The Joy of Self-abuse:
I'm a 24 year old male, horny and still a virgin. Up until I graduated from college two months ago, I had been living with my folks in a two-bedroom, one-bath house. My privacy was pretty near non-existent. When I was 18, my mother was always after me to not get married so young. She changed her tune when I was 23 and then was after me to not to wait too long before entering into wedded bliss. That nagging was bearable but it was the inability to spend 5 minutes in the john whacking away at my sausage without her knocking on the door and asking if I was ok? Her timing was remarkable: 2 milliseconds before I was ready to shoot the works, she was rapping on the door. I always lost my boner and aborted the orgasm.
When I was 13, she mentioned that I should not play with myself because of the possibility of going blind. At age 14, I found out I needed glasses to read with and I was petrified to tell her about it. I finally did and got the look from her that was implicitly, "I told you so!"
Anyway, I moved out of there and got a small apartment in the city, a few blocks from where I had obtained a job. A bed, a chair, a tv and of course my personal computer. Alone at last. As soon as I had a phone line installed, I got active on the web sites for horny guys like myself -- hoping to obtain some vast wisdom in the art of masturbation (what a stupid word). The first site I surfed onto had lots of suggestions about how to enjoy a solo wank. So I tried some:
1 - Lie on the floor near a wall. Raise your lower body so that it is against the wall and your male member is pointed at your mouth. The intent was that you would give yourself a blow job. Well, I did get up against the wall but the closest I could get my dick to my mouth was a few inches. So, as long as I was in that position and jerking it, why not go all the way. As soon I as spurted my jizz, I realized that I should have taken my glasses off before embarking on that effort. The result was that my glasses were covered with a film of male fluid which reminded me of the time I had dropped them into a bowl of Cream of Mushroom soup: the same effect.
2 - The PVC-banana skin caper. Get a piece of PVC with a diameter larger than that of your cock. Stuff the pipe with banana skins and fuck away. Very interesting feeling. However, I would recommend having the skins at room temperature. I tried this method a couple of times and got tired of eating so many bananas to have the skins available for fun and games. An added sensation could be achieved (the web site volunteered) if one 'stimulated' the anus. In other words, stick something up your butt. I was amenable to the suggestion and thought that a cucumber might do the trick but then it seemed pretty fat to be shoving up my virgin hole. So I opted for a large dill pickle. It was different but it might have been more enjoyable if I had taken it out of the fridge to warm up a bit before inserting it, pickle warts, and all, felt like an icicle might. Scratch that recreation.
Then, during a "chat" session on the web, mention was made of magazines that had hot stories and other goodies for the browsing and other one-handed events. I went into a 7-11-type store on the corner and scanned the lewd pickings. One can not checkout the contents of the zines as they are encased in very stout plastic. Three magazines to a bundle; price: $7.50. I bought the one that had a cover that promised the most for the money. Boy, did I get taken. The top one had only about 20 pages and most of them were for ads for "sexual aids." The other two magazines in the package were for lesbians. Now I am deathly afraid of dykes. There is a nest of them in the apartment next door to me and I always make sure none of them is in the hall way when I go out. They leave their motorcycles on the front porch of the apartment house. The super doesn't dare to make them stop messing up the porch. But I digress.
One of the sexual aids ad caught my eye. It offered a "personal" satisfier. I decided to buy one. There were several colors available and I selected "titty pink". Some of the other colors were not very interesting: Missionary white, Pocahantas tan, well you get the idea. I wrote a check out of the amount: $9.95 plus the ubiquitous p&h of $5.95. The purchase would be sent in a 'plain brown wrapper.' Good idea, nosy dykes would not be able to discern what I was about. A week later, my door buzzer sounded and it was a express delivery for me. I buzzed the guy in and went to my front door. He had me sign for the package and then handed it to me with a big smirk on his face. Plain brown wrapper, yep but there was printing on it. Return address was Adult Rubber Toys Company. As if that was not enough, stamped on the front in big letters was "Enjoy your personal satisfier!" No wonder he was smirking.
It didn't take me long to tear open the package and find out what my personal satisfier was. It was an inflatable plastic sleeve, like little kids wear when in a swimming pool, only larger. It had a textured feel to it and was open at both ends. (The instructions said you could invited a friend to a session). I blew the "satisfier" up until it was fairly full. While this was going on, my weenie was starting to anticipate what was to come. I hauled it out of my pants, grabbed some lube and oiled it up. THEN, I inserted it into the satisfier. Not bad, better than a fist. It wasn't long before I was shooting a wad out the other end of the gadget and on to the wall.
Thinking that I would get back to another session with my satisfier, I left it on the chair in the living room. DUMB!. About this time, my doorbell rang and it was my buddy Hank, dropping by for a beer. I buzzed him in and forgot what I had left in plain sight. Hank came in, saw the sleeve and asked me what it was. I explained. He said oh. So I went to the kitchen to get our beers. But when I got back to the livingroom, Hank was not there; nor was the satisfier. The bathroom door was closed so without much thought, Hank had to be trying out the satisfier.
All of a sudden, there was a loud pop coming from the bathroom followed by a disappointed "Oh Shit!!!!". Within a minute, Hank was out of the bathroom, his half-hard dick showing from his open fly. In his hand he held the remains of the satisfier. He told me that just when things were heating up, he got a little aggressive and punctured the device. So that is the end of that episode. Back to the adult toy catalogs.
This time, I selected "Inflatable Dolly; Your Dream Cum True!" It was described as everyman's ideal companion. It came in only one color: "flesh," and would be shipped in a plain brown wrapper. It cost a hefty $79.95 with $5.95 s&h. I filled out the order blank, attached my check for the amount and mailed it off pronto. As I walked back to my apartment, I hoped that the smarmy delivery man would not be the one to deliver the package. WROMG!. Several days later, the package arrived in the arms of the smarmy dude. His smirk was huge as he handed me the package and had me sign for it. The return address was Adult Rubber Toys again and emblazoned across the front of the package was Inflatable Dolly; Your Dream Cum True!. The dude's only comment was he hoped I had enough breath to blow Dolly up. Ha, Ha.
I opened the box and looked at Dolly. It was plastic pink and had the aura of a plucked chicken hanging in a meat market. It was about four feet high and had a hole where the mouth was (for obvious purposes), a hole in backside (again, for obvious uses), and the main event was topped with black rabbit fur which had a very ratty appearance and looked much like Groucho Marx's fake mustache. I read the instructions and located the inflating valve in the big toe of the right foot, a bonus no doubt for a foot fetisher. And I started to inflate Dolly. It took a hell of a lot of breath and Dolly was only half blown up. I kept at it until she was almost full-blown when I had to stop and catch up with my own breathing.
Then it happened. I lost hold of Dolly and she went sailing around the room like an escaped balloon. Round she went with me trying to catch her. All of a sudden she zoomed out of the door leading to my little balcony. I was too embarrassed to see where she landed. One minute after Dolly went out into the great outdoors, there was a horrendous pounding on my front door. I went to see what the heck was going on and opened the door to behold the biggest dyke I have ever seen in my life, glaring at me and holding my poor uninflated Dolly by the neck.
She roared at me, "Is this your idea of a joke, you pervert? Throwing this filthy thing onto our balcony, I could be the shit out of you. Creep!" With that she hit me over the head with Dolly and stormed back up the hall.
Well, I have given up on the joy toys and am back to my slick fist. Not as much fun but a lot cheaper and no anxiety, only a little guilt. Boy, if Mother could only see me now.