Horatio writes: We have commented before that learning to shoot one off can be the closest we get to being like Peter Parker trying out his newly-found Spidey skills. This is especially true when the discovery is accidental as Edmund Ross of Los Angeles describes. We would love to hear your stories, be they of being taught, self-taught etc.
To this day, I can't remember what made me do it. But it changed my life forever. I was thirteen years old and had jumped into bed at the same time in the same way a thousand times before. But this night, something felt spectacularly different. My penis had liberated itself through the fly of my brown kung-fu style pajamas. The ecstatic shock as the underside rubbed against the light starch of my fresh Scooby-Doo duvet was as pure a feeling as I have experienced, before or after.
When I look back on this definitive moment twenty-something years later, I am amazed at the bravery of my next step. If this kind of thing happened to me today, I would be risk averse. Persuade myself it had not, turn off the bedside light, and try to forget. But in those days, I was fearless. After catching my senses, and making sure I could hear no footsteps -- the sound of my parents downstairs -- I tentatively slipped my hands under the sheets, took hold of my schlong and tried to recreate the move which had provided me with such unknown delight just moments before. After a couple of trial efforts to work out what felt best, I started rubbing and rubbing. Against Daphne, Wilma, Fred, Shaggy, and, yes, even Scooby, with increasing confidence approaching abandon.
Imagine the shock then when it happened -- an explosion of pleasure carelessly shooting out across my duvet cover. After thirteen years, I had learned something absolutely new about my body. I had found a hidden skill. Like a young Evil Kneivel experiencing the thrill of performing a wheelie on a push bike in his back yard for the first time, I recognized I had identified the talent I would devote the rest of my life to. I quickly picked up my new tool and rubbed and rubbed some more.
After this there was no stopping me. All day in class I would count the minutes till I could return to my bedroom and my new trick. Checking my watch at lunchtime, a thrill would spread through my body. Only five hours till home, and home now only meant one thing. After cursorily dispensing with my homework, I would wolf down the bolognese or lamb chop we had for dinner, kiss my parents goodnight and race upstairs to my field of dreams.
I only knew one way to do it. Rubbing it directly against the cotton-polyester mix of my duvet. The friction was intoxicatingly addictive. Even when then that friction shaved off the top layer of my skin and turned my innocent manhood bloody. Possessed, like a junkie searching for a vein, I would fiendishly focus on any small area of my tool that was not scabbed over. My duvet cover was transformed into a crisp and bloodied rag. Lying in my bed breathless after the act, I would look up at the Adam and the Ants poster that was taped to my ceiling. Adam Ant himself looked back with approval.