MY PARALLEL UNIVERSE
An autobiographical account of 50+ years (and counting) of masturbation and some general observations.
I am 63 years old, married, a veteran masturbator with a small circumcised cock, about 115 mm (4-1/2 inches) long, raring to go, but a full 135mm (5-1/2-inch) girth-a sturdy worker about which I have received no complaints, certainly no self-criticism. I was forced to retire from practice of my profession in 1990, at age 48. A series of mimi-strokes left me with some loss of some abilities and movement, including erection-neurogenic erectly dysfunction it's called. Injection therapy has delivered my return to the solo club-though at some expense, so it must be infrequent (about each 3 weeks)-but each time is so much just as fulfilling-the delay, the pent-up longing and the full balls ensure that.
I cannot remember at what age I discovered the delights of frequent shattering adolescent masturbation, but it was certainly over 50 years ago. The urge has never faded, though the techniques have varied, from frantic exhausting intercourse simulation to the now relaxed slow but relentless seeking of the ultimate explosive pleasure. My wife of 42 years is now 66 and her never-strong libido has all but evaporated. So, I have gone full circle and again go solo, and less frequently as, like some of your other correspondents, I need an expensive injection to get started.
In the first throes of my discovery I would visit wonderland each day after school-risky privacy could be tested at home or, luckily there was a large well-vegetated park nearby where I would seek refuge for my increasingly messy afternoons of rapture in the dappled light of my secret places. I would roll/wrap a handkerchief tightly round my shaft and tug in it, or between folds of of a pillow and blow. My mother was not blind, so I guess the extra washing was seen as a harmless part of my 'growing up'. My introduction to the erotic visual and tactile joys of latex was when I would use my mother's swim cap, made slippery with saliva wrapped around my rigid cock and to get my daily satisfaction. That love of latex has been a fetish all my life-images of a lithe tanned body held in a taut skin-tight cat suit/high-heel boots, with proud firm breasts, hard nipples and pleasure mound clear-and of course a 'come fuck me smile', are the sexiest I know. I was not at all comfortable with girls although I wished hard to be (boys school education) so masturbation continued to give me relief from the torment of raging desire.
I was 19 when I met the woman who has shared my life and my cock. I was totally at ease with her and knew instinctively how to excite us both, although intercourse was not encouraged, we ventured to the brink on many writhing sweaty occasions. We were married three weeks after my 21st birthday. Masturbation became unneccesary, and of course less attractive, than the new-found conjugal intercourse, which was now readily available, and infinitely better. My bride was keen to engage in sex as often as I/we wanted, which was, at first at least, at least daily. Those were the halcone days-masturbation faded to a fond memory. After about two years of bliss, my lover's instincts told her this was also about making babies, and some six months later, I had to fall back on my old friend, a well-lubed hand in private. To my shame, I tried to engage sweet young things from work and although the opportunities transpired, when the crunch came I could not harden to follow through. Masturbation was again on the menu, in fact it was the most popular course. We have three children so the on-off years wore on and wanking resume a major role in appeasing my incessant need to blow.
Soon, I could hardly wait until my wife left for the shopping-that meant privacy for at least two hours. Certainly time enough to get out of bed for an hour of fulfillment. My cock was already hard when I entered the kitchen, breathing quickly from anticipation. Taking a rubber glove from under the sink, I would cross to the pantry and pour a generous splash of olive oil into my sleeve of delight. I would ram my cock into the tunnel and supported by the island bench and with a firm, then loose, sliding grasp of my throbbing cock it didn't take long to reach a knee-trembling release with a groan of satisfaction as random squirts shot into each finger as if in appreciation of its part in the shuddering event. A quick shower, clean out the oily mess, dry the glove, and return it to the cupboard. Ready for breakfast and a smiling reception of the weary shopper-who I really would have preferred to have received my load. Fortunately, she never came home horny! My subdued cock would have been incapable of anything for her desire.
As the years went by, the everyday rubber glove firmed as my favourite accessory. Years ago, housework gloves were simple slippery rubber/latex, none of the modern finishes which protect the hands-for god's sake!-and also destroy the natural silkiness, which made them a vaginal simulation favourite. The onset of HIV brought the need for 'safe' procedures and latex examination gloves restored the rubber glove to it's rightful place in the masturbator's bag of essentials. They are also now readily available in supermarket packs, so are disposable and cleaning up is no longer necessary.
Over the next three decades I devised and enjoyed many techniques to quench the raging libido.
A favourite had two variations, and took a long time to perfect, as they are reliant on purposeful willpower and total self control. With plenty of private time, I would stimulate an erection by fatasising about what was to come. I would carefully give my head a good coat of lube with none on the shaft, which remained untouched. Forming a ring or horse collar with thumb and forefinger, total attention would be lavished the throbbing head: rolling, squeezing, slipping, massaging all over, keeping the fingers outstretched. Pretty soon the urge to slip over the untouched shaft would build as it's usual part in the fun was missed-here was the start of the willpower section, because if I could resist many times, until the head was ready to explode, then the final desperate clutching strokes would bring a back-arching, bum-lifting, intense orgasm with a staccato of shots flung far and wide. The white stuff just kept coming and coming till I lay gasping for breath, unable to move. The duration of these sessions obviously varied greatly as did the variation, where the shaft was harshly dealt with and the head was only included seconds before the gush filled and overflowed from the enclosing fingers that squeezed every last drop from the spent schlong. I really cannot remember other ways I found to have my way with myself, but of course there is always the good old, dependable lube-up and hard terminal massage, which has been right up there with the rubber glove in my repertoire.
The first mild stroke in 1985 started the decline in my get up and go. 1987 continued it, and the 1990 one was the end of spontaneous erections-no more penetrative sex or masturbation-full time! I was having other health problems at that time and in the short-term the loss was not too painful. As things cleared up, my libido started to shout/scream at me, 'I wanna cum again!'
Eventually, I sought medical advice and was referred to a specialist Research Unit, which was conducting a study on the then new injection therapy. The result in my case was astounding: a hard, functioning cock. So I could return to my 'past' sex life. My wife took this return to intercourse very well, her vaginal secretions had stopped, but, with little enthusiasm, she bought lubricants and welcomed me again in her divine slit. Quite soon I needed a bigger, expensive dose to raise penetrative rigidity, but the normal dose result is quite adequate for self- satisfaction. So, that is where I am, for the present and hopefully for long future.
I always stretch on/over a cock ring to enhance and project my erection, which I watch in a mirror, as so projecting it reaches fully engorged, aching readiness, all the time straining with the urge to touch a thing of such wonder and promise. Rings must be tight, yet elastic to adjust to the movement in penis girth that occur at different stages of the fray when an extra sensitive area is touched or clasped. There is no need to buy them, I find cut-down condoms, with the ring as the base, do just fine. The tension can be set by the length of the sleeve kept attached to it, whether it is to be a cock/scrotum ring or just for a single testicle, I sometimes use the all over one with two lighter ones to pick out the shiny skinned balls.
When I am confident that I will not be disturbed for say a day or when my wife is away, I make more elaborate preparations for a memorable session. This gives the maximum range of sensations and I recommend it be tried. Using a cardboard toilet roll as the base, I slip a lightweight sock into it as softening, and pass a latex exam glove through the tube (inflating will ensure that is fully extended in the sock/tube). Now I spread lubricant liberally in the glove. My breathing will quicker by this time. I wrap/roll the substitute vagina tightly in a folded hand towel and bind it tightly with an adjustable strap. I put half of the roll in a drawer in the bathroom bench (under a mirror) and shut the drawer tight. I bend the protruding part down to suit my cock height at an angle to suit my bend. I take a deep breath, and slowly slide my whole swollen length into the presented tight, wet, smooth, slippery hole. The feeling is so fantastically familiar and I just can't stop lunging. Now, I am not all that agile, good on my feet, these days, but I always surprise myself by how long I can maintain the repeated deep thrusting until I feel the stroke of no return approaching. Decision required! Go on and enjoy or rest and build-up again, again and again? A rest is best, if you have the will! I often lie down, to take a short break, sometimes roll a condom or just lube up my length and surrender to the joyous inevitable!
About four years ago, if my erection was too weak to enable penetration, and I started using condoms (flavoured) as a possible way to lure my semen-shy wife to at last perform fellatio, which I still have not enjoyed, despise profound longing, (and a long history of cunnilingus, for which I received little thanks despite her rapid breathing, squirming, leg-twitching orgasms). I incorrectly reasoned that if the dreaded sticky stuff was contained, and the offensive beast tasted pleasant, then maybe my dream would at last be real. I had, surprisingly for a guy in late 50s, never 'worn' a condom, not thinking of it in pre-pill days and not requiring one later. I really liked the feeling of rolling the coral-coloured superfine latex sheath down to my balls, the gentle pressure of the enclosure. As I mentioned my cock is a modest length, so I am able, with the full length of the latex skin unrolled, to stretch it over my scrotum to fully encased my shaft and balls. A generous layer of clear lube makes the journey to paradise quicker than I would like, but the point of no return show no mercy. I shudder as my body lifts and I see the powerful spurts of white oily goo fill the tip and flow over the spent wellhead. A benefit of the injection induced erection is that it lasts long after the first orgasm. I can have forty exhausted winks and wake with a start and a cock needing only a few freestyle strokes in the pool of fresh juice to rise again make another deposit, albeit lesser, to the swelling lube bank. I tie the sheath, and put in the a safe deposit place. I only use twice, as after that the build-up becomes unmanageably messy.
I estimate that over 50 years I have masturbated, averaging it out (periods of high/low activity) at least once a week. Add to that at least one good hard fuck a week for 40 years and that makes 50 x 52 +40 x 52 or 2600 +2080 = 4680 ejaculations, at the most conservative calculation. It's more likely double that! So a target of 10000 before I cannot go anymore seems achievable.
I trust you have enjoyed reading my experiences, maybe you have some comments on them?