Date: Thu, 12 Oct 2000 10:38:10 EDT
From: ManheimEins@aol.com
Subject: The Joys of Self Abuse

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.