Date: Thu, 27 Mar 2008 18:05:52 -0500
From: Southwest Guy <swguy66@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Early Erotic Memories" Submission

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.


3. 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