Where it happened: under my covers
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 4
Category: Straight
I think a first orgasm is the big first time.
One morning I had my second wet dream five weeks after my first and I knew for sure I could do it but I didn’t know how. There was a marriage manual in the floor of my parent’s closet which I had looked over whenever I had the chance. All it said about self gratification was that it was a sign of sexual immaturity. I figured being immature sexually was probably permissible at age 13. There was another part that discussed the pros and cons of repeating coitus right away so I figured my recent wet dream was no impediment to being set to go..
I had been inducing erections for some time but nothing came of it. I had read about coitus so I tried to simulate that. My main problem was that the skin on my penis got sore when I rubbed it. My big breakthrough came when I found the part about Vaseline in the manual. I helped myself to some Vaseline and hid it away.
That night I stroked myself and I simply persevered. Then I felt interesting things happening and when I continued, it happened. As transitions go, this was far more momentous than my first intercourse. I did it the next morning on the toilet and the spurt went 6 feet, 4 inches. Fantasy about a white-trash girl classmate who suddenly left town greatly enhanced the procedure but that was a much later innovation.
My big mistake was that at the end of the week of doing it every night, my mother saw the grease and other deposits on the sheets. In those days, Vaseline had a strong, distinctive smell.
My father took me into the shed told me in no uncertain terms, the next time I abused myself, my hands would be tied to the bed posts every night. Those fluids were for producing the next generation and not for self-gratification. I wish I had the nerve to ask how the condoms in my father’s night stand figured into his viewpoint.
I also had to leave the bathroom door open two inches whenever I went to the toilet after that. My portions of red meat were reduced. Catsup, A-1 sauce, pepper, and pickles were taboo for me for a while. What made me want to die was when my mother announced to the world that all the cloves were removed from my portion of Easter ham, as it was placed in front of me, at an extended family get-together. My father meant well. He was simply a product of his times. Even my Boy Scout manual had vague references to squandering one’s vigor with shameful acts.
I’ll let the reader decide whether subsequently unpolluted sheets indicated I cleaned up my act. ——- Hint: A five-pound jar of Vaseline mysteriously disappeared from the changing table of a classmate’s infant sister.
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