A year ago, if anyone had told me I would be writing my biography for a Web site dedicated to male masturbation, I would have laughed uncontrollably. By contemporary standards, my life has been remarkably tame; consequently, I couldn't believe anyone would be interested in what I have to say. In truth, I thought the same thing when I first replied to a JackinWorld Question of the Week (#183, about the ease of orgasm), only to find my response among the body of replies. Question #184 (elements of a good session) was far more appealing; I thought seriously about my reply and was rewarded by being chosen best out of 429 respondents. A few weeks later, mine was one of three "wackiest" responses to what I still consider the strangest question asked (#192, masturbation routine). Since then, I have been the oldest respondent selected for Questions #196 (first masturbation to orgasm) and #205 (penis size). Okay, perhaps I do have something to say. If I can help one young reader avoid the years of guilt that I endured, then I have made a contribution, and I thank the editors for giving me this opportunity.
I entitled this essay "A Good Boy," because that phrase best describes how my parents regarded me. I always did my best to fulfill their expectations. My first awareness that sexuality was not an open topic in my household was, paradoxically, not the least bit sexual to me at the time. When I was about 4 or 5, my mom was giving me a bath, and suddenly I got an erection. I no longer recall exactly what was said, but I had the impression that a Good Boy doesn't do whatever I was doing. I have always been a quick study, so that's the last time I ever had an erection around my parents. Of course, it would have been far more interesting if I knew what an erection was, or if I experienced some pleasure.
Nothing interesting happened for several years. My friends were as repressed as my parents and I were. When I was about 10, I spent a week with my parents at their friends' cottage. A boy about my age wanted me to take off my swim trunks when we were alone, but I refused. When he persisted, I told him that wasn't something a Good Boy would do. That admonition worked; apparently he'd heard it from his own parents. Now, he was hearing it from his friend.
When I was 11, the erections were back; this time they began to feel good. That summer, I discovered I felt especially mellow if I pulled my erect penis through the front of my briefs and my jeans. (My friends and I all wore briefs; boys' boxers were unheard of.) I had the upstairs to myself most of the day, so I often wandered around with my erection displayed. I wasn't sure if doing so would damage my reputation as a Good Boy, but I was restrained enough that I never stroked, pulled, or otherwise fondled myself. Just having my pole showing was enough fun for me; "simple pleasures for simple minds," as I often say about myself. Naturally, I made sure I was never caught, and I certainly didn't tell any of my friends, for they were also Good Boys. Hey, this was the 1950s in a small, Midwestern town. Hippies or free thinkers didn't raise me; ironically, evidence suggests my parents knew Al Capone in the 1930s, but that's another story.
During my 12th summer, the erections were getting really common, but I had not yet started to have "wet dreams." A few days after summer vacation began, I was again sitting around with my penis out when I felt a tingly yet pleasant sensation in my groin. Suddenly, I was certain I had to whiz; I ran to the bathroom just in time to ejaculate into the toilet. I had done nothing to reach orgasm except let my erection hang out for over an hour. I had no idea what had just happened. I was scared, confused, and certain I had done something wrong — perhaps even evil. I didn't think I had injured myself, though; I was too concerned with my Good Boy image to worry about my physical well-being. I said a prayer of contrition — interesting, considering I'm not Catholic — and promised God I'd keep my penis in my briefs like a Good Boy.
I kept my promise, but within days, I was about to face a bigger challenge: nocturnal emissions. I had no idea what was happening, but they were frequent. I have no recollection of the actual dreams; all I remember was the copious amounts of semen that regularly soaked my pajamas several nights each week. My mother did the laundry, but she never said a word about the cardboard-like crust on my jammies. Neither parent ever talked with me about what was happening to my body; none of my friends ever talked about their bodies, either. The one time I tried to ask my best friend, I was answered with a cold stare; I never asked him anything again until we were both in our early 20s. Even then, he denied he ever masturbated, although I had seen enough crumpled tissue and crusty briefs in his bedroom to know he was lying.
For the next 3 years, I endured frequent "wet dreams" without enjoying them, as I could have if someone had told me what was happening to my body. Strong sexual impulses increased during that time, but I never acted on them; I lived in fear and guilt, convinced I was the only boy ever to face such punishment, although I wasn't sure what I was being punished for. I was still the brightest kid in school, as well as the smallest — something that carried over through high school. To compound my misery, my body stopped growing when I was 14. Today, I am still a child-size adult: 5' 4" tall, 145 pounds. My penis is proportional to the rest of me: It's 4.5" to 5.0" erect, but a good 5.5" in circumference anywhere on the shaft.
Shortly after my 15th birthday, I actually began to play with myself. At first, it was just hauling my penis out of my briefs (hey, stick with a good thing!), but then I began to squeeze it, too. One night while I was bathing and occasionally squeezing my penis, it literally began throbbing; I felt the familiar tingle I first experienced 3 years earlier. Again, I reached the toilet just in time to ejaculate a major load into the bowl — nice and neat, as a Good Boy would do. Immediately, I realized there must be a connection between the "wet dreams" and what just happened. Being able to ejaculate when I wanted without soaking my jammies seemed like a great idea to me. The next night, I tried rubbing my erect penis with wet tissue while standing in front of the toilet. Soon, my research was validated; I made another deposit directly into the bowl. Convinced that I was indeed doomed to perdition or a mental ward, I decided I might as well enjoy myself en route. Daily, I would stand in front of the toilet, either naked or with my briefs and jeans around my ankles, rubbing my erection with wet tissue and always ejaculating into the toilet without making a mess or leaving any evidence.
I continued this daily routine well beyond my college years. (Why my penis never developed a downward kink from always being aimed into the toilet remains a mystery.) At some point, I substituted a wet hand for a wet tissue. (Economics, perhaps?) To avoid flying semen, I always stopped stroking just as soon as I felt an ejaculation beginning. My orgasms always felt incomplete; sometimes I had pains in my groin, but I was convinced a Good Boy wouldn't do anything to make a mess on the walls or the exterior of the toilet. Notice, young readers, that by this time I had convinced myself that masturbation per se might be permissible for a Good Boy, but messes clearly were not.
Over the years, I began to relax more. I knew that other males masturbated, thanks to college psychology courses and offhand remarks from some of my new college friends. I never "caught" my roommate pleasuring himself, nor did he ever catch me. Not until I was into my late 20s or early 30s did I consider masturbating anywhere but in front of the toilet. Eventually, I learned to masturbate in bed, always having tissue handy to ejaculate into, but still stopping stroking just as ejaculation began.
Not until I discovered JackinWorld in January '01 did I learn that I should have been stroking throughout the ejaculation and then continue to do so until ejaculation was over. The difference was immediately noticeable; so was the flying semen, but a big towel under my body catches most of what my stomach and chest don't. Yes, I've finally learned to relax and not worry about making a mess. Thanks, JackinWorld editors, for the information intended for young wankers — I'm certainly glad JackinHow-To isn't limited just to adolescent and pre-adolescent guys!
Although I had two serious relationships over the years, we never followed through to intercourse. My personal convictions are that I should wait until I am married, and I have never regretted that stance. I'm sure it is another part of my Good Boy image more than my ethnic or religious ties. I am an Irish-French-Indian Episcopalian, and open-minded at that. I try not to judge others; I know what is right for me, and I have always attempted to adhere to my own values. I do not, however, try to convince others to adopt my values any more than I would try to convert someone to my faith.
Masturbation is how I express my sexuality and how I relax. My evening sessions, 3 or 4 nights each week at bedtime, always end in ejaculation. I love a semi-darkened room, soft music, my comfortable bed, and absolute nudity — except when I'm employing the "Little Boxers" technique. (I finally switched from briefs to boxers and would never go back to briefs!) Although I have tried several JackinExpert techniques, I always end with the "fist," using my right hand. I was born with a highly efficient self-lubrication system — as I realized daily during adolescence, despite thick, cotton briefs, and heavy corduroys. The spontaneous erections have subsided with maturity, but adequate natural lubrication is always present — especially when employing my favorite method, "Stop & Go." After each pause, replacement lubricant is readily available. By the time I consciously decide to ejaculate, the lubricant has been supplemented with some semen — a signal that it is time to conclude another relaxing masturbation session. I consciously decide never to ejaculate before at least 20 minutes of relaxed stroking.
Once or twice each month, I set aside time for a morning session, but I don't bring myself to orgasm. These rare and therefore enjoyable mornings occur when I'm on vacation. I plan an extended masturbation session at bedtime. Not wishing to ignore a perfectly good erection upon awakening, I gently stroke my penis following the "Stop & Go" procedure. For morning sessions, I prefer the "Three-Finger" and "Vagina" techniques. I alternate hands and often use both hands, combining the "Three-Finger grip" of my right hand and the "Crook" technique with my left. I may have a little penis, but I also have child-size hands to go with my child-size winky. (Isn't it wonderful how God works all of these things out?) During these sessions — and for some evening sessions — I prefer lubricant other than my own. For younger readers, I have three words: "light mineral oil." It has no odor, doesn't dry out, and is easy to clean up. It's legal to buy and may not attract parental suspicion as personal lubricants can. Little is required on the hands and penis; use just enough to create a nice sheen and a silky feel.
During those rare morning sessions, I may leisurely pleasure myself for over an hour, knowing that time well spent in the morning will only add to both the quality and quantity of my orgasm after a lengthy bedtime session. I do not even try to maintain an erection during the entire session; I prefer to let my penis soften, and I gently fondle it. My oiled hands and penis guarantee sensual pleasure that is also relaxing; it is something nice that I do for myself. Morning masturbation is not a regular activity, both for time constraints and health concerns over not ejaculating after prolonged stimulation. For me, orgasm is the crowning point of an enjoyable, extended masturbation session. Then again, pleasant memories of that evening session often contribute to the joy of awakening to another morning erection. Not bad for a Good Boy, eh? — especially one whose parents never had a clue what I was doing in my adolescence, or even in my adult years.
I am convinced that neither of my parents ever knew I masturbated. Two years ago, I had hernia surgery. The night before the surgery, my good friend of 23 years called to express his best wishes. I was staying at my mom's house then, knowing I'd need a place to recover and someone to keep an eye on me. Since this friend is almost a second son to my mom, she too was on the telephone when he said to me, "Don't worry — you'll be playing with yourself once more in no time." After the call, my mom said, "He's kidding, of course." I tried to convince her he wasn't, but she wouldn't accept my words. The next morning when my uncle picked me up for the surgery, she hugged me and told me how much she loved me, how wonderful a son I had always been, and how I was still her Good Boy. I almost said, "Your Good Boy masturbates as much as he did at age 16," but I couldn't bring myself to dash her image of me. Besides, I needed someone to bring me ice packs and cook my meals after the surgery! (Being in good health and adhering to the surgeon's exercise schedule, I recovered quickly and was back on my bicycle in 4 days. I was wanking in 10, following my post-surgical checkup.)
My mom died suddenly in 2000 after a long and active life. All of my best qualities come from my parents. They taught me to place the needs of others above my own needs, to persevere, and to reach out to those who are hurting. I am a professor at a major Midwestern university; I am respected by my colleagues and highly regarded by my freshmen students and their parents. The Great Spirit has given me many talents; one is my ability to tell stories that allow the kids to connect the readings to their personal experiences and enrich their lives. Sometimes my stories have the kids crying; sometimes I cry with them. I love my profession because I love people. I thank my parents every day when I say my prayers, and I dedicate my teaching to them.
However, if I were raising kids, I would do some things very differently than my parents did when it comes to providing information about masturbation. I would do my best to assure my kids that masturbation is as natural as eating, sleeping, or breathing. From their earliest ages, I would answer any questions they raise about sexuality, and do so in a loving, compassionate, non-judgmental manner, while instilling in them responsibility for their decisions and actions. When they are toddlers, I would teach them the names of their body parts; I would not skip the names of anything between their abdomen and their knees, and I would never make up euphemistic names for their genitalia. Later, I would endeavor to convince them that masturbation is an important part of their being — something that will continue long after they make the mature, responsible decision to engage in intercourse. In fact, I would encourage them to postpone intercourse until they are ready for marriage. Naturally, I would show them JackinWorld and guide them through its quality advice. Above all, I would do everything in my power to assure that my children do not grow up with guilt, fear, and needless worry because neither their parents nor their friends would discuss one of the Supreme Being's greatest gifts to creation: human sexuality, including masturbation. In short, I would do everything that my parents' generation failed to do on this vital topic of our existence. That generation overcame the Great Depression, won World War II, and gave my generation a polio vaccine. In light of those accomplishments, perhaps they didn't feel the need to discuss sexuality with their children. But they should have.
Nevertheless, I am proud to be my parents' son; I am proud of my spirituality, and I am especially proud of my Native heritage. I am also proud to say that I masturbate regularly, that the guilt is gone, and that I enjoy masturbation far more now than I did when I was an adolescent. I am reminded of a mature, well-adjusted 13-year-old from Illinois who once wrote to JackinWorld, "If a complete stranger were to ask me if I masturbate, I would say, 'Yes, and I'm proud of it!'" Thanks, kid; I'm happy to know more adolescents and their parents think this way.
I am equally grateful for this opportunity to write this essay. It's not nearly as exciting as most that I've read, but that's not why I wrote it. Doing so has helped clarify some points in my growth and strengthened my self-worth. I also thank the JackinWorld editors for their excellent Web site. You are truly helping people of all ages in more ways than you may fully realize. Your readers are better for having JackinWorld to answer questions. Know something else? You're all Good Boys, and so am I!
