A tale of how I misinterpreted my friends advise, but recovered thanks to my kind sister
When I was 12, I first started to look at this strange object in between my legs. I had various chums at school refer to it as 'penis', 'knob', 'cock', 'stick.' I never touched it. Mainly because it smelled so bad. It was like when my mother's cooking of fish was of a poor quality. I never did understand the use of my stick, expect to discharge urine, which was quite handy.
On my 13th birthday, my friend told me of how he 'wanked' every night. What the bloody hell was this charming lad of my age talking about? Wank is such an unpleasant word, so harsh on the mind I thought to myself. But when he explained what he did, when he did this act (you all know what it is I assume), it sounded beautiful - poetic even. So I decided, that night, at 22:35 I was going to try this wanking malarkey. It sounded tough. First you must get your stick into a situation where the blood pumped through it at a faster level than one would expect, and it was as hard as a pole. Such a thing sounded unachievable, but I eventually managed, just in time for 22:30.
So, stick in hand, I looked at my computer screen, which at the time had rather revealing pictures of Pat from EastEnders (This was 10 years ago, she was quite the looker then.) And I did what my friend did - I pumped it. It was so difficult to get my bike pump over the end of my stick. It all ended messily, and I couldn't remove it. At that moment my rather good looking sister walked in. She simply said 'boys will be boys.' She came over and removed the bicycle pump. It was a relief to say the least.
My friend later told me (When I was 15), then he meant pump with my hands. I tried it again that night, it was the best ever, I do it every night, thinking of Kylie Minogue now. Phwoar, what buttocks, eh lads?