I heard about jacking at school, but it was a mystery to me until I discovered-quite by accident-ejaculating after spraying a jet of water on my frenulum. I did it for some time this way until I overheard some guys talking about using their hand. Tried it and liked it. Some months after these developments, I had one of my friends asked me point blank if I jacked? Told him yes. He asked me how and I told him. He asked, 'Have you ever f--d a pillow?' With a no answer, he continued to explain how it was best done.
That night, I punched a deep V in length of my pillow, laid my stiff cock in the groove and proceeded to hump. I found it to be much like he explained-closest action to f--g the real thing. It became my favorite. I gave my pillow the name of 'Molly' and whispered sexy things as I f--d away. I often used to arrange a mirror on my dresser so I could watch my ass rise and thrust, thinking about how good she must feel taking my cock all the way in her.
As I approached my climaxes, I would either grind my groin into the puddle of jizz on my pillow or rise up on my knees and spray ropes of jizz as far as they would go. Sometimes they would clear the pillow and spray the sheets.
I wiped up what I could and then would turn the pillow over and go to sleep with my face on the dry side. By morning, both sides were dry, though one was a bit crusty. In the morning, the tissues hit the toilet and I figured no one was the wiser.
Molly was good for sex night and morning. One morning after several years of f--g my favorite girl, I changed my part-time job so I didn't have to work on Saturday morning. Saturday morning was when my mother changed linens. The first morning home, my mother asked me to help her make my bed. She tossed me the pillow and a clean pillow case. When I pulled the old pillow case off the ticking, I could not believe my eyes. The pillow tick was discolored up the middle on both sides with circle stains on top of cirle stains. The were outlying spots too-probably from the long shots. I am sure my face turned crimson red. Mom never said a word. She didn't even let on that anything was unusual.
When I went for breakfast, I was real tense. My dad casually said to me when he had me by myself, 'Remember my advice to be married when you screw a real pussy.' I had heard this advice before, and now realized that both my parents knew what I was up to. He always used the word 'real pussy' when I got these father-to-son pointers on sex. He added, 'Have a good day!'
How could I have a good day? I was mortified. It took me a few days to get my head around what happended and I realized that they were not being judgmental. In fact, I think they were thanking their lucky stars that I was f--g a pillow instead of the gals.
Towards the middle of the next week, I was whispering sweet things in Molly's ear again while watching my ass pour all its energy behind my thrusting cock.
The first woman I had intercourse with was my wife on our wedding night. The transition was great. Thanks to good parents.