bio

Masturbation is my favorite hobby. It's my favorite thing to do with my friends. As long as no one catches me, I can have the time of my life. And I masturbate one or two times a day. But it wasn't always like that. Oh, sure, I was one of those people who would go at it before puberty started — and then, one night, my whole experience changed.

I'm writing this at the end of a 4-year relationship, one that was quite fulfilling on many levels: emotionally and spiritually as well as physically. It's amazing how sharing physical intimacy can bind people together in ways words won't describe. My partner and I enjoyed each other's bodies quite a bit — whether through full-fledged intercourse or just masturbating face-to-face, watching each other's enjoyment grow, seeing what we do to pleasure ourselves. My definition of sex is pretty wide, so everything counts — including just watching what someone else does with their hands.

I am a married male in my 40s and have been masturbating regularly since I was about 10 years old. My first exposure to "the deed" was seeing my older cousin lying on his bed late one night as I walked past his slightly open door. As I had never even heard of masturbation it really didn't arouse much curiosity in me at the time. But a few months later while I was home alone one afternoon, I took off all my clothes in the bathroom to take a bath and suddenly got a raging erection.

The first sexual thing I can remember happened at about age 9. I had left my bed, probably to get a glass of water, and on my way to the kitchen I saw that the lounge-room light was on. I went down the hall, and at the door I saw my father lying on the couch with his clothing pushed down to his knees and up to his chest. My mother was kneeling down beside the couch with my father's penis in her mouth. I watched for only 5 or 10 seconds before my mother realized I was there and sprang up, alerting my father, who also sprang up and started to adjust his clothing.

I think I was about 6 or 7 when I discovered that rubbing my penis felt really good — not just nice, as it had felt when I was younger. It started with a "rosy palm" trick: grabbing my penis with one hand and rubbing the very tip of my penis with the palm of the other. The feelings were incredibly intense, and I couldn't do it for very long. A few times, I was able to do this with my friend John, who was about same age. We did this secretly, as somehow we knew it might get us into trouble.

I have been masturbating since I was a young kid. My method of choice was then (and still is) lying flat on the floor or bed and moving my body up and down. As it says on JackinWorld, this provides an sensation similar to intercourse (though I've never experienced it) — especially for uncircumcised males like me. 

I don't remember exactly how old I was when I first started masturbating. I guess I was around 12 or 13 (I am 19 now). I had talked about masturbation at school; my friends asked if I had ever tried it, and that question encouraged me to experiment for the very first time. Whenever I've read or heard other people's accounts of their first time masturbating, the tale inevitably ends with them enjoying this incredible feeling of orgasm. It was a little different for me. I remember my first time well: It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was fairly bored.

The summer after my 11th birthday I went to Boy Scout camp and learned to masturbate. I'd heard guys at school talk about "jacking off," and I thought it had something to do with sex, but I really didn't know what it meant. One day at camp we were hiking in the woods, and a friend told a group of us that his father, who was a scoutmaster, caught my friend's brother and another boy "jacking off" in their tent. I laughed along with everybody else, but then I asked him what, exactly, they were doing.

I first remember masturbating when I was about 7. I'm sure I was doing it before then, but that is my earliest memory of doing it. I would put my hand in my underpants and, holding my hand flat, move my soft penis up and down. The rubbing of my hand and of my penis head on my cotton underwear felt fantastic, and if I was lucky I would reach a sort-of orgasm before I got too much of an erection for my technique to work. Of course, I didn't use those words — "boner" was what my best friend and I called an erection, and orgasm was just some final, great, nameless feeling.

From my earliest memories, I knew "playing with myself" was fun. Right behind that memory is the memory of my mother telling me not to "play with myself," so never again did I do it — in front of her, anyway. No big deal was made of it, but I sensed it was not an activity for her to see again. My siblings were sisters and we all satisfied ourselves that boys and girls were different and pretty much let it go at that.