So, I was that kid whose mother had Nancy Friday’s Men in Love on her bedside table. A book and study on men’s sexual fantasies. No matter how strange or weird the ideas might be, they were in this book, and with no male role model in my home, there was really no one to ask about Penis Things: Do I actually pull the foreskin all the way back? Is my dick ever going to get bigger? And if I am ever to come, where am I supposed to put it? I mean, I was a horny kid. I thought about dick all the time, and whenever my mother would head out to buy cigarettes, Nancy Friday beckoned me to the bedside table. If I never got caught, Nancy would be my gateway drug to sexual self-discovery.
There were stories of men fucking their girlfriends, men fucking their wives, men fucking other men’s wives, but I knew exactly which pages had the gay stuff. The stories were frank and hot and real. They told of men’s real experiences and explained in detail about sex and masturbation.
Masturbation. One of my favourite things in life. I had been actively trying to ejaculate since I was nine, but orgasm had eluded me thus far. The book described an erection. Yes, I had that. The book talked about it feeling good. Yes, that works. And when it came to masturbation it described an up-and-down motion and then orgasm. Up and down? What, like just rubbing your hand up and down? Like rubbing your arm? See, I am uncut, and so far, pulling the skin back had been slow and sort of painful, so sliding the skin on my cock made absolutely no sense to me.
But this day was a little different and I had taken the book to the bathroom with a big mirror, which made it like there was someone else there. The story I was reading detailed a similar situation. A young man is hot for his friend; they compare dicks and then one asks the other if he knows how to jack off. It’s a common story and apparently a common occurrence. Not so common in Bond Head, Ontario. I was enjoying myself so much that I forgot to listen. I was reading and seeing myself in the mirror, and I was in bliss.
The car had pulled in, the front door was open, the keys were on the kitchen counter, and I was ripped from my fantasy and slapped with reality. Being in the bathroom was fine, but the book was in the bathroom. What do I do with it? How do I get it back to the room? I am going to get cau-augh-aughtohmygodit’shappening!!! In the heat of the moment, I guess the tension in my body grew and finally, finally, I was having an orgasm. My entire being was split in two. The fear of not only getting caught playing with my dick, but the wrath I would face having broke and entered into my mother’s room while massive pulses of ecstasy came over me was too much. I caught my own reflection in the mirror, of this kid on the verge of fight or flight while his face and body displayed the most exquisite kind of pleasure. My dick flexed and a tsunami of cum shot out of me. Like a rocket. Like 1,000 rockets — on the book, on the wall, on the mirror, on the floor, wherever there was a surface, I came on it. It was like a horror movie. Every time I would redirect there was another target that I was bulls-eying. Nobody told me there would be this much! Is this normal? This was going to become a problem. And panicking, and smiling because today I was a man.
I quickly cleaned up the bathroom with wads of toilet paper and kleenex. I am sorry for all the trees that died to become tissues for my delugent spunk. Counters are easily cleaned. Paperbacks not so much. The book was ruined. Whole sections of the book were soaked, but the wettest spot was where I was reading. I could never put it back like this. It gave way too much away.
Tucking the book in my shirt, I made for my room, where I quickly and carefully removed the damaged sections of the book, found a book of my own of comparable size and ripped that apart and replaced the pages. Luck would have it that Nancy Friday was back in her place before bedtime, and I got to keep all the juicy (no pun intended) sections in my room forever.
I should have learned my lesson . . . but sometimes you might not realize that you’re that close to the edge, and an orgasm will just sneak up on you. And you might not have prepared for the point of no return or moved the MacBook out of the way, and for months you have to explain to people why you have a shitty keyboard plugged into the side of your snazzy MacBook, and it’s because the keyboard is shot coz you spilled egg nog on it.
Generally, I masturbate once a day. When it’s May, I like to honour the occasion more. I use a towel now. Way tidier.
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