This story is the third part of a six-part series called "Early Erotic Memories." It is completely true and accurately describes the author's personal experience. The story is for informational and recreational purposes only, and the author does not advocate any of the activities described. It should not be read by anyone under the age of eighteen.
- MY FIRST EJACULATION
The story of my first ejaculation actually begins with my younger brother Larry. In 1958, when this story takes place, he was nine years old, and I was fourteen. We shared the same bedroom, sleeping on twin beds, and sometimes at night, I could hear a faint rustling noise from his side of the room, as though he was squirming around under his covers. One day when we were alone in our bedroom with the door closed, I asked him what he was doing when he made a rustling noise at night, and he said he was "wiggling." Well, I had no idea what that meant, so he offered to demonstrate. Lying face down on his bed, he tucked his pillow under his hips and then began jerking back and forth in a very provocative way, obviously thrusting his penis against the pillow.
Being the complete dork that I was, I asked him why he wanted to do such a thing, and he patiently explained that it felt really good. I then wanted to know if he had an erection when he wiggled, so I asked him, "Is it up or down?" (Larry and I always used the word "wiener" to refer to our penises, but this seemed like a rather delicate situation, so I decided to say "it'). Larry replied that it was "up," and he rolled onto his side, placing a fist against the front of his jeans, over his penis, to show me where he applied the pressure. Then he rolled face-down again and continued wiggling. Ever curious, I asked him if I could feel for myself what was going on "under there." He said sure, so I pushed my hand underneath his hips and felt between his legs. Hmm... I couldn't tell through his jeans if he was erect or not, so I just assumed he was.
That was my first and only lesson in how to masturbate, given to me by my little brother. Within the next week or two, it inspired me to begin wiggling myself and led to my first ejaculation. Obviously, I owe my brother a great deal!
One Saturday or Sunday morning a few days before the big event occurred, Larry and I were again in our bedroom, wearing our pajamas and with the door closed. I don't know how, but in some way I had convinced him to lie across my lap in a spanking position as I sat on the edge of my bed. So, there he was, extended full-length in front of me, face down. I was happily contemplating his little pajama-clad bottom and savoring the toasty-warm body contact (actually, he was lying against one of the biggest, stiffest erections I had ever had!), while Larry, for his part, seemed to be enjoying the situation as well.
Suddenly, I had to pee. In fact, I had to pee so bad that I almost pushed Larry off my lap as I jumped up and headed for the bathroom (I think I said something like, "Quick, get up! I've gotta pee!" only I didn't wait for him to respond). Fortunately, the bathroom was located right next to our bedroom, and I quickly stepped inside and closed the door. Lifting the toilet seat, I began fumbling inside my pajamas and underpants, frantically trying to get my erection out through the openings before I peed all over myself. Eventually, it popped out, and I leaned forward against the wall, trying to bend it down (which was painful) and aim it at the toilet bowl. At first, the urge to pee had been a sharp, uncomfortable pressure, but now it gradually became an excruciating pain that moved slowly up through my urethra. As the pain neared the top of my erection, it became so intense that I could hardly stand it, and I grimaced uncontrollably as I stood waiting for the pee to flow.
Suddenly, a drop of thick, pearly-white liquid oozed out of my little pee opening. What was happening? I watched in silent amazement as the drop grew larger and then spilled over into the toilet bowl in a long thin strand. More and more of the stuff oozed out, again spilling slowly and steadily into toilet, and I felt the sharp pain gradually subside, along with the need to pee.
Eventually, the flow stopped, and I stood there thunderstruck, looking down at the white stuff floating in the water. I had no idea what it was or why it had oozed out of me, and I concluded that something must be terribly wrong. Was I sick, or physically damaged in some way? Of course, I couldn't tell anyone about what had happened, so I decided to just wait and see if it happened again. Maybe the problem would go away by itself.
Over the next few days, in addition to thinking about my experience in the bathroom, I also thought about Larry wiggling in his bed at night. Finally, I decided that maybe I should try wiggling myself. I didn't want to do it in bed, however, because Larry would be able to hear what I was doing, and that would be embarrassing (boy, was I stupid!). But where could I do it, if not in my bed? Well, there was always the bathroom, the only room in the house where a boy could be sure of absolute privacy.
So, one day around the beginning of June 1958, I entered the bathroom and locked the door behind me, not realizing that the next few minutes would change my life dramatically. The thought of what I was going to do excited me tremendously, and I had a painfully-stiff erection even before I started taking my shoes off. Moving as quietly as possible, so no one would hear me, I removed my pants and underwear and then placed them on the toilet seat. I had decided beforehand that I would wiggle against the side of the bathtub, so I quietly pulled back the shower curtain, then took a couple of towels from the rack, folded them in half and then lengthwise, and stacked them on the white porcelain. Finally, I pulled several pieces of Kleenex out of the dispenser and wrapped them one at a time around my throbbing erection, making sure they extended well beyond the glans.
Straddling the side of the bathtub, I crouched down to position my erection on the towels, then lay forward to rest my chest against the tub, with one knee on the bottom of the tub and the other on the bathroom floor. Wrapped in its soft sheath of Kleenex, my erection pressed deliciously into the terrycloth, and I immediately clenched my butt to push it down and forward, trying to intensify the good feeling. Then, almost involuntarily, I was thrusting my hips back and forth, luxuriating in a wonderful sense of relief, as though the thrusting was something I had always needed to do. The pleasure was exquisite.
Gradually, I began to notice the same uncomfortable pressure that I had felt several days earlier, like I had to pee, and as it once again became an excruciating pain moving slowly up my urethra, I felt certain that I was going to lose control of my bladder. Unable to stop thrusting, I clutched frantically at the side of the tub and tried to hold it back, but I couldn't, and as the pain neared the top of my erection, I felt myself actually starting to pee!
Suddenly, the world exploded in a series of liquid, fiery spurts, my whole body pumping of its own free will with so much pleasure, it was almost pain. An overwhelming feeling of deep romantic self-love swept through me, causing me to hunker tightly against the bathtub and whisper, "Oh, I love myself!" The ecstatic feeling lasted for several seconds, while the spurts emptied warmly into the Kleenex and then gradually began to subside.
Soon, it was all over. I lay against the side of the tub feeling exhausted and drained but also deeply satisfied and at peace with the world. All of the erotic excitement and tension that I had just felt was gone, and I had no desire to think about sex. What had happened? I couldn't say. Yet whatever it was, it had been the most wonderful and beautiful experience of my life.
Somewhat shaken, I got up from the tub and slipped the Kleenex off my now-softening penis. The part that had covered the glans was plastered together with a wet substance, apparently the same white stuff that had oozed out a few days earlier. I raised it to my nose and sniffed, only to discover that it had a somewhat unpleasant acidic smell. I then separated the Kleenex and carefully examined the wet places. I had no idea what the stuff was, yet for some reason, I now sensed that both it and the experience I had just gone through were natural and normal. I just couldn't explain them to myself.
After wiping the head of my penis dry, I dropped the Kleenex into the toilet bowl, put the towels back on the rack and quietly closed the shower curtain. Soon I was dressed and ready to leave the bathroom, and I flushed the toilet as I unlocked the door, knowing that the flushing noise would conceal the clicking of the lock.
Almost immediately, I felt guilty about what I had done. My religious upbringing had achieved its purpose, because I knew in my heart that God had seen me wiggle and that he certainly wouldn't approve of anything so wicked. My actions had been nothing less than sinful and perverted. Remorsefully, I turned to the Bible, reading verses that I thought might fortify me against temptation, and prayed to God for help in overcoming my evil desires.
Of course, that didn't work, and within three or four days, I found myself once again locking the bathroom door behind me. My moral battle had been terribly difficult and emotionally exhausting, yet ultimately futile. Still, it proved to be worthwhile in an unexpected way, because it actually made my final surrender far more delicious and intoxicating than it would have been otherwise. Trembling with excitement once again, I repeated my ritual preparations, removing my shoes, pants and underwear, then quietly pulling back the shower curtain and placing the towels on the side of the tub.
Everything was exactly as it had been when I wiggled the first time, with two exceptions. First, it no longer felt uncomfortable and painful, like I was going to pee, just before the world exploded; and when the feeling of deep, romantic love swept through me, it wasn't love for myself. Instead, it was for my dad. In that brief moment, the thought of him suddenly popped into my mind, and he became everything to me; in fact, he became a part of me, and I loved him more deeply than I ever had before. Of course, when the moment was over and the spurts ebbed away, the intense feeling was gone, and I felt only a warm afterglow. But the experience left me with a renewed affection for my dad, and I eventually came to cherish the memory of that particular orgasm more than any other.
After my second wiggling session, it finally dawned on me that I would experience the feeling of romantic love every time I ejaculated, so I started to think about a particular boy or man whenever I wiggled. Sometimes, I would think about a boy from school, especially if he was good looking or had an attractive personality. I also thought about one of my adult neighbors, along with various television stars, including James Garner, Clint Eastwood, Robert Horton, Peter Brown and Robert Fuller (among many others). Whenever I ejaculated, I felt deeply in love with the boy or man I was thinking about, and it was truly a beautiful experience each and every time. Interestingly, my thoughts were never overtly sexual. I didn't even picture the boy or man naked. I just thought about him in a general, non-sexual way. (I've often wondered what boy or man I thought about during my third ejaculation, but I'm afraid I can't remember. I suspect it might have been a boy from school named Ed, who was in my gym class, but I'm just not sure.)
Within a week after my first ejaculation, it occurred to me that I might be able to learn something about the white fluid by checking the dictionary. I started by looking up the word "penis" and found that it was "the male organ of copulation." I then looked up the word "copulation" and so on, with each definition giving me another lead or telling me something I hadn't known before. Gradually, I was able to figure things out from the definitions and come to a basic understanding of human reproduction, including the purpose of "semen" (one of the words I discovered).
I continued to go into the bathroom to wiggle every three of four days after that, and each time, I felt terribly guilty afterwards. But my struggles to resist temptation and stop wiggling always failed, no matter how much I read the Bible or prayed, and I quickly developed a regular pattern of masturbation that tended to satisfy most of my sexual urges throughout my remaining teen years. The erections I had in those days were the best of my life: wonderfully spontaneous, painfully stiff and delectably sensitive. I enjoyed my penis tremendously!
Beginning in my mid-twenties, the feeling of deep romantic love that I felt whenever I ejaculated gradually began to diminish, until finally, by my early thirties, I didn't feel it anymore. The sexual pleasure was still there, but not the romantic love. I regretted that very much. The love I had felt for myself, my dad and the numerous boys and men I had thought about while wiggling was without question the most beautiful emotion I have ever felt and the closest thing I have ever had to a religious experience.
[I borrowed the sentence that begins, "Suddenly, the world exploded in a series of liquid, fiery spurts..." from a pornographic book that I came across as a teenager. The sentence captures my own experience perfectly, and the first time I read it, I almost came in my pants. My thanks to whoever wrote it!]
March 2008