Our family had a free-standing 'belt massager' as used in health spas years ago, and 'Whoa! What a Machine!'
As a background, my family consisted of two older brothers and one older sister, and my parents, all of whom were your typical, suburban American, upper middle class citizens. Everyone was practising the Roman Catholic faith, and my Dad was 'head of the household,' with a conservative influence. At the time of these events, I was around 14 and 1/2 years old, and my brothers were 20 and 24 and my sister 23. All of them were more involved than me in competitive athletics, although I was naturally lean and muscular, with an athletic build. Academically, I was the smartest yet in our family-probably from the influence of my high-achieving older siblings. Sexual matters were not a topic of discussion in our family. Although I was smart, I was sexually quite naive.
My closest neighborhood male friend was one year older than me, and his sister was only two months younger than me. My usual attire consisted of jeans and a polo type shirt. As I developed physically, I started to recognize that certain things would 'set-off' my erections. However, although I had an idea about the physical act of intercourse, I could not understand how the sperm were released to swim into the female. I knew that we were taught in Health Class about 'protected sex' using a condom, and it was a big deal when one was shown in our class. I knew how birth control pills prevented ovulation. It remained a mystery to me as to what ejaculation or an orgasm consisted of.
During the preceding years,my only sexual release occurred during 'wet dreams,' as I occasionally noticed the results, but seldom awakened to be able to think about them. As my close friend's sister developed, her light blonde hair and shapely figure used to cause a tingle, or then I noticed that close physical contact while goofing around (e.g. light wrestling in a basement game room) usually led to me having an erection.
In our house, when my oldest brother came home from his graduate school, I used to sneak into his room, locate his wallet, and examine it. Maybe it was the thought of the private information contained in it, and held so close to him, and the anatomic curve it had assumed from being carried in his back pocket, or the sensuous feel of the leather, or the symbol of masculine maturity it represented, but there was something very alluring about doing this. Occasionally, I would try to get near to my Dad's wallet, as it felt the best, because he had a much higher grade of black leather bill fold, it was more 'broken-in,' and contained so many more symbols of male success-a few hundred dollars of cash and several credit cards or membership cards. It was a rare occasion for my Dad to ever not have his wallet physically in his pants pocket-but I watched for any rare opportunity that he may be separated from it (on his dresser) and found a reason to go into his room-and my heart would be pounding at just handling it. Having done this since around age 10, it became very important for me to acquire my own wallet and to try to 'break it in' just-so, and acquire items to put in it, by the time I was around 13.
One day, my cousin who is one year older came over in the Fall, and my brothers, neighbors and him and I played a pick-up game of football. Wanting to act mature on that day, I had been carrying my wallet in my jeans back pocket-and my middle brother noticed when I was running during the game-he made jokes about it and said 'What's your problem? Don't be a moron and play ball with your pockets loaded!,' etc. It was embarrassing, as I recall having to leave it on top of our outdoor gas grill, and everyone inside could also see it.
After that, I used to place the wallet in front of my jeans behind my belt buckle, (inside my pants) and go out and after being a few hundred yards from my house, transfer it to my tight-fitting jeans back pocket. Around that time, I remember, my middle brother was home from college for the summer, and he was dating a girl named Mandy. While he was showering before going out on a date one day, I quietly went into his room, and I took his wallet and hefted it into my back pocket-it felt so good. When I removed it to look inside, I was shocked to discover he had recently placed a condom inside it! This seemed so cool to me-I had never considered that he may be 'having sex with a girl.' When I removed the wallet, carefully putting it back, I realized that I had a full blown erection over this. Before I knew it, I realized that every time I handled another guy's wallet, it was sexually arousing for me. When my same brother drove a buddy to play basketball locally, and his friend left his cool dark brown leather bill fold wallet, stuffed with incidental items, in the console of our car, and I discovered it while cleaning the car, I had to immediately take it into our first floor bathroom and try it in my back pocket, check it out in the mirror, and even smell its scent! Then I carefully put it where I found it, and informed my brother his friend 'Chris' had left his wallet in the car.
It seemed that the warmth of a leather wallet carried in the back pocket, often damp from slight perspiration, would really arouse me-and just the thought of knowing Chris had forgotten this important item made it all the more intriguing. It soon also became the maturity associated with the wallet-a driver's license, more cash and even a condom (i.e. sexual activity)-that became appealing about it.
By the time I was 14, I loved carrying my wallet, and flashing it at any opportunity, but none of my friends really seemed to notice. When my closest friend and his sister would hang out with me in our basement game room, I used to boast that, 'No one could steal my wallet,' or 'No one could ever pickpocket me,' especially if we were in physical contact, such as horsing around/wrestling. I used to even try to tempt his sister, while we sat on the floor, to steal my wallet by sitting near but slightly in front of her, having edged the tip of my wallet sticking up in my back pocket, to be easily grasped, but being careful to pretend I did not notice it. There was no reaction from her, or for that matter, him.
One balmy summer afternoon, after having been on a bike hike with my friend, we went into our basement game room to watch a golf tournament. In a few minutes, his sister arrived and had on a halter type top that showed-off her sinewy chest curves. I offered them sodas, from the refrigerator stocked with drinks in our basement furnace room. My friend is an avid golfer, so he asked me to get him a Coke, to remain near the TV. His sister accompanied me to the furnace room to select her beverage. In our furnace room, my older brothers had a bench press and weights, and a big piece of mirror on one wall, and there was a refrigerator, a washer and dryer, along with alot of stuff stored around the room. My friend's sister, Michele, asked what was the contraption next to our furnace? I said it had belonged to my grandmother, and she had used it alot after she had broken her hip. I said it used to be common in spas. Michele said, 'Show me how it works.' Moving a few boxes from its platform, and one on top of the motor, revealed a metal base, about one inch above the floor, and about three feet by two feet, with a pole straight up towards the front, supporting a motor about 18' x 12' with two rotating side axes, similar to bicycle pedals, and a cotton canvas belt connecting the two axes with leather attachments, that was about five inches in width. Michele gave me her opened drink, and along with my drink and I was holding her brother's, so my hands were full. She said, 'Stand there,' while plugging-in the machine. She then gestured me back against the belt, which she quickly positioned around my belt line just above the tips of my tight jean back pockets, and clicked-on the motor. There was instantaneous arousal of my dick. She kept asking questions, and in my naivety, I suspected nothing-so I kept blabbing intellectually about how these machines were a farce, they did not contribute to weight loss, there were little health benefits, they don't burn calories, etc. Michele looked really gorgeous, leaning forward smiling over the machine at me, and then moving close behind me to my right, (I got whiff of her clean scented feminine fragrance) keeping her shapely, tanned arm on the 'Speed' control lever, sliding it slowly towards 'Faster.' I became aware of my bulging erection, looking at the tented denim below me, but I could not adjust it because my hands were full, and she then thrust the motor to its highest setting and moved across the room, to peek out at her brother. Speechless, because of the build-up that was about to 'let loose,' and having never before had a conscious orgasm, I looked at her and she held up MY 'tight-ass curved' black leather wallet, (unmistakable to me) and opened it and emptied the cash, looking at me like the cat that swallowed the canary! My throbbing dick burst out several wads, with pulses of pleasure making me moan-and simultaneously feeling helpless-and ogling this beautiful female who had just picked my pocket and I never felt a thing! Me, 'Mr. No-One-Could-Ever-Pickpocket-Me.' I was speechless, breathless and couldn't believe that as I looked into the wall mirror next to me, the worn-denim rectangular image on my right jeans back pocket was deflated-looking. Michele realized what occurred, and strutted back over, slowed the machine, clicked it off, and plopped my also deflated wallet on top of the machine, while pointing at the circular wet spot at the top right of my jeans, towards the middle from the curve of the front pocket. She went towards her brother in the other room and said, 'Your friend just had a little accident in his pants,' and she left with a smirk on her face. I had never experienced such an amazing amount of pleasure and almost felt as though I had been tortured, because for me, the male wallet had become a phallic symbol.
After cleaning-up, I proceeded to re-visit the 'Belt Massager' machine on a regular basis. It was easy to pretend I was going to the game room primarily to lift weights (my supposed new interest), and on many occasions, I was able to observe the same effect on two other male friends, but there were many who managed to stop the machine prior to ejaculating-but I never pretended I knew what was happening. It has remained my secret. However, to this day, my wife does not even realize that my wallet is nearby (i.e. on a night stand or falling out of my pocket while undressing) when we make love. Now, I realize that it has become my fetish object.