Despite My Religion

I was brought up in quite a religious household. I had to go to church on Sundays and I believed, fervently. I do not think I ever heard my parents say anything against masturbation, or anything about it, and it was certainly never mentioned from the pulpit. But without realising it, I absorbed the impression from my religion that it was evil and degenerate. Only twisted people indulged, and I was certainly not one of those.

In a way I was a slow developer. I was told about sex at the age of ten, and had not really considered it before then. I began to like girls, but only in a very chaste way. I would get erections, but they were not connected to attraction. I was embarrassed by sexual topics, thinking them unfit for my consideration, as a still staunch believer. I suppose when I got to fifteen it was just my time.

I had a crush on a girl named Carmen at the time. Apparently every boy in my year did at one point. She looked like the girl next door with subtly dyed blonde hair. She had a curvy body and a sweet smile. Boys our age would have killed to sleep with her. I just wanted her to be my friend, perhaps kiss her. That's what a crush was to me. Or at least it was until then.

I was in bed at night, trying to sleep. My mind kept creating imaginary scenarios, as it often would at night. Tonight for some reason, my mind was imagining me and Carmen not only getting together, but having sex as well. Not that I knew what it would be like, just that it seemed right. But because we were both under the age of consent, I had to imagine that we had somehow been transported into the distant future, after the collapse of civilisation, when there were no more laws and the species had to be continued. I could not fantasise about doing something like break the law so heinously. For some reason my whole class was in the future, all writhing on the floor having sex with one another. I didn't understand why that made it even better.

It was a fun fantasy, and I ended up with a substantial erection. Nevertheless, I went to sleep happy. The next night I did exactly the same, enjoying my imagination but going no further. The third night however, the fantasising went on longer, and my feelings of happiness grew stronger and stronger. In my mind I was on her, squirming about. In reality, without me realising, my hand had gone down and was rapidly pumping my shaft, moving the skin over the hard tissue below. By the time I did realise, my mind was no longer working. All I knew was that this felt incredible, and that nothing would stop me. It got more intense, beyond any feeling I had ever had, until the incredible moment when I orgasmed.

For the first moment I was just hit by the most intense wave of pleasure, as my body sighed with relief as it spurted out its burden, a whole mess of sticky, off-white ejaculate. However, seconds later I was hit with the most savage burst of guilt in my life, as I realised what I had just done. I kept imagining each of the sperm I had shot out as being a potential cute little baby, that I had just killed. I was a mass murderer, and the shame paralysed me.

Finally, I realised that I would have to do something about the terrible mess all over my hand and sheets. I snuck to the bathroom and washed myself up, still considering myself the most perverted person in the entire world. I put water on toilet paper and went back, wiping up the evidence and flushing away what I still thought of as practically bodies. Back in my bed I desperately prayed, asking God for forgiveness. I promised never to indulge in such a thing again. Strangely, I got to sleep very quickly. I didn't yet know about the soporific effects of an explosive orgasm!

Over the next couple of days I stopped fearing going to hell for my crime, as I had, because I believed myself forgiven. I kept my promise not to masturbate...for two weeks. I don't know why I was so horny that night, but I must assume it was the two weeks build up which insisted that I stroke it just a bit. I just intended to feel good, not continue all the way. However, by the time I stopped myself I felt stuck nearly there, unable to just wait to get back to how I was. I told myself I had to finish now, and I enjoyed it all too much for my liking. Two weeks later and despite being good and abstaining, I had a wet dream. I resigned myself to the inevitable.

However, I became convinced that it was wrong to fantasise about girls I knew when jacking off. Instead, since I clearly couldn't stop myself, I thought the moral thing was to avail myself of women who presented their bodies for the benefit of masturbators: Porn stars. I got my chance not long afterwards. I was sent to the shop and, nervous beyond belief, I casually bought a wank mag. I took it home, my heart pounding, and got to my room, sitting against the door as I was never allowed a lock. There I used the magazine for its intended purpose. I went through, page after page, slowly masturbating myself, refusing to go too far too soon. I saw my first vagina, many of them. I was discomforted at first by its shaven intricacy, which may be why I chose for the finale the girl on the first page, one of the few with pubes still there. I fixated on her whole, naked form as I held my wad of toilet paper to my penis, and spurted into it at length.

From there, there was no stopping me. I would usually jack off twice a day. Once when I came home from school, staring at the magazine on the bathroom floor and, as I began to forgive myself, once at night imagining the girls I knew. I began to love the magazine's shaven pussies and tempting lesbians, and was soon squirting directly onto them and wiping them off with tissue. In my imagination I never again favoured fantasising about actual sex, perhaps forever warned off that by my first time, and instead imagined girls having hot, sweaty sex with each other or masturbating themselves.

I continued struggling with my guilt due to faith until I became an atheist for mostly unrelated reasons, having really evaluated what I believed. The guilt finally dissipated, and I really enjoyed myself with my hand and my porn. When finally I got the internet, I knew what I would enjoy about it the most.

There are more tales to tell about my relationship with masturbation. Maybe another time. Now is about time for me to finish myself off with some stories here and some pics I have up in another window...