Playboy was even tamer that it is today). And, to get back once again to the “good stuff” — doing that type of penis stimulation seemed best when I carefully opened up those glorious centerfolds that made it seem like to a small kid that the lady was right there with me. Even at that young age with no true clues as to what this was all about, I could imagine her sitting there with me and me being able to ask her what this was all about because I didn’t want to ask my parents. And, I think that this was much easier back then because the women in Playboy were much more natural looking than they are now. Yes, they were heavily airbrushed even in those days. But, their faces and their makeup looked just like ladies I saw every day all around town. So, unlike today, I think that connection was much easier to make with Playboy when “the girl next door” really looked like the girl next door. So, this all went on for quite awhile — somewhere in the neighborhood of one to two years. It was not a constant thing in my life, but it was always available to me when I wanted it. Over time, I noticed that new issues would appear which was nice even though I didn’t mind reading the old ones over and over again (especially since I seemed to get more and more out of both the pictures and articles every time I went back to an old issue). But, for those of you thinking that this was a great start to a life of almost outwardly parental-approved masturbation and viewing of pornography, it wasn’t. And, this “chapter” ended for such a stupid reason that I still can’t quite believe it. At least some of you got caught maybe doing something relatively interesting like cutting a hole in the centerfold and pretending to fuck it. I wasn’t so lucky. As a young child, I had very, very hard time getting to sleep at night. This caused a lot of consternation between my parents and me, and it was something that never really resolved itself for many years to come. Even if I could not sleep, I was forbidden to do anything but just lie there. And, as I’m sure you all remember, a very young kid lying alone in a dark room leads to all kinds of scary thoughts for such a boy — stuff like, the monster under the bed or in my closet is coming to get me! So, on occasion, I would try as quietly as I could to do something on these many nights when I could not sleep. Of course, I would usually blow it and get in big trouble. One night, I thought that I had finally found something that I could do and not have it come to the attention of my parents. I decided to read. And, on this one fateful night, it was Playboy that I was reading in my darkened room. And, I was actually reading. It was an issue that I remember clearly, mainly because it was from my birthday month (July 1970) and had a very beautiful blue cover of a woman swimming upside-down underwater with her hands over her breasts. But, honest-to-goodness, I was reading the interview with Joan Baez who I had already taken a liking to from hearing her now and again on the radio and, if I recall correctly, seeing her on the Sesame Street television show. Then, all of a sudden, my mother popped in the doorway and yelled, “Just what do you think you’re doing!” I started to cry because I knew that I was already in big trouble and said between my sobs, “I was reading because I couldn’t go to sleep!” She stomped in and snatched the three Playboys that I had checked out from Dad’s “library,” gave me several hot swats on my ass, and stormed out yelling about how I had better get to sleep or I was going to get another spanking (gee, nothing like a good spanking to induce sleep, huh? — where do parents get these ideas anyway?). Of course, I couldn’t get to sleep and was crying loudly. I was crying because of the spanking and this long, torturous ordeal over never being able to sleep when I was told — not because my Playboys had been taken away. Even through my crying, I could hear that there was some kind of conversation going on in my parent’s bedroom. It sounded slightly more intense than usual, but was by no means an argument. A few minutes later, my father came into the room and sat on my bed. He explained to me that I was in trouble not only for not being asleep, but because I was reading in the dark and that it would ruin my eyes. He went on to say that my punishment for this would be that I would not be allowed to look at his Playboys…for now. What he did then was astonishing at the time and flabbergasts me more and more every time that I think about it. He promised that he would let me look at all of his Playboys again on my 13th birthday! Well, let’s just take that statement at the time he made it to me. This was the most incredible punishment that I had ever heard of. A spanking only lasted mere seconds and the pain an hour or two. You could get put into the corner for a whole afternoon, or get grounded for a week up to a month. But a punishment that lasted for years? Incredible! And, all over something that really didn’t matter to me all that much even though it was indeed beginning to wake up special feelings in my body that I did indeed recognize and enjoy. Now, let’s look at what my father promised in that short term of between about six or seven and my 13th birthday. Do you think that I thought about that a lot? You bet! There wasn’t a week that went by that I didn’t think about it at least once if not multiple times. The whole Playboy experience — and, of course, especially its beautiful ladies — were fully etched in my mind and I was going to get back to it full throttle as soon as my father released me back into it. I had hoped that he would relent and not fully enforce such a lengthy punishment. In order to do that, I never said a peep about it; you know how it goes — if you ask for a lesser punishment no matter how good you’ve been lately, most parents make it even longer. I wasn’t going to take that chance over something this important to me. Now, as for the long-term implications of what my father promised me on that night as well as why he said it and what in the world could have been talked about between him and my mother over the course of this whole story — your guess is probably as good as mine even though there are details I have yet to reveal that might help you fill in the picture. But, to be fully honest, it’s all just a guess, especially since my parents broke off relations with me many years ago (and, to be honest again, I like it that way, but that’s another long story for another place). As for whether or not my father kept his promise…well, you’ll have to wait until probably chapter four of this series of posts before I answer that (hey, just like a good masturbation session, I’ve got to have a little suspense, right?). :) Two things I will add before I get to the conclusion and a link involve the Playboy “transition” and what I always called, “The Pink Book.” At the time I was first exposed to Playboy, there was definitely a transition that I had already noticed before I was kept away from it again. This transition was two-fold. The most famous of these would be when Playboy finally started showing at least a little pubic hair in their photographs. But, they never showed what was under all of that deep 70’s “shag carpeting.” :) And, that led to me getting very confused about “The Pink Book” that I will talk about in a moment. Playboy’s other transition was that, here and there, the models were starting to look a lot more slick and “modern.” I could perceive this difference although I had no idea where it was going. But, it was a time when Playboy seemed to be transitioning out of the more all-natural looking hippie-ish women into a kind of pre-disco-era sheen with a lot more makeup and a lot of time spent at the hair salon. But, with those transitions, I felt like that Playboy and I were in some kind of synchronization in how we were “growing up” together — for it was right at the time I was allowed to view its pages that they started showing the formerly-taboo pubic hair, and I was seeing all around me how the presentation of everything on TV and in magazines was changing to something far more modern than my first memories of the late 1960’s. Yes, and “The Pink Book.” And, again, your guess is as good as mine as to how much this falls into everything I have written so far. “The Pink Book” was given to me as a present not long after the incident that got my Playboy privileges taken away. It was presented to me with great fanfare in how I was deemed mature enough to be given this information at such a young age. “The Pink Book” was one of those “where do babies come from” publications. It was bland, boring, and way below my high reading level. And, worst of all, it left out the most important part…how exactly does the man’s semen come out of his penis and how, precisely, does he get his penis inside the woman’s vagina to accomplish this? Even though I thought that this book sucked, I kept reading and reading it hoping that, like all of those Playboy articles, the answer would reveal itself after repeated going-overs and picking up information elsewhere (like in that bastion of accuracy, the good ol’ schoolyard). :) However, that answer never came. I lived in disappointment for the rest of this stage of my life before we moved to another state when I was seven years old and things changed for me in many ways. Much of that disappointment was that I knew a gift was coming for this time when I got “The Pink Book,” but I was so hoping that it would be the return of my Playboy privileges. All of this was aggravated for me in the long-term when I was told by my mother that I was too young to have a girlfriend — this was after she saw me giving a very innocent peck of a kiss to a beautiful fellow first-grader named Teresa who’s heart I won in a battle of wills with the class bully who also had his six-year-old eye on her affections. So, until some time after our move, all I had left was “The Pink Book.” In a way, it did serve its purpose, although certainly not in the way that my parents intended (and that’s no matter what your guess is as to why they did the things that they did in this “chapter”). Of course, such a book came with very clinical drawings of genitalia. But, what aroused me were two pictures involving drawings of breasts. One showed a woman going through puberty as her breasts got larger. The other showed a woman with one side of her shirt pulled off of her shoulder, revealing a very plump breast on which her young baby was sucking. It was to those two pictures where my hand and my penis really got to know one another well for the first time. Instead of almost semi-subconsciously rubbing my penis against my bed or a pillow as I had been doing while reading my father’s Playboy collection, I was taking my flat hand, and either nude or under my shorts, rubbing my palm up and down, up and down along my little boy penis – all while looking at these two drawings. I did not have any dry orgasms because I was still quite unclear on that subject thanks to the extreme vagueness of “The Pink Book.” Nevertheless, it felt very, very good to touch myself like that. And, after my family’s move, that feeling would begin the link-up in my brain between all of these things and how I was supposed to both use and not use my penis. I deeply thank any of you who actually read all of that and didn’t just skip down to the link. I especially say that because this part of my story is not the most exciting when it comes to actually pleasuring my own penis or describing a fully conscious descent in the almost constant pursuit of creating my own orgasms. But, none of the other pieces of the puzzle fit unless I cover it all from the beginning. I have gone through many posts in this group already, but by no means all of them. I’ve read a bunch of the new ones, and I started reading a big wad of them from the very beginning. And, this is where I get back to how I have totally ripped off an idea from our esteemed colleague, Richard Lovel. His “muses” posts are absolutely incredible. And, to illustrate this “chapter” of these posts that I plan to continue making until I get up to the present, I could not think of a better way to present or title them than the manner in which he has already set. Therefore, with full credit and complete apologies to both Richard Lovel as well as Hugh Hefner, I present to you all, “My First Muses.” This privately listed Picasa folder under one of my other Internet identities features 62 photos of the first pornographic images that I ever laid eyes upon. This presentation is by no means complete in any way, and Playboy historians my flinch at some of these newer version of the photos that will appear different than they were in their original printings (usually, less airbrushing). Nonetheless, it gives you all a very good idea of where I started. And, even without any “beaver shots,” I think that even the youngest of members of this group will find one or two pictures that he can still enjoy looking upon for at least a few moments while he masturbates his cock. And, yes, even with all of the graphic pornography so easily available via stores and the Internet with beavers spread wide deeply filled with probing fingers and cocks shooting out long streams of cum — all in close up, high definition, full color glory — there’s still a time that I go back to my original loves, all the while rubbing on my cock, still thinking about how I wished that they were sitting on the edge of my little bed from all of those years back, watching me as I lie there totally naked with my little boy boner sticking up in the air, me asking them to explain their bodies and my feelings to me, and them kindly and gently answering while maybe even occasionally reaching out to touch or hold me. Enjoy, and thank you all again for reading this and for sharing your stories and thoughts in this group. It all feels so damn good!

Continued. See all by Porn O’Graphicus