My Earliest Years

 “My Earliest Years” is Part II in following My First Freak-out.

As I said in my first story, almost all of my stories are solo.  I am paranoid of touch because of abuse, and though I'm still conservative as I approach 30, I was probably more conservative about sexuality when I was a teenager.  Neither of those variables every precluded me from masturbating.

Masturbation is really a hugely obtuse word.  It's millions of things more than pumping your fist over your cock, so of course we "first" masturbate once, but here are several masturbation firsts.

Second Grade

The first time that I know I masturbated--knowing only now as I look back with perspective gained--was in second grade.  Stay in your chair, this is not about to become some wildly false boasting of 7-yr-old boners.  On the contrary, it was the furthest thing from sexual even though it is sexual, and I had no idea what I was doing.

Our teacher did the same thing so many of you have gone through: Every couple of days, instead of working from our desks, she'd call us to her big cord rug with our readers or our social studies book, and she'd take turns reading the lesson out loud with us.

One day, in getting up or something, I closed my book on my crotch, sort of pinching my penis. End of the story for almost every person on the planet.  But I loved it.

Every week, I looked forward to lessons on the rug.  As we read, I sat anxiously waiting to be done with that so we could get on to discussion.  Then, no further need for the book to be spread open on my lap, I'd close it on my penis. Open and close, open and close.  I'd lean into the book, it's corner jabbing my chest, and squeeze the book as hard as I could and hold it until my arms were tired.  Let off a minute, then shut it in again.

Seven years old, I had no idea of the motivations behind this, just that for whatever reason I couldn't get enough of the feeling.  After that year, I didn't do that anymore; I didn't consciously stop, it just turned out leaving second grade removed me from the setting, and I just stopped.

 Fifth Grade

The next masturbation first I can recall began a few years later.  I was in 5th grade.  We did "family life" class in 5th grade, so I knew that "changes" were on the way, but since it was a 5th grade course, the most exposure we got was that we could expect to start needing more showers and maybe start seeing hair

under our arms and to get taller.  So, I was still pretty sexually unaware.  I knew what sex was theoretically because I'd had THE Talk, but it didn't have any real bearing on me.  An asshole in our class was always saying "Go in a corner and spank your monkey" and we all knew it was something "gross" but I was

flummoxed.  You get the idea.

Nonetheless, I was a bigger freak in 5th grade than I have been since.  I have no remembrance of why I started doing this, or how it occurred to me to do it.  I've said I was abused, but it wasn't a conscious continuation of any of that--we moved when I was 6 so the abuse stopped without anyone ever knowing it

happened, I didn't even realize it until I was about 15.

Late at night, when I was sure that my siblings down the hall were asleep, and I knew my parents figured me for zonked-out and therefore wouldn't come bothering me, I'd slip my hand under my sheets and head for my "dick" as I'd recently learned it could be called.  As in the last recounting, I don't recall that I was yet experiencing erections at this point, though I was by that summer.

I followed the same routine for a few months: I'd play around for a bit, fondling my little dick and just enjoying it.  Then, I'd pull my briefs off, and check the lock again.  Returning to my bed, I'd grab a highlighter off my desk, and twisty-ties out of the drawer.  Back in bed, I'd lay there a little more, running my fingernails over my balls and dick and stomach, feeling my nipples get erect in the cool air out of the covers. Settling in, I would get the twist-ties, and go to work binding my testicles.  My testicles were really more interesting to me than my penis, then, I'd say.  I would separate one in my left hand, and cinch it off with a tie, repeating on the other, leaving each one in its own numbly-throbbing compartment.  Sometimes, I'd pull them both together, and wrap just one tie and the base of them both, leaving them mashed together with nowhere to go, the light pain making me breathe deep.  From either of those starting points, I'd add more ties; maybe wrapping up my penis, maybe wrapping the base of the whole setup.  As the constriction continued, my genitals became ultra sensitive, and I laid there rubbing and gasping, turning on the lamp to gaze at my purple handiwork.

Next came out the highlighter.  With the ends of the twist-ties poking into my skin and the chilly-feeling that comes over a constricted member engulfing my dick and balls, I'd uncap the highlighter, a yellow one, and inexplicably I always colored the whole deal; penis, scrotum.  After about an hour of the whole thing, I'd unwrap everything and revel in the feeling that fresh blood brought rushing in, but never reached orgasm. On a few occasions, I fell asleep with the ties still strangling my little member, I panicked those mornings, to be

sure!

I did this for months, then one day it came to an abrupt halt. 

"Honey, ummm, I don't want to embarrass you," my mom began that day,

"but, are you, um, shaking after you pee?  Because--I don't want you to feel bad--but a lot of your underwear has yellow stains on it."

I guess I could have continued without the highlighter, but that was the end of that.

Fifth Grade Summer

By 5th grade summer, I had moved on to a new method, one which is much more mundane than the previous two and probably which many of you have done yourselves.

Our shower had an extended head that came off the wall, and it was a massaging Waterpik brand with 3 settings.  This became the summer of 45-minute showers. 

I was still mostly taking baths at this point--I found it tiresome to have to stand up for a shower.  But, at the end of my baths, I would turn the water back on and rinse my self off with the extended shower head.  One of the settings was a fast rotation of hard squirts out of three outlets, around the head.  If you didn't turn the setting ring all the way, instead of a rapid massaging action, water only came out of one of the three outlets in a very strong jet.

One day, rinsing off in this manner, the jet hit my frenulum (the triangular bit of skin under the hole) and as you can imagine it was fireworks.

As I continued my love affair with the Waterpik, I found that by sitting in the tub I could hold the shower head and hit my penis as long as I could take it.  As the high-pressure jet hit my frenulum, it of course continued up, and in its course it also forced its way through my hole.  Not into it, but through it like a river through a valley, which is a feeling that is too intense to describe. Once I discovered manual jacking off I stopped using the shower-head, but to give you an idea as to how intense it was I have tried since to repeat

it, and I can't do it, it is too sensual.  It's almost noisome.

Similarly, a relative whose house I spent a lot of time at had a bathtub with waterjets on the side, and I'd find an excuse to take a bath and sit on my knees in front of the jet letting it pleasure me.  Pool jets were an enticing possibility, but of course too public to ever try for more than a second.

Middle school

Into middle school, I started jacking off.  It comes pretty naturally to everyone, and like just about everyone I just sort of figured it out.  The Waterpik was thus obsolete, I'd abandoned the twist-ties for discreteness's

sake, and I didn't even remember the second grade textbook til a few years ago. I jacked off a lot, "a lot" being a relative term, but falsely relative because as we all find out at some point everyone masturbates a lot. (It's so weird and funny that boys deny what everyone is doing and everyone knows everyone is doing; it's like a sex version of the Holocaust).  I'd stand in front of the mirror and masturbate like Narcissus, enthralled with my pubes and newly-low-hanging balls.  I'd jerk off under the covers at a sleepover hopeful everyone was asleep.  Under a blanket at a sleepover where a kid had HBO and everyone was definitely wide awake.In the woods. 

Ohhhhh so woefully in hindsight, though I was a Boy Scout, unlike so many other authors here I never masturbated with a buddy.  I did discover on one campout when I just couldn't wait 3 days to do it again that I could orgasm just by rubbing my head and frenulum without all the noise and motion of fist-pumping.  By that time I loved my own cum and I was happy to do it that way and sleep in my own mess.  Looking back, there were overtures I ignored and opportunities I passed up, but I was awkward and shy.

Submitted, Agent N