I don’t know what you ladies said to each other in your younger years as light-natured ribbing. Hell, I’m not even sure if ladies do light-natured ribbing. But for us fellas, the list of jokes when you’re young and poking fun at each other is pretty short :
- you masturbate too much
- you can’t “get” a woman (see #1)
- your dick is tiny
- you don’t last long in bed
- you’re gay (much more common pre-2000 compared to today)
It might seem strange, but I didn’t wanna be a hypocrite by joining in on the “ha! johnny jerks his pole!” humor while also running home to do the same. I thought it was considered weak and pathetic to masturbate. Like it was a sign that there was no one else on earth you could find to touch your dick, so you’re hitting rock-bottom and taking matters (quite literally) into your own hands. I also had — and still have — a deep paranoia about being labeled “the perv” (as you might have heard or came to realize), and I figured there was nothing more perverted than sitting in your room, furiously stroking your dick and shooting jizz all over the place.
For these reasons, and perhaps a few more, I didn’t masturbate until I was well into my 17th year of life. Most people think I’m lying when I say that, cause apparently that’s counter to the “vibe” I put off.
In my Senior year of high school, I had a fascination with Satanism and Anton LaVey. Maybe it was spurred on by the knowledge that Marilyn Manson was a Reverend in the Church of Satan, but it was mostly “I like evil shit! let’s see what this is all about!”. The Satanic Bible is a fun little book to read. It’s one of those books that gives you a huge ego boost and makes you feel spiritually stronger, inside yourself, than you’d otherwise feel. It presented to me a worldview of less guilt, more pleasure, more accountability, more self-reliance. I’ve known many people that have gone down the same road for the same reasons, and some of them are my favorite people in the world. The most negative thing I can say about Satanism today is that it’s still just another religious belief with its own set of hocus-pocus. At the time, however, I was entranced.
There was a chapter, or maybe just a series of pages, in particular that woke me up to the reality of the guilt I’d long felt over perversion and my unwillingness to masturbate. I don’t recall the exact details (and I don’t feel like thumbing through the book to find it), but basically Anton LaVey wrote about masturbation in such a revered tone. He wasn’t just unashamed about it — he was promoting it, hailing it as a wonderful thing, and giving it an air of power and self-preservation. This man I looked up to, this book I was fully on-board with, was basically yelling “stop reading and jerk off this instant!”.
Who was I to ignore that wisdom?
I decided I’d do it in the shower. I knew my jizz well enough to know it’s a g’damn mess I didn’t wanna clean up. And I figured some kind of soap might help with the lubricating part of the matter.
Once in the shower, I awkwardly tried stroking it. I felt weird and uncomfortable. Like I was a standing, jerking cliché. But… it also felt pretty nice, so I kept on going. It didn’t feel like I needed a lubricant, so I just went right on with it. It was taking a long time — at least, in my head — to even get close to the feeling of orgasm. I stroked harder, faster, tried switching hands, tried a different grip, and it was barely helping at all. Eventually, I got into a “groove”, and I just kept right on going and came right there in the shower. My moment of bliss was short-lived. In all my furious attempts to get off, I’d worked up a crazy sweat and now it was like I was in a sauna : just sweating, feeling ill, fatigued, having trouble standing. I quickly finished up my shower and stepped out to dry off. A few minutes later, I ran back into the bathroom to throw up.
I was a bit gun-shy after that. But, I came up with a plan to head into the shower while already hard. It was a short walk from my room to the shower, so I pulled it off (no pun intended) without issue. This time, I started while the water was still warming up. Once I jumped into the shower, I thought I’d try a little soap for lube. It seemed like a great idea at first, but holy shit the burning pain in the urethra when I finally got off. For the rest of the night, I kept feeling like I really needed to pee but never did.
Strike two in my attempts to jerk off properly.
The following night, I figured “fuck it, I’ll do it in my room”. I grabbed my wastebasket, put on some tunes1, and went to town. This time, finally, it was glorious from beginning to end. This was fantastic. I think I went another two times in a row after that. I had no guilt, no shame. It was just “okay. this is what I do before bed now”.
That experience was transformative. I felt a lot less guilt about being the total pervert I continue to be, and masturbation seems as normal to me now as brushing your teeth. Err.. maybe going to the bathroom is more apt : I still wouldn’t do it in front of anyone who didn’t ask to see it. Then again, I’ve jerked off in front of a lot more people than I’ve ever peed in front of. So fuck it, make your own analogy.
And then go masturbate. It’s good for ya.