Sexually, I always remember being at least "inquisitive," even as young as 4 years. I can only remember a few specific instances during the pre-school and elementary school years where either my curiosity got the best of me or I would somehow wind up concentrating on the good feelings my genitals would give me. The natural curiosity of young boys growing up — where most would at least play the "You show me yours and I'll show you mine" game — happened as often as I could get the other neighborhood boys to play, which was not very often. Sexual play between myself and another boy my age who lived a few doors down took place during my 6th and 7th year of life, and I only got caught once. Eventually he and I parted ways as I was the bookish type and he was more athletically inclined. Occasional rounds of mutual curiosity took precedence during those years, and I would actually get the chance to touch another boy's penis besides my own, but not very often, maybe a couple of times a year. I don't remember masturbating much, however I do remember a couple of times when I would rub my penis up against an object like a stool or an exercise machine one of my aunts had in her basement. I may have been 5 at the time, and found that when I lay down on the thing with my penis and testicles exposed, I got this "really cool feeling," especially so when I turned on the power and the seat would go back and forth. I don't know why I thought about that — beyond boyhood curiosity — as I had not been around other males, and my dad was about as prudish about me seeing him during those years as a person could possibly have been. In retrospect, I honestly believe the man may have been "shamed" or embarrassed about being a male, somewhere along the line. I remember being "penis-focused" — for lack of a better term — from age 4 onward. Looking back on it from this vantage point, I know that lack of sexual education from parents had something to do with it, as I had no gender identity — that is, no healthy attitudes ingrained in me regarding being a male, nor close "identification" with my gender, which left me feeling very awkward — though certainly "curious" — about my body. I do not remembering seeing my dad's penis until later in childhood. When I actually did have the opportunity to see the penises of other boys and men a couple of years later, I was nearly traumatized by the experience.
Having been brought up in an environment with mixed messages was confusing, added to which was the oppression I felt from the church. My mother was very liberal, but my dad was quite tight-lipped about sex. It was a confusing era in my life, but also one when I sensed I had a great thing going whenever I touched myself "down there." I loved touching myself and would try to do it whenever I could possibly get away with it — or thought of it — without getting "caught," including lying bare against the sheets on a hot summer night, as there weren't many air-conditioned homes in our blue-collar neighborhood in the early 1960s. I would always leave my briefs on underneath my pajama bottoms, in case my mom or dad came in, but I pulled my briefs down to expose my penis and testicles to the cool of the sheets. "Masturbation" with orgasm/ejaculation came into being later. Just fondling my genitals was enough for several years, along with gentle touch: getting to know myself — and the odd-looking yet totally beautiful and certainly awe-inspiring piece of equipment between my legs — and "loving" my body. I love my penis, my testicles, and I love "feeling" the texture and weight of them in my hand. To this day I appreciate their fine appearance.
The one and only time I remember my dad bathing me, he tried to demonstrate — as non-verbally as possible, if I am remembering correctly — how to pull back the foreskin on my penis so I could clean myself thoroughly and not leave the cheesy substance behind, called "smegma" in the medical books. It "tickled" me, so I started giggling, making my dad angry that he could not at least show his son something important like keeping one's genitals clean. Sexual education as a teenager was just about as non-existent. Sex education or information from my dad consisted of being handed a book by Ann Landers, and being admonished "don't whack off too much." That was about all I received. My mother was a bit more open-minded about it, seemingly, but I figured a boy/young man does not go to his mother about things having to do with male sexual "stuff." It just seemed too awful to talk about with my mom, and my dad was off in his own world, so I would eventually just learn to deal with it on my own, with a little information from my friends. Ironically, I chose friends who were younger than me throughout most of my childhood and young-adult years. Even now, after more than 40 years, I am still in contact with them, one of whom I remain close friends with. He is a treasured friend whom I appreciate greatly.
Frankly, I don't recall what I was thinking about when I first masturbated to ejaculation, as it was nearly 40 years ago. I had just turned 12, earlier that summer, and felt the usual "growing pains" [as my parents would call it] of a boy who had begun puberty. It was late at night, and I was at first gently touching my penis, gradually getting more aggressive with my equipment. I got a "rip-roaring" erection, and the intensity of the feelings as I massaged myself kept urging my onward. This is probably the first time I used my hand in what I later would find out is called the "fist" method, and I brought myself to a fairly mind-blowing orgasm. The semen I ejaculated that night was not plentiful, but it startled me nonetheless. I had the sense to keep it to myself, yet only did it a couple of more times [that I can recall] before I turned 15. I don't know why, but I didn't begin the nearly typical teenage boy's experiences of "compulsively" masturbating, until then. I have been at it — multiple times each day for many years since that time — up until a couple of years ago, the first years of course being compulsively "obsessed" with getting off. "Soft-core" pornographic material became easily available a couple of years after I began, and I was literally running home from school in the afternoon — before anyone else arrived home — in order to get my fill of masturbation, sometimes as many times as I could possibly do it in one day.
Sometimes I got off up to 6 times, once even 7 times in one day, before my penis became sore from all the friction, and I had to delay the pleasure for a few days, until the soreness would allow me to touch my penis again. Several times I actually went into my mother's bedroom, found her hand cream, and used it to finish off, absolutely furiously "beating" my penis in a frenzy in order to get off one more time. In those times, I was certainly not gentle with my penis, and began to feel discomfort because I would literally grip my penis as tightly as I could bear to do so, before stopping. It did not help that I prefer to pleasure myself without lubrication. I know many will question this, but I enjoy it more "au naturel," that is, without the stickiness of the lubricating lotions and gels available nowadays. Even now, in my 5th decade, I have rubbed my penis literally raw from compulsive masturbation, even as recently as a couple of years ago. Using bath soap or shampoo made matters far worse and gave me a brutal feeling of being ready to "pop" at any minute, not wanting to touch my penis as I was so very sore, yet doing it anyway: And again, it was as hard and as fast as possible. When those rare occasions would take place, the "down time" was sometimes as long as 5 days, maybe even a full week, before I could safely engage in masturbation again, without feeling excruciating pain.
Once, in my early 30s, I even had to go to the doctor for it, as I had literally caused an inflammation in the urinary tract with repeated sessions, back to back. The medical term for the problem is "N.S.U.," non-specific urethritis. One piece of information I received that was valuable from the doctor at that time was to not do it "for at least 10 days." Sure enough, I tried it on the 10th day, and nearly passed out from the pain when I ejaculated — the urethral tract had not yet completely healed, and the antibiotic had not completed its work. Also, I do not recommend anyone use either bath soap or shampoo for self-pleasuring, either. Even most standard hand-creams are (or can be) somewhat abrasive, as they are not necessarily designed for high-volume contact over an extended period of time. The gels and lubricants are far better, from what I have been told, and — after having experienced severe chafing as I have, after what is best termed as "high-velocity/high-pressure" masturbation a couple of times in my life — I would use a lubricating gel, if I were still "into" the multiple orgasmic/"hard as I possibly can" sessions.
Nowadays I save my desires for when I have plenty of time and can relax and enjoy my self-pleasuring sessions. Being a single male has some advantages there, as my home environment is private and solitary. I can enjoy an evening's worth of buildup to a climax, if I so desire, without being imposed upon or invaded by roommates who would interrupt the flow of the process. If I would let myself go — I am still capable of that — I could cause myself some real pain, by continually and repeatedly masturbating, as hard and as I fast as I can. Gratefully, however, I have learned to slow down and enjoy the feelings. It has taken many years to get to this point, however, and a lot of physical pain, as well as some emotional pain when I would overdo it. As an adult, I became sexually addicted — no big surprise there, right? — which is not the main point of this biography. It is meant to be about my masturbating "career." When I decided to stop the compulsive sexual behaviors — from fear of disease, if nothing else — a friend/confidant/sponsor of mine (in one of the groups designed to help men like myself) suggested a couple of things: (1) try not to think of anyone in particular — no lusting — while enjoying a masturbation session. If I thought of someone, I should stop, allow the arousal to subside, and begin again. Just concentrate on the pleasure I give myself as I message my genitals, and be gentle. (2) Use a different hand, especially if I have a tendency to "rush" the experience, as in "compulsive" masturbation. I tried this out for a week and loved it. The first few times were awkward, but I learned that the pleasurable sensations are much more accentuated if I don't try to rush the experience, just to get it over and done with and get on to the next session. I never really got the jist of "edging," but I go slow and enjoy the feel of my penis in my hand, the weight and feel of it as I begin to become aroused, and the pleasures it gives me as I progress into the experience. Finally, I was beginning to enjoy my sexuality, without feeling like I was trying too hard, or "rushing" the experience. Nowadays, masturbation is not only truly pleasurable but is something I truly savor, as one would a good steak or a glass of fine wine. The experience is something I look forward to indulging myself in, like a good round of golf for some men, a shared meal with good friends, the first snow of the season, a favorite old movie, or a good book. Feeling the warmth of the experience — of truly loving oneself through self-pleasuring — is uniquely gratifying. I only wish this for those who cannot seem to be able to slow down and savor the experience, as I do, but rather "rush" to the orgasmic experience without feeling the pleasure that slow, deliberate self-pleasuring can give.
Admittedly, one aspect of my life was out of kilter with my enjoyment of masturbation, and that was my faith in God and my understanding of the situation, for me. As a single man, I have no other outlet for sexual expression, which in itself was strongly ingrained in the male of the species for the sake of procreation. It was a burden I felt I couldn't bear any longer, and I began to loosen up and realize that for me at least, the alternative to going crazy and being sexually compulsive/out of control was to release my sexual energy safely with occasional self-pleasuring sessions. It keeps me out of the unhealthy places and situations I would altogether too easily find myself in, in my past, and is a wonderful way of taking care of myself, without hurting others. My sexually compulsive activities damaged my spirit — [and] my inner child — who I am beginning to know, and "be there" more for him, without leaving my spirit behind ["in the dust"] when I would lose control sexually, as I had done in the past. Gratefully, I feel it has helped me to be more spiritually in tune with myself — and my understanding of God — by allowing the occasional expression of sexuality without the compulsive drive of the past. Some may disagree with me here, even vehemently so; however, they have a right to their own opinion as well.
If one man's experiences count for anything here, I had to really give up the notion that God is some kind of cosmic "kill-joy," and think about what I am able to accomplish without the sexually compulsive behaviors of the past. In that, I sensed a peace of mind and spirit, and a quiet sense of being okay with managing my libido in this manner. Each man has to really dig deep to the places inside and uncover the real reasons he occasionally may indulge himself with a session of self-pleasure. I cannot answer for anyone else, only myself, and say I am comfortable with it now — even though as recently as a couple of summers ago I was very uncomfortable with it, having been raised in a quasi-religious home. I believe the God who designed us knows our physical needs and desires, and allows us to make informed decisions on our own, based on those factors. Gratefully, I found a balance. If I had to choose it for myself, I would have preferred more "bang for my buck" (please pardon the pun!), meaning a wife/life partner with whom I could share a sexual relationship. However, that is not the hand I was dealt, so I am learning how to deal with the situation as it is. While the word "masturbation" conjures up all sorts of mental pictures reminiscent of afternoons spent furiously and sometimes even viciously "attacking" — even "beating" — my poor penis for the sake of relieving the perceived tension I was experiencing, I have found that the self-pleasuring I enjoy at this stage in my life is not only less furtive but also far less spiritually abusive to myself, my sense of reasoning, and the need for self-care. (The tension I believed I felt was actually less well-served by the most-times frantic, compulsive urge to masturbate.) These sessions give me great joy and a spiritual peace — indeed breaking the sexual anxiety sometimes experienced by a single, adult male in a very sex-conscious society — when I enjoy an occasional bit of it. Sometimes, at the end of a busy work day or work week, being good to myself — and my inner child — is what is needed, and for that I am truly grateful.