Diary of a Mad Masturbator

I love to jack off, and I always have. I consider myself, after a lifetime of diligent study, one of the great experts at the sensual art of masturbation. If universities offered degrees in Masturbatory Studies, I would long ago have earned my doctorate. Everything about the topic of masturbation is interesting to me: I like to think about it, read about it, talk about it, watch people do it, listen to people talking about it. But most of all, I love to do it.

My love affair with my cock started before I can remember, and has continued to this very day. My masturbation life has had two particular bits of good fortune: first, I learned to masturbate early, and second, I grew up in a household where masturbation was accepted and even encouraged.

One of my earliest memories is of taking off my pyjama bottoms and straddling a pillow so that I could grind against it. I must have been about five or six years old, and already I was into daily masturbation. I don't recall any sexual thoughts or fantasies back then, I just loved to hump my pillow and get that feeling.

It was all quite innocent, and luckily for me, that's how my parents saw it as well. Dr. Kinsey, in his day, found that higher education correlated to reduced guilt or shame about masturbation. Both my parents were college professors, and they both viewed autoeroticism as a healthy outlet for sexual impulses. I availed myself of that outlet frequently. All through my grade school years I was a daily masturbator, usually indulging in my standard pillow hump at night before going to sleep; on days when I didn't have school, I might also bring myself off during the day.

The story of my masturbation in my grade school years is mainly a story of expanding technique and of getting caught. Though not so lurid, this was influential in forming my attitudes, so I suppose it belongs here.

For a few years, I remained faithful to my pillow at bedtime, but at some point I got the idea of using my hands. By the time I was in third grade, I had adopted the basic hand-stroke as my main masturbation method. This not only enhanced my physical pleasure, it also freed me from my bed, and my masturbatory activities expanded beyond my bedroom. Once I was liberated from the pillow, I could masturbate anywhere.

I masturbated everywhere. Throughout my prepubescent years, I whacked off wherever privacy and impulse converged. I can recall a period one summer (I must have been about nine or ten) when I made a plan to masturbate in every room in the house, plus both the front and the back yard. I even wrote out the plan, complete with timetable telling which room would be masturbated in and in what order. Most of the rooms where I might be seen were accomplished at night after the family had retired. It was a definite turn-on to masturbate in parts of the house where I might get caught. I kept detailed notes on each of these exercises, compiling a masturbation logbook of sorts. The notebook is long since lost, but I wonder what it would be like to read it today, with its detailed listings of my masturbation experiences.

After my nocturnal adventures, it was only natural to progress to trying the same masturbation program during the day, when there were people in the house. To add to the challenge, another 'rule' I set myself was that I must be nude when I did it, and that I must strip off my clothes in my room before sneaking out to each new jack-off site.

My sister's room was easy enough, as was my parents' bedroom, since each was only a quick nude dash down the hall from my own room; likewise the bathroom. The rest of the house was a bit more challenging, since I would be farther away from my clothes and the chances of being discovered were greater. To my surprise, there was an added thrill to masturbating in the open, and the greater the chance of being seen, the hotter I got.

The dining room was tricky, as my mother was in the kitchen on the telephone at the time, but I managed to get off without being seen. The kitchen, the entry hall, the backyard were all easy enough, with the proper amount of care. The front yard was another matter, though: there was a hedge which would hide me from view from the street, but I would be visible from the living room window. I finally did it early one morning, just at dawn, when the rest of the family was still in bed. I forgot about the milkman, though, and he drove up just as I was about to cum. I was able to scramble out of sight and finish myself off after he drove away.

Only the living room was left, and I went at that the next day. I was lying behind the sofa, stark naked and stroking away, when my sister, she was about twelve at the time, walked around and saw me there. Her jaw dropped in surprise.

'What are you doing there?' she exclaimed, which brought my mother round to see; there I lay, naked and erect, and blushing furiously. My mother was less scandalized, saying, 'Oh, he's just being a boy.' I went to my room to finish myself off, a bit abashed at being seen, but also a little turned on at having been discovered. In the kitchen that evening, as they were preparing dinner, my mother mentioned to my father that I had been found masturbating in the living room. I was a bit embarrassed that my mother brought it up, but my father just said that masturbation is perfectly healthy, and everybody does it.

For a while after that, I masturbated in the house during the day, trying to see how close I could be to someone in another room without getting caught. For instance, if my mother was in the kitchen, I might stand in the dining room, just out of sight, naked and pumping myself as quietly as possible. Mostly I got myself off undetected, but a few times I got spotted. Once I was masturbating in the laundry room when my mother walked in; I was just reaching climax, crossing that point of no return, and so I couldn't stop stroking. I pumped and thrashed through my orgasm as she moved the wash into the dryer. Another time I was in the middle of the living room floor, once again bareass and straddling a pillow from my bedroom when my father came home from work and walked in on me. As it had been with my mother, his reaction was fairly casual: as he walked through the room he said, 'I hope that's your pillow, pal!'

Of course, even at that early age I knew better than to jack off when there was company around. Except that I didn't really. I remember a faculty dinner party when I masturbated in my room after dinner, with the door open and excited that I might get caught. No one saw me, however and I came without anyone seeing me.

I was speaking to my mother on the phone recently and asked her why she and my father had reacted so calmly to my brazen masturbatory habits. 'Well, it was a phase you were going through,' she said, adding that enthusiastic masturbation was a family trait: 'Your father and I walked in on your sister more than once, and you caught me once when you were little.' Apparently I had burst into my parents bedroom while my mother was bringing herself off; I must have been very young, as I have no memory of it. I mentioned how lucky I thought I was to grow up in a loving family with a relaxed attitude toward masturbating. Your dad and I have always been into masturbating, she said, so it would be hypocritical to tell you not to.

Like I said, I was lucky to be raised in a family that was comfortable with masturbation. My experiences expanded as I got older, but that's a story for later.