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Boners, Books and Brothers

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It was 1969 and a year of extraordinary national pride. I think it was mostly because we accomplished our goal as a country by landing on the moon, but part of it was because I had discovered the magic of masturbation. I took my jerking off seriously, but kept it very private and was content with a daily release in the shower. That was until one of my brothers said something that made me suspicious...of what I wasn't sure, but I wanted to know more. It didn't take long for him to spill his guts and tell me all about the two guys working at the Ritchfield gas station a couple of blocks away. As the story goes, these guys would give you one of those rare and highly sought after "STP" stickers, if you would jack them off in the bathroom. I could tell by the ever growing number of red oval stickers all over the house, that my brothers were committed to the cause. The three of us are very close in age, (less than a year apart) me being the oldest. We would have been eleven, twelve and thirteen at the time. Since I had already perfected the art of jerking off and my brothers were being exposed to it...I decided it was my responsibility to enlighten them... teach them the do's and don'ts...the in's and out's....everything I had learned over the past 3 or 4 months. So I made the necessary plans. Although I don't remember doing it, I must have informed them of date and time. The fact that they showed up is testament to my ability to plan, promote and in this case conduct a hands-on training class in Masturbation. The three of us shared a bedroom on a day to day basis, so there was no problem designating space for this meeting. We just laid down on our own bed when the time came. My careful planning had built-in safety precautions in case the unthinkable happened...that being the bedroom door flying open and MOM WALKING IN! No way that was going to happen. We lowered our jeans to just below our knees, figuring that if the door did fly open, we could certainly get vertical, pull up our underwear, pull up our jeans, zip or button (I don't remember which) at the waist, regain our composure and begin talking like that is what we were doing all along and all before she could figure it out. The second safety measure was to block the door with our Carrom board, (a 2' square game board that consisted of shooting plastic pieces into corner nets with a small cue.) The idea was that, Mom would hear the door hit the Carrom board and it would stop her short of throwing it open wide and exposing us in all our glory. With all safety concerns addressed, we began practicing. We were about four or five strokes into this, the rhythm was flawless...when, you guessed it........... that door came flying open with such force that we froze mid stroke. At some point we must have lost our hard-ons, because we made a run for the door. I don't remember where we went, (it wasn't the Ritchfield station) but we were gone for four or 5 hours and returned home in time for dinner. Nothing was said (and if it happened today, god forbid, it wouldn't be talked about either) It was the same at breakfast...no mention. Could it be our bedroom antics never actually happened? No chance, cause when we returned home from school that day, each of us found a book at the foot of our beds. You know the one....."puberty"...too many words and not enough pictures. We never made plans for another training session. I'm certain my brothers figured it out on their own or received training elsewhere. That's fine. The important thing is... we survived.

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