This is a shameless account of the masturbatory experiences of a man who has masturbated regularly since he was 14 and who now, as he approaches 60, considers masturbation to be one of the most enjoyable sexual experiences of all and an art in its own right.
My discovery of the existence of masturbation, although not the pleasures it offered, was at prep school at age 12. I had, of course, experienced erections but had not associated them with particularly pleasurable feelings. In the dormitory we paired off and got into bed with our partner and played with each other's penises, but I never got an erection doing this, even though my partner did, and I was never aware of anyone doing anything except "fiddling." Then, one evening, a classmate — who was considerably more sexually developed than I, with a bush of pubic hair and a thick penis — persuaded me one evening after "lights-out" to join him in the classroom to do some "homework" — something we "prefects" in charge of dormitories were allowed to do. We were in our pajamas, and as soon as we sat down he put his hand inside the front of mine and started stroking my penis. I was surprised, but not particularly shocked as I was a little in awe of him and the size of his penis, and also he had done the same to me once when I was in the bath. He took my hand and put it on his penis, which was erect. My penis remained flaccid, and he told me to try to pee into my pajamas — why, I couldn't think, though the idea attracted me. I tried but did not succeed, and my penis remained limp. He encouraged me to rub his penis up and down which I mechanically did, and eventually he took out his handkerchief, covered his penis and continued to rub it himself. A damp stain suddenly appeared on the handkerchief, and I innocently thought he had peed into his handkerchief, the pleasure of which I could understand as I took pleasure in peeing a little in my pajamas after lights out and had recently been accused of wetting my bed because of the yellow stains discovered on my pajamas and sheets.
So I first experienced masturbation without having the slightest idea what it really was. When I moved to a grammar school, masturbation ("wanking") was the main topic of conversation, and I was made to look a fool — it was obvious, from my reactions to the accounts of their exploits, that I did not do it. They would talk about "shooting" competitions that took place on "the island" on the river where the school went swimming. It seemed that the idea was that each boy masturbated in turn, shooting his sperm as far as possible. The furthest point reached by his sperm was marked, and of course the winner was the firer of the longest shot. Mutual masturbation was also rife, though of course I was left out of it and had no idea it was happening, and eventually the authorities decided to bring it to an end. Each boy was given a questionnaire that asked with whom he had done it and how often. Being still naive and innocent I thought this was referring to "pilling," which was quite simply playfully grabbing at one another's private parts, another popular pastime. I had done this occasionally to another new boy and dutifully admitted as much when answering the questionnaire. Fortunately they realized I was not a mutual masturbator and I was not sent to the headmaster for a caning, the punishment administered to all the self-confessed onanists. Later I was to regret not having gone through the mutual masturbation phase — it is still among my fantasies.
The "unlucky" ones seemed to have learned their lesson as talk of masturbation all but ceased — in fact, it was now generally considered something one "didn't do." It was all right for them, but it was something I had never tried, probably simply because I was a late developer; I was 14 before I had anything like a reasonable bush of pubic hair. I enjoyed playing with my penis, I would often get an erection, and I enjoyed rubbing it up and down — but so far it had gone no further than that, even though I knew something should happen.
Then, one evening as I was doing my homework, I started playing with my erect penis and a wonderful feeling came over me. I could feel something happening down there, something that required me to continue rubbing more and more vigorously. I did so, the blissful sensation intensified, and suddenly something welled up inside my penis and it exploded. A thick white liquid leapt out in spurts and went all over my desk, my trousers, my hands — and the feeling was out of this world! I had masturbated and experienced my first orgasm. Of course I could do nothing about the feeling of guilt that overwhelmed me — but even that could not detract from the pleasure I had experienced.
The next morning, however, it became clear God had punished me for my sin — my penis was crooked! It curved in a semicircle and looked most strange and unnatural. How could I appear naked in the shower? Everyone would know what I had done. I rubbed it into an erection — and the situation was even worse. It was deformed! I felt awful for all of 2 days, and then the urge to masturbate again became stronger than the shame at the deformation of my penis. At least I now had nothing to lose! I masturbated without any feeling of guilt — and when the erection subsided I had the impression the curve was less obvious. Well, I had better make sure. True enough, after 2 or 3 more sessions of sheer bliss, my penis was straight as an arrow. The only difference between my pre- and post-masturbatory penis was that the foreskin had started to recede, which eventually gave the impression that I had been circumcised.
I was now definitely a masturbator — nothing could alter that — so I masturbated regularly, but of course kept it to myself. By that point masturbation was rarely talked about at school, and when it was, it was usually presented as something other boys did. I began to feel I perhaps shouldn't be doing it. But I continued — and not always privately. I found that by tucking my erect penis under my left thigh I could, by sitting on my left hand, masturbate during lessons. I was once seen by a schoolmate who accused me of committing the forbidden act, but I rather unconvincingly denied it, and no more was said. Whether there were any semen stains on the back of my trousers, I don't know. There should have been, considering the amount I usually ejaculated.
For some reason, the best mathematician in the class, a rather strange boy who had an uncoordinated walk, was known to be a regular masturbator. Perhaps it was well known because other boys had done what I was destined to do with him. One afternoon he and I were alone in the classroom doing some revision and chatting, when he started rubbing his trousers. He then opened his fly and took out his penis, silently suggesting I do the same. I needed very little persuading, and when we both had firm erections we each spontaneously took hold of the other's penis. His was smaller than mine — thinner at least — but it was a thrilling experience that heightened the excitement welling up inside my penis. I ejaculated very quickly, spurting sperm all over my trousers. He seemed not to want to ejaculate, as he immediately pushed his penis back into his trousers. I think we then both went our separate ways and no more was said about the occurrence. It had a traumatic effect on me, though — I was mortified at what I had done, and I think this act was the driving force that made me want to become a priest, as if to do penance for committing an unpardonable sin.
There was no more mutual masturbation after this, but I did take part in a very harmless "circle jerk" session with a group of schoolmates at the home of one of them one Saturday afternoon after school. We were sitting in his room chatting, and it became obvious that one fellow who had a massive penis (everyone knew that as we all swam nude in the river) had gotten an erection. We joked about it, but this ensured that most of us got aroused, too. Nobody took out his penis, but one by one we started masturbating, and it was pretty obvious we all ejaculated in our pants. The fellow with the large penis fascinated me — I used to sit next to him in the chemistry lab, and one day he drew my attention to his erection. I playfully nudged his leg with mine so it squeezed his penis against his other leg, and he silently encouraged me to continue. Afterwards he mentioned you didn't have to actually touch someone's penis to masturbate him.
I became something of a compulsive masturbator — at least, I did it several times a week. Bed after lights-out, of course, was a common location. The hand seemed to move unguided toward the penis, which immediately stiffened — and the rest followed naturally. Once, before lights-out, I was caught in the act by my mother, who entered the room unexpectedly as I was masturbating with the bedclothes thrown back. I quickly covered myself and she did not bat an eyelid, although she must have seen what I was doing. She probably accepted it as quite natural, but nevertheless I felt ashamed. Funnily enough it never occurred to me that the semen stains on my sheets and underpants must have made it quite plain to my mother how frequently I masturbated.
The loo — "Elsie," a chemical toilet — was also a place to masturbate. The combination of urinating, defecating and ejaculating brought intensified pleasure. The bath was another ideal place, with soapy hands sliding smoothly over the penis increasing the intensity of the orgasm.
I became very deft at masturbating in my trousers by putting my hand in my pocket, arranging my penis so it was pointing vertically toward my stomach, and then rubbing it with minimal hand movement. I could do this undetected (I assumed) while in company. On one occasion I did it while playing a game of table-tennis with my sister. Whether or not she thought it strange I should be playing table-tennis with one hand in my pocket, I don't know! Also, I must have smelled of sperm, as my pants were frequently soaked in it.
Of course, it was known to me that the "natural" reason for my penis being able to ejaculate sperm was not solely to give me pleasure but to impregnate a member of the opposite sex and so perpetuate the human race. As I grew older the thought of having sex with a girl instead of masturbating became a pleasurable fancy, but actually doing it with any girl I had ever met was wholly out of the question. It was something one didn't do. So one masturbated and fantasized. I remember going for a long walk one evening and imagining a woman appearing out of nowhere and persuading me to make love with her. The epilogue of this fantasy was, of course, a brief pause in my walk to sit on the grass behind a hedge, take out my penis, and slowly masturbate. Masturbating outside was particularly enjoyable — there was a sense of oneness with nature as the sperm fell on the grass or leaves. Masturbating outside is something I have practiced with particular enjoyment throughout my life. On walks I would stop to have a pee and end up masturbating as well, and sometimes I combined it with defecating. Once I went for a walk with nothing under my plastic rain trousers, which had only holes for pockets so I could masturbate throughout the walk, the plastic against my skin providing an extra stimulant. However the climax to my open-air masturbating came later on in life, when I rolled naked in the morning dew high up on a mountain and masturbated into the grass.
The year after leaving school I added another masturbatory method to my repertoire, which as yet was not particularly imaginative. I started working in Salisbury, and my godmother gave me some money to buy a moped to save on bus fares. It was not long before I realized I could arrange my penis so it pressed against the saddle — the vibrations of the engine would bring me delightfully to orgasm, and I could control the timing of it at will. Also at this time I started urinating as a stimulator, although in a very antisocial way. I would go into a public toilet near the theatre, enter the cubicle, and urinate all over the place — over the walls, lavatory bowl, and floor. Then, suitably aroused, I would masturbate, making sure the sperm was in an easily noticeable place. I didn't realize it at the time, but this was the forerunner of a masturbatory stimulant I would use and develop later in life.
Leaving home and going up to London changed the venue but not the method of my masturbatory pursuits. When staying in hotels I took delight in leaving obvious semen stains on the sheets for the chambermaid to see. I was tempted to wet the bed as well but never dared. The most I did was defecate in the bath, until once I blocked the drain and had great difficulty unblocking it! In London I discovered that public toilets sported verbal and pictorial pornography — usually crude, but for me, exciting. I would frequently masturbate in public toilets, usually onto the floor. Once I masturbated into a pornographic drawing on the door, only to find that my sperm was trickling down to the floor and could be seen by anyone who happened to be on the other side.
Soon after leaving home I started having sex with girls, which I found both physically and psychologically preferable to masturbation, though it did not entirely replace it. My sex drive was such that my penis needed at least 4 or 5 outlets a week, be it up a vagina or between my hands. There was something about the freedom of masturbation that made it very relaxing as well as invigorating. I never admitted to a girl that I masturbated, and at that stage I didn't realize girls also did it — otherwise I might have brought up the subject.
I got married young to a woman 8 years older than myself, whom I had gotten pregnant. Sex with her was great, but I was in her hands as far as the love-making intensity was concerned, so I continued to masturbate to fill in the gaps. Actually, she was the first woman who knew I masturbated — during a week of enforced "celibacy" the week before we were married, I masturbated in bed almost every night and then took my sheets to her to be washed! This intensive masturbation period did not prevent me from making love more than 20 times during our week's honeymoon.
I continued my masturbatory pursuits in public toilets, in the toilet at home, in the bath — even in bed next to my sleeping wife. It was something so natural, so harmless, yet I still had pangs of guilt when the sheer joy of the orgasm had died down. But of course I continued doing it — and took great pleasure from it! I also once used a rolled up newspaper as a "vagina," and I also masturbated by lying on my stomach and rubbing my penis against the sheets or between a pillow and the lower sheet, sometimes into a lubricated plastic bag.
My marriage came to an end and masturbation became my only outlet for a while. Eventually I found a girl who wanted sex as intensively as I did, and we had a ball together, with plenty of experimentation. We went to sex shops together, took Polaroid photos of each other masturbating — although she refused to admit to having masturbated and did not like talking about it. So, I enjoyed sex with her — and when we were apart I continued to masturbate, but without telling her.
While abroad on a work trip I met a woman with whom I fell in love and I eventually married. The sex was fine, although not as frequent as I would have liked. We were close enough for me to talk about masturbating, and she seemed to understand if not entirely approve — so I continued freely and sometimes told her about it, which I found quite an arousing experience. Later on in the marriage I frequently masturbated next to her in bed while she slept, very often as a sort of revenge for being rejected! I masturbated with minimal movement and then wiped the sperm over my stomach to avoid any stains on the sheets.
A couple of times I masturbated in the sleeping compartment of a night train when going on holiday with the whole family. There was an added pleasure in doing something so "forbidden" in the presence of people who would have been shocked if they had known. I even succeeded in masturbating secretly in the bath while my young son was sitting on the toilet! One summer, when alone at home, I would masturbate frequently onto the sheets and then leave the bed unmade so the young gypsy housemaid would see the stains.
I quickly discovered a couple more masturbatory methods. Bath taps were halfway along the bath, and by letting the water flow onto my erect penis I reached orgasm with no self-contact at all. Each bath also had a hand-held shower which was also delightfully stimulating, and this became a favorite masturbatory "toy." Also, the bath was as excellent place for sticking a soapy finger up my arse while I masturbated, something I learned from a book and accepted willingly. Of course, I also used "girlie" and pornographic magazines as a stimulation and enjoyed ejaculating over the pictures. I remember trying a new masturbatory method while looking at one — namely, pulling the foreskin down as far as possible and holding the penis firmly without any movement. The orgasm was quite intense, but I did not use this method frequently, as the book that had given me the idea warned it could result in a reduction of sensation.
Although I cannot pretend to have really practiced transvestitism, I have put on ladies' tights and masturbated in front of a mirror wearing them. There were 3 things that turned me on: One was the bizarre sight of an erection stretching the tights unnaturally, creating a pyramid in the front. The second was looking at my erect penis pressed either down against my leg, or up against my stomach — and the sperm oozing out through the mesh as I ejaculated. The third was pushing my penis back between my legs so I looked like a woman. I then just looked at the hand on the pubic hair and fantasized about female masturbation!
My work took me away from home quite frequently, sometimes for several months. Then masturbation became my only sexual outlet, and my imagination began to work and I tried a number of new methods. One was taking half a loaf of bread, making a hole just the diameter of my penis, and putting a plastic bag inside the hole and then wrapping it around the half-loaf. I took this to bed with me and it served as an excellent mock vagina. After ejaculating I left the sperm-filled bread by the side of the bed, and in the morning I masturbated with it again, the previous night's sperm acting as an arousing lubricant. I also discovered in a book a masturbatory method that involved crouching down on my heels and tucking my erect penis between them and bouncing up and down. This worked best with a lubricant, or in the bath with soap. Another method involved lying on my back with my knees tucked up to my waist and then putting my penis between my knees — and squeezing!
Perhaps the height of my masturbatory ingenuity was the method I used inspired by my frustration at not being able to suck my own penis, something I had done in a wet dream. As second best, I would lie on the bed or floor and throw my legs back over my head, so that my penis was directly above my mouth. I would then masturbate, ejaculating directly into my mouth. When on my own for several months, staying in a hotel, I would treat myself to long, relaxed masturbating sessions when I would relax naked on the bed in front of a mirror and caress myself for as long as possible without reaching orgasm.
I transformed some of the above masturbatory methods into a rhyme:
Wanks for the Memory
Relaxed, I lie upon the bed,
My body straight, my legs outspread;
My eyes towards the looking glass,
I stick one finger up my arse.
The other hand goes to my pr*ck,
And when it's straight and getting thick,
I put some oil upon the crown
And then I rub it up and down
Gently, until it's getting thicker,
And then I start to rub it quicker.
When the juices start to come,
I wipe them off with my left thumb,
Which I then suck — oh, what a taste,
A nectar sweet, too good to waste.
Now I stand up and walk around,
And then I lie upon the ground
And rub my pr*ck against the rug —
How soft it is, how smooth, how snug.
O, it's too much! I'm going to come —
Once more my finger's in my bum —
No, no — not yet, not quite so fast!
I want this wank to last and last —
I stand up and in the mirror glance
And once more round the room I prance.
I crouch, my pr*ck between my heels —
Bounce up and down — how good it feels!
Oh, things are coming to a head;
Throbbing, I lie upon the bed
And throw my legs back o'er my hips,
So my pr*ck is right above my lips.
My hand moves faster and my left thumb
Goes deeper and deeper up my bum.
I'm coming now! The sperm is flung
Into my mouth, right on my tongue!
Oh how blissful — what a joy!
Thank God I'm such a naughty boy!
Both in London and on trips abroad, I discovered the joys of pornographic cinemas. I would have an erection for most of the film but tried to keep my orgasm until the end of the film. I would then ejaculate in my pants — sometimes with manual aid, sometimes without it. Occasionally I would put on a condom before the film, ejaculate into it, and then leave it hanging in the toilet, full of sperm. When I was wearing a condom I did not wear underpants, and I cut a hole in my trousers' left-hand pocket so I could touch and rub my penis directly. I also frequented pornographic cinemas in Paris and in Munich, as well as porno-film booths where one could watch about 10 minutes of a film for a pound or so — long enough to get aroused and to masturbate to orgasm. In Munich I first experienced a peep-show, which entailed going into a small booth, putting money into a slot, which opened a small window revealing a naked girl in a sexy pose or, sometimes, playing with herself. The plastic bag with sperm-soaked tissues in it made it clear what had to be done, so of course I did it! In London there were peep-shows where the girl would approach the window and ask if I wanted her to be "naughty." This meant slipping her extra money through the slot, after which she would masturbate, sometimes close to the window. I of course masturbated at the same time, ejaculating onto the wall and floor of the booth. Once, about half-an-hour after leaving such a peep-show, I noticed that one shoe was covered with sperm!
But back to the porno cinemas. I had read in books that men masturbated openly in such cinemas, but I never experienced it until I started going to a very seedy cinema club near Kings Cross. To start with I just masturbated secretly as before, but one day I was surprised to look down and see the man next to me stroking a half-erect penis! He moved away from me and sat nearer the screen, openly masturbating, without ejaculating, but continually wiping the juices from his penis with a tissue. I ejaculated in my pants long before the end. Eventually I realized the place for open masturbation was the back row, so I went there. Nearly everyone there had their penises out, some masturbating gently and subtly, others making a great show of it. Some were masturbating each other. It didn't take long for me to join them, but I found myself ejaculating very, very quickly, so I tended to spend the first hour in the front row and then retire to the back. I usually slipped a condom on my penis just before orgasm to avoid a wet, sticky mess, but I did not always succeed. There were men who wanted to masturbate me, but I shunned that, largely because I was so turned on that I knew I would ejaculate in a matter of seconds! I once started playing with the penis of a rather fat, greasy man next to me, but when he tried to grab hold of mine, I left. Then, one day, I was sitting next to quite a respectable man who was happily masturbating and watching the film. I tentatively stretched out my hand and touched his penis. He did not seem to have anything against this, so I took hold of it and started masturbating him. He obviously enjoyed this and sat back and relaxed. Then I could feel him throbbing — he gave out a very quiet cry and ejaculated, his sperm flying all over his trousers, his jacket, and my hand. He wiped off the sperm, buttoned up his trousers and continued to watch the film. I had already masturbated once, earlier, in the front row, but I was ready for another orgasm and continued to masturbate myself, ejaculating into my handkerchief.
Another place I masturbated in front of people was on a bus, although of course no one knew what I was doing. I managed to arrange my penis so it was vertical, against my stomach; then, using the vibrations of the bus and slight movement of my body, I brought myself to a delightful — and very messy — orgasm! Other occasions that come to mind, though not in chronological order, include going to a cinema to watch a perfectly ordinary film and, being careful to sit on my own, wetting my pants deliberately during the film. I also did this at times while going for a walk, and when I was jogging.
Occasionally during my life I witnessed men playing with themselves in public toilets, and although it intrigued me and excited me, it never went further than that. Until a few years ago, that is. Once, going into a public urinal I noticed that 2 of the other 3 men there were masturbating — at least, playing with themselves. I later realized that they were soliciting and hoping to find a partner for homosexual sex. Watching these men playing with themselves excited me and I would get an erection and play with myself. I used to go to this particular urinal frequently in the hope of seeing a few erect penises being rubbed. Once a man masturbated to ejaculation — something I had until then seen only in porno films. A couple of times I became so excited that I myself ejaculated into the urinal, but usually I just enjoyed playing with myself and pretending to masturbate, to work up the other men. Occasionally a man would try to take hold of my penis, but I always found this rather degrading and left immediately.
A masturbatory method I am particularly proud of is masturbating into bread dough. One day I was kneading dough in the kitchen and — whether I was consciously or subconsciously fantasizing I don't know — I got an erection and soon realized it was going to end in masturbation. The soft, rubbery feel of the dough gave me an idea. I made a hole in it, put in some olive oil, and then took out my penis and inserted it in this culinary vagina. The sensation was fabulous! I pulled it out and pushed it in, backwards and forwards, until I started to ejaculate. The first few times I did this I ejaculated outside the dough, but finally I went the whole hog and completed the erotic experience by ejaculating into the dough, then kneading it in and baking "sperm bread." If only those who eventually ate it had known the secret ingredient!
This takes me well into my 50s, meaning over 40 years of almost continual masturbation. I did once remain "celibate" for over a year as I had decided that I really ought to stop, but I started again — I shall never forget that first masturbatory orgasm after such a long time. It was on a walk up in the mountains, and after spending most of the walk continually getting erections, I finally stopped by the side of the path and let myself go. After that, I soon made up for lost time. I also went several times for a "massage" — being masturbated by a prostitute. This was by no means as satisfactory as masturbating on my own, but somehow I had less of a guilty conscience about it!
I am now married for the third time, to a woman who has also spent her life masturbating, who still masturbates, and who enjoys talking about it. We have a wonderful sex life that includes masturbating in front of each other and, before we were married, masturbating over the telephone. I haven't yet masturbated to orgasm without my wife being present, but I have played with myself and visited the public urinal several times, always telling her. She does occasionally masturbate to orgasm when alone, also telling me about it afterwards. We watch pornographic films together, masturbating as we do so, and talk openly about our masturbating experiences — she knows everything I have included in this document, and she has excited me with her masturbatory tales. I think it is probably only a matter of time before I masturbate on my own again, the difference being I shall always tell her about it.
I have had a rich masturbatory life. Some may be shocked, others may be horrified. I can honestly say now that I do not regret anything I have done in the slightest, and warmly recommend anyone to try any of these forms of masturbation which take their fancy. My advice is, take it out — if you haven't already — lie in front of a mirror, and enjoy yourself, taking Woody Allen's advice: "Don't knock masturbation. It's sex with someone you love!"
Wanks for the memory
This is a shameless account of the masturbatory experiences of a man who has masturbated regularly since he was 14 and who now, as he approaches 60, considers masturbation to be one of the most enjoyable sexual experiences of all and an art in its own right.