Frustrated at Forty

In looking at my current situation, I have to look back at my life. Mostly this is to see if I can see a pattern or to see if I can see possible reasons for my current situation.

I had found masturbation at around fifteen, totally by ‘accident’. My dad was one of those who kept Playboy magazines in his nightstand – just for the articles. I remember looking at them with my little sister or older brother as little kids and it just pretty much grossed us all out. Nudity was not something we ever saw around our house as kids. Short of bath time, you wore clothes. As a teenager, I would look at the pictures and look at the cartoons that were all very ‘adult’. I don’t remember when I first got a hard-on from the pictures. It’s strange how our brains (or mine at least) recognized that nude=erection. Nobody told me that is what ‘should’ happen, it just did. So, I would look at pictures, get a hard-on and then I would stop looking when I had figured that I had been in the bathroom long enough. That was it.
Once, there was a single frame cartoon showing a monkey masturbating to a magazine and I remember going into the bathroom and rubbing my penis like the cartoon. I thought I was going to piss myself so I went over to the toilet. It was a strange feeling and then – guess what – I pissed. That’s what I thought at least, but it was different. The whole thing was such a trip and even more so that I can remember parts of this twenty-five years later.
Self Pleasure became a regular thing for me – so much that my penis permanently favors the right side. I need more ‘happiness’ feelings so I would try to step it up a few notches. Thanks to cartoons, I found hand lotion and other items that I would try as lubricants. Mostly I would kneel in front of the toilet with the lid up – it was a perfect shelf for my balls on the rim of the toilet and whatever the results of my pleasure would fall into the toilet bowl. The back of the toilet became a perfect shelf for the magazine and I could still turn the pages. My mom was a clean freak so it was never dirty to me. I remember the euphoric feeling when some cum would hit the back of the toilet or would shoot up in the air around eye-level! Friggin’ Cool!
Obviously my parents had to of figured out that SOMETHING was going on, and I can’t always promise that I cleaned up everything after myself. Magically, the Playboy magazines stopped being around. I needed to find something else and it became lingerie ads from the department stores.
Both in 8th grade health class and from my parents, we got the ’sex’ talk as to what was supposed to happen. I also started seeing cartoons and the late night HBO movies that showed that a man was supposed to be on top of a woman and that there was something going on in the hip area. I figured that this was what was supposed to happen and dammit, I needed to be prepared.
I started humping towels spread out on the floor – OUCH, that hurt. I experimented to find a fabric that worked and didn’t hurt. Sadly I found my mom’s underwear – we’re talking big ol’ granny panties. I would put them on – not for the feeling, but to hold toilet paper around my penis while I humped a towel. All the pleasure ended up in the toilet paper and clean up was easy. One day, the toilet paper was rubbed off from around the penis and I got one massive friction burn. I have a permanent red, ’scar’ on the shaft of my penis. Stupid teenager. The only cool result of this was that watching semen sort of squirt from whatever the panty material was, kind of became a game in itself. There is no way that my laundry-doing mother didn’t notice this. Nobody ever said anything to me about it. I remember sometime around twenty-one that somebody told me that they used clean socks, then just through them in the dirty clothes – if I had only known that then!
Self Pleasure became way too much part of my life. I would masturbate at least once a week – every week for pretty much most of my life – how sad is that? When I would go to my older brother’s apartments – and they had Penthouse magazines – I would always go at it in the bathroom. One time around eighteen, my brother walked in on me – I had thought I had locked the bathroom, but obviously did not. He never said anything and I didn’t either. Maybe it was a Guy Rule. I don’t know.