Autobiography of a Masturbator: Porn O’Graphicus, Part 2

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

This second “chapter” of my personal story about how I have come to be such a lover of masturbation and pornography is kind of an odd one. It covers the years of late 1972 through December 1977, and my age during this period was seven up to 12. On the porn side, it was not very exciting. However, even though I did not realize it at the time, on the masturbation side, it wasn’t all that bad. The transition from “Part 1” into “Part 2” is marked by my parents and me moving from my home state to another one deeper in the American South. Unlike many kids faced with such a thing, I was excited about living in another place. The only sad thing for me was leaving behind my girlfriend, Teresa, who I still kept that young relationship with even though my mother had forbidden it — jeez…what was I going to do, get her pregnant at seven? :-)

I was lucky in this move in that I found myself in a neighborhood with a lot of kids who had moved in from other states. So, there was hardly any of that “new kid in town” bullshit. One of the first things I noticed about this school is that it had “open” bathrooms instead closed ones as we had in my previous school. What I mean is there were floor-length urinals. So, this was the first time that I ever saw other boys’ penises. I had seen my father’s penis when he was teaching me how to properly use the shower, but I couldn’t much relate to that big, hairy thing. I didn’t view these sights of other boys at the urinal as “sexual” or all that exciting in any way. However, I definitely noticed how some had a different shape and wondered why some had some kind of skin flap at the end. I asked my parents about this one night, and they calmly explained to me that I was circumcised and that not everybody did that to their male children. But, then they started getting angry when they asked me how I found out about that and I told them what I had seen at the urinal. “Well, it was just there…I couldn’t help see it,” I said as I began to cry knowing that a whipping was coming (for, now that I was a “big boy” as my parents told me, punishment came from the more painful belt rather than a hand). Well, after that spanking, I got several long, unwanted talking-to’s about why I shouldn’t look at other boys’ and girl’s naked, that I shouldn’t play “doctor,” and that more whippings would come if I got caught (plus the loss of my beloved stereo now that I was discovering music — I was as early to that as I was porn, already having “heavy” stuff in my collection like Led Zeppelin). So, I learned very quickly to act as nonchalant as possible any time a sexual situation of any kind came up no matter its source. After having it ingrained in me that engaging in such activity would be worse than getting caught stealing, I just wasn’t going to take the chance. So, when the kid next door pulled down his pants and wanted to play, “I’ll show you mine, now you show me yours,” I just shrugged it off. When the sweet girl up the block took off her top in front of me to change her shirt, my outward reaction was…oh, no big deal, I’ve seen THOSE before (even though there was nothing to “those” on an eight-year-old) . :-) Looking back, one can certainly see the seeds of how I learned to have my pleasure in private and all by myself. After all, if you’re by yourself, nobody can tell on you and get you in trouble. And, in occasional flashes, it was really obvious to me at that time. We lived on a cul-de-sac where people could just set up a party or a game of tennis anytime they wanted. It was really a fun place to live. Around the latter days of my time in this place — around 1974 or 1975 — there was an older girl who lived two houses over. She had beautiful long hair and was your typical natural-looking 70’s chick. She had a radio out there one day, and for whatever reason, decided that she was going to teach me and some of the other kids how to do a couple of popular dances; The Bump and a brand new one called The Hustle. Well, my mother saw this out our kitchen window and just about croaked. “Get in here this instant,” she screamed out the front door. “I don’t ever, EVER want to see you doing that again,” she yelled at me when I got inside. When I asked why, “It’s dirty and I won’t have my son doing things like that!” Well, if it was naughty and bad plus something that might help me to meet girls when I got older (and I fully knew this, especially since I was not one of those boys who was anti-girl), I knew that it must be good. So, it was one of the many things (most of which I’m leaving out) that just made be count harder and harder towards when I would be 18 and be able to get away from my parents and have real fun on my own terms. And, as I thought about that…well, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. And, rest assured, I’m getting around to the good stuff. :-) This was a real dry spell for me as far as pornography was concerned. The Playboys of earlier years were totally gone, and the magazines had been moved from the old nightstand to a weird-looking wicker basket. There were still ads in the “boring” magazines that had pretty ladies in them, but it was no replacement for Playboy. The lone bright spot for almost a yea-and-a-half was, of all things, an issue of Life magazine. As some of you know, Life went out of regular publication in 1972 and wasn’t resurrected again for many years. But, they went out with some big farewell issues. And, in one of those, they covered the major events of the more recent years, and this included the big Woodstock music festival. To illustrate this, they showed a picture that had a distant, but still clear side-view of a naked woman. For a long time, this was the only photo I had that would give me comfort as I put my flat hand down my briefs and rubbed my open palm up and down against my penis. I still was not having orgasms, probably because I still had no clue what those were. But, it felt good, and always felt best while looking at that picture. Awhile later, a kid from way up the block — kind of one of those tougher, cooler kids, was playing with me in my room (one of the few times my mother would allow this). He saw “The Pink Book” that I mentioned in Part 1 as it was lying deep in my closet full of toys (believe me, that book was such a bright shade of pink that it couldn’t be missed). When he asked about it, I played that nonchalant game and just told him that it was a book that my parents had given me years ago to let me know where babies come from. My friend said that he knew that stuff, but that he got it from his much older brother rather than from a book. He was kind of leafing through the book at this point as we were asking pretty standard questions of each other and making the usual comments. For whatever reason, I opened up to him and said, “I get the part of where the babies come from after they’re babies, bit I don’t get the part where they actually make the baby, you know? That stupid book doesn’t tell you.” Well, my friend began to explain. He basically said that the man would get on top of the woman, his penis would get hard, and he would stick it in “down there” on a woman, and the move his penis back and forth until the sperm came out. Well, that was certainly a revelation, albeit an incomplete one. But, I wasn’t about to ask even more questions and then look even more un-cool — or, worse yet, have it be one of those times one of my parents popped their head around the corner at just the wrong time. So, I thought about this for probably a few weeks. Then, a ray of brilliant sunshine found its way into the wicker magazine basket. Again, I am confused as to why it was put there. All I know is that it WAS there. While casually leafing through it one day playing with my toy cars, I pushed off a magazine or two and saw that familiar font…Playboy! Even better, it was an almost brand new issue — December 1973! Well, I couldn’t look at it right away because the parents were about here and there doing stuff around the house. For days and days, I would walk by, and just quickly pull up the magazines and try to get one brief look at any page of the Playboy if I could while I thought I had a minute with neither my mother or father likely to walk by the entrance to the sewing room/den where the wicker basket sat. This was not very successful, mainly because I didn’t want to rip it, nor did I want to give away that I had found it by moving it closer to the top of the stack. And, it was impossible to sneak the magazine out at night because that doorway was right across from my parents’ bedroom; they always left their damn door open, and they were notoriously light sleepers always ready to spring into action to give me a whipping for making noise after my bedtime. But, my time finally came. A great confluence of events gave me all the time I needed and then some — my father was away on a business trip, and my mother was knocked out on NyQuil due to a bad cold. So, not only could I snag that Playboy for a while, but I could also fully enjoy it with my light on and see every glorious detail…but, not every detail. Above, I mentioned my continuing confusion about the penetration of a penis into a vagina. Those clinical, front-view, cut-away drawings in “The Pink Book” were of no help, and neither was a 1973 Playboy. For you younger guys who haven’t figured this out yet — yes, Playboy was finally showing pubic hair in almost every pictorial. But, good ol’ Hef hadn’t gotten brave enough to really show what was underneath all of those thick pubes. And, as I later learned, the reason they got darker and fuzzier at the bottom of that mesmerizing- to-me upside down triangle was that they didn’t want to show any “detail” of what was down there because Playboy might be shut down by the government for being “hardcore pornography.” So, I ended up getting the wrong idea for many more years to come that the hole a man put his penis in was somewhere in the middle of that triangle and not further down where it really was. Even though I was imagining my own penis going into the wrong place, what I started doing almost every night still felt as good. After combining my friend’s information with this new visual inspiration that I carved into my brain since I couldn’t risk having that magazine out 99% of the time, I quickly developed a new routine. After I was sent to bed, I would get under the covers and then lie face down. I would then imagine one of the ladies in that Playboy, the “dancing neighbor girl” (who looked a lot like that month’s centerfold minus the extremely huge breasts), or even one of the girls closer to my age from the street or school lying under me. I would carefully pull down my pajama bottoms enough to let my penis out of them, but not so much that I couldn’t pull them back up again quickly if my parents came in (and that would happen far too often for my liking — they were pretty goddamn nosy if you ask me!). Then, just by thinking about it, I could make my little boy penis get hard, and I would rub up it and down against the mattress or sometimes even a pillow, all the while imagining that I was having sex. This really felt great, and it made me feel so excited to think that I had an inside track on the stuff that I was going to need to know how to do in not too many years. And, as time went on, I found that it helped a whole lot with the sleeping problem that I had which I mentioned back in Part 1. Sometimes I would “bed fuck” or “pillow fuck” like that for 60 to 90 minutes as long as I didn’t start getting sore. No, still no orgasm yet — not even a dry one. However, it would get me to a point where I could get “dreamy” and then sleepy. This even got better as I moved up into another grade in school and became the boyfriend of a beautiful brunette girl named Veronica. Veronica looked like a very young Barbi Benton. If you don’t know what Barbi Benton looked like, you will soon. :-) Veronica lived far away, and this was because these were the days of mandatory school busing in order to encourage racial integration in this city’s schools. So, our “affair” could only take place at school. But, at night, I used to imagine her grown up, looking just like Barbi Benton, and me on top of her fucking away. Those were some good nights with some good feelings. As time went on, a very few other issues of Playboy appeared in that basket. None of the old ones from the previous house was around, but I appreciated anything I could get. And, I was noticing everything about these new “muses” — how differently shaped their bodies, their breasts, and their pubic hair was — how they were all looking so “up to date” as opposed to some of those 1964 Playboys I had seen just a couple of years earlier — and how Playboy still had that distinctive look and smell that set it apart from all other magazines (not including the fact that it was filled with naked women). :-) But, in 1975, I was once again torn away from a young love as the company that my father worked for transferred him again and we had to move to yet another state. This time it was in the New England area. Nevertheless, I was again excited to experience another part of the country that I had never been to before. Well, that excitement died quickly in many ways. Unlike the previous neighborhood, this one was not very welcoming to either my family or me. That’s another long story unto itself. But, I’ve given enough background and want to stick to the masturbation and porn. One thing that I noticed very quickly was that this new state seemed a bit more lax on what it allowed to be sold in “regular” stores like supermarkets, convenience marts, and even bookstores in malls. Yes, there was Playboy, right there where I could almost touch it, yet could not buy it. But, I was able to keep up with it in a way by reading the covers at the local “stop & rob” when my mother would send me down there to buy a carton of cigarettes for my father. Now, I cannot resist a side note or two after that paragraph. First off, how times have changed in how open that even Playboy can be displayed after all that Moral Majority bullshit in the 1980’s. And, secondly, think about that odd juxtaposition of not being allowed to buy a Playboy at that young age but they had no problem laying a carton of Marlboros on me. I could go on about that, but let’s get back to porn! :-) It was during this time that I made another important discovery in my porn obsessing career. There was more than one magazine that had naked women in it! Holy crap! I thought that Hef had the market cornered on that! For, it was in these stores where I saw these new, exotic titles like Penthouse, Oui (which was a Playboy spin-off), Gallery, Adam, and Genesis. Oh, man…now I couldn’t WAIT to turn 18 so I could get every single one of these every month! And, remember, I still did not know what an orgasm was yet! But, this plethora of printed pornography also got me into trouble. And, again, it was in such a stupid way that I still get a slight brain freeze when I think about it. My mother and I were in a big mall. She was in a shoe store, and I went into a bookstore that was just across the way to pick up the new copy of Mad Magazine and see if they had any new college football magazines out yet. I guess that she had been keeping an eye on me and where all I had gone in the store. When she was done, she came over to the bookstore. I paid for my Mad and whatever we got, and we walked out where there was one more rack of magazines right next to the pathway of the mall and right under the store’s cash register. Still trying to be cool about such things after all of the anti-sexual talking-to’s I had gotten over the recent years, I stayed well away from that area. As you can guess, this is where all of the Playboy, Penthouse, and other such publications were displayed. At first, I don’t think that my mother realized what was in that rack because she asked me, “Why didn’t you look in this section?” I replied with what I intended to be a slightly humorous retort, smiled and said, “Oh, those are just all of the dirty magazines.” Well, much to my immense surprise, she got all bent out of shape, grabbed my arm like a fucking vice, and said that she would not have me talking that way and that I was in big-time trouble with both her and my father when I got home. I was stunned beyond belief! Here I came back with something that both of my parents had tried to ingrain in my brain for years, and now I’m in trouble for it? Un-fucking-believable! And, sure as shit, I was grilled by both of them like I was in one of those cop movies where they put the suspect under the lone bright light in an otherwise very dark room. “Why did you say that those magazines were dirty,” they both asked. Well, as usual, I was already crying because I knew that the belt was coming out eventually and that this beating was going to be an extra painful one. Through my sobs, I stammered out, “Well, that’s what you told me, that they were dirty and that I shouldn’t look at them…and I was only trying to be funny. Why are you so mad at me?” Well, this led to some really bizarre statements from both of my parents as they were yelling at me that the female body is beautiful and that I shouldn’t think that way about those magazines. Well, what I should have replied with was obvious. But, I was too frozen in fear and obsessed by crying that I couldn’t get it out. Usually, stuff like this normally got dropped after I had gotten my lashes from my father’s belt. But, I kept getting quizzed on this for days, and it was embarrassing me to no end. And, it came with one of the most awful thing that my mother ever said to me, saying that she thought those magazines were silly to get men all worked up because she didn’t believe that there was any such thing as a female orgasm. WHOA! First of all, Mom…TMI, TM fucking I! :-) And, second of all…nice way to fuck up your kid for a few years as he wondered why women would want to have sex with him if it didn’t feel as good to them as it did to men. And, as for how what she said that day fits into what my father as up to and how it affected me…well, I’ll let you readers speculate on that for yourselves. :-) I will say that this was the point where I started trying to find things in the public library on sex so that I could find out the real story instead of whatever my parents were trying to pass off in their very confusing and conflicting ways. And, that was a good thing. Not only did I eventually learn that the female orgasm was indeed a factual occurrence, but it ended up leading me to discover a very unexpected source for “dirty” pictures. However, the full blossoming of that story does not come until after yet another move to yet another state. And, that will not be told until Part 3 of this saga. And, if you remember the start of today’s chapter, it ends when I am 12. So, you know what magical thing is coming next (pun totally intended). ;-) But, as to not leave you all on such a bummer note for this “chapter,” there is one more good thing that happened in this “waiting” period between my first exposure to pornography and my first exposure to my own semen. Many of you older guys will remember the very big hubbub that surrounded the November 1976 issue of Playboy. Then presidential candidate Jimmy Carter, a devout Southern Baptist, sat down with this “dirty” magazine for what became a very infamous interview — the one with the famous “lust in my heart” comment. For you younger guys, I can’t begin to tell you what a big deal this was on so many levels — Wiki it if you want to get a small idea. But, one thing that it did was give almost every man (and, a lot of women!) the perfect excuse to go buy a copy of Playboy and read it out in the open. And, that included my father. It was the first time that I ever saw him reading one himself. He was just sitting there casually on the living room couch, sitting there with it totally open — the magazine, I mean :-) — my mom sitting in here usual chair knitting, and good ol’ Walter Cronkite reading the CBS Evening News on the TV kind of low in the background. My mother noticed that I saw what he was reading, and she said, “Don’t even think about reading that!” I just shrugged my shoulders at her and headed out the front door where I was already headed to go play. Again, I was still trying my best to play it cool and stay out of trouble and away from the dreaded belt. But, at this older age, my parents were more and more often going shopping while allowing me to stay home. And, of course, I went looking for that Playboy as soon as they left. As I recall, it took me several of these times when I was left home alone before I finally found it. But, once I did, it was most wonderful. I was finally able to combine porn with the new penis pleasing technique that I had developed a few years before. So, I could fully immerse myself in the incredible centerfold of Patti McGuire (the future wife of tennis star Jimmy Connors), imagine myself lying between her beautiful, long, tan legs, feeling her soft pubic hair, and putting myself into a world where she would take me away from my restricted world, explain my feelings to me, and hold me close while she allowed me to slide my penis inside her. Right before we left this town in the very cold December of 1977, there was one more titillating discovery. As we were getting packed so that all of our stuff could be put on the moving van, I noticed some slightly open boxes stacked high in a far corner. This was another occasion where my parents were out at the store and I was there by myself. I thought that I would be helpful and tape the boxes up and move them over to the garage where all of the other boxes were being put. When I climbed up on our stepladder and looked inside, I could not believe it! There was a whole stack of Playboys from that whole era of the mid-1970’s that I had almost totally missed out on! I pulled that box down and looked in the next one — more Playboys! And, better yet, further down, there were two copies of Oui, and Penthouse, and a few issues of Gallery and Genesis! But, sure as shit, here came my parents driving back down the street towards our house. I put the top box back up and acted none the wiser when they got inside. I did not get to see in those boxes again before we moved. But, it started me really thinking about that one promise that I had never stopped running through my brain since I first heard it. On the day we left, it was exactly seven months until my 13th birthday. “Oh my goodness…is Dad really going to do what he said and let me start reading Playboy again when I’m 13? And, will he let me read all of these other magazines, too? This is going to seem like the longest seven months ever. If he keeps that promise, he’ll be the best father ever!” Well, we’ll see in Part 3. :-)

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