I finally discovered a rush is the reward, not the technique
When I was beginning to masturbate, I could hardly wait to cum. From hard-on to jacking off to ejaculation could take about a half-minute if that long. Moving forward as a teen, I discovered bra and panty ads and soft porn magazines, meaning I spent more time staring at and fantasizing about tits, nipples and pussies than beating off, so from hard-on to stroking to ejaculating could take up to maybe 15 minutes or whenever my dad or mom would pound on the bathroom door and yell: “Hey! What’s going on in there? I gotta pee!” That’s when I could do rapid-fire beating off and cum in 10 seconds or less. I finally realized at some point that I didn’t like such sudden endings. I wanted way more time on an erotic high, so I began to work on slowing down and taking my time. I learned naturally how to edge. I didn’t know that term, but by 18 I could easily spend a day in school just fantasizing about that girl’s cleavage, that girl’s pretty legs, hard nipples on display. Then that night after the family dinner, I could spend all the time I needed in the shower or in my bedroom, slowly jacking off to a mental replay of the day’s erotic moments and eventually shooting huge loads of cum into my socks. Learning a slow hand paid off well. I learned, at least from the girls I dated, that gently sliding my hand into her panties and delicately massaging her soaked pussy gradually lit a small flame in her clit that could and usually did erupt into a massive bonfire of passion. “I love how you're playing with me,” some would say, swinging their hips around my fingers. I was just treating them the way I treated myself. I loved how I could play with myself – masturbating slow and easy at first, then gradually throttling up. Still holds true for me.
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