Masturbation Memories and Mom's Encouragement

As I mention in my bio on this site, masturbation was not directly encouraged (at least not with words) or talked about in my home growing up.  And for a while when I first began, I felt some guilt and shame around it, which I believe is sadly all too common.

But this is not to say that masturbation was directly discouraged in my home.  Sex and masturbation wasn't talked about at all.  I knew innately just not to bring it up.  My family (parents and sister) were and still are generally conflict-avoidant and would never talk about anything controversial or uncomfortable.

One thing though, as I think about it now, that was somewhat odd, was that our bedroom doors were never completely shut.  I never asked why at the time.  It's just what we did.  Maybe it was for airflow or something.  Our house wasn't terribly large at all, and our bedrooms were along the same hallway close together.  I usually slept with a small nightlight on as well just out of habit.  My sister and parents did as well.  I usually just slept in my underwear, usually white briefs.  I only sometimes wore a t-shirt.  I was a warm sleeper and often slept on top of the covers.  

Eventually I got to the age where I began to feel the urge to do more than just "play with myself."  Touching my penis felt good to me, and it was always fun watching it get hard and soft and hard again.  But now the feeling was different, more intense with a drive to "keep going" with it and with a curiosity to touch it in different ways and to learn what kind of touches felt extra good.  The time of day where I felt the strongest urge to do this was at night when I was in bed about to go to sleep (door cracked open, nightlight on, on top of the covers, in my underwear).

I usually started by lightly touching the outside of my white briefs.  I remember how thin the fabric felt at the time.  My mom would usually get me briefs that were a little on the tight side, or maybe that's just how they were made at the time.  I felt each curve of my penis on the outside of my underwear.  I traced it from the base, up the shaft to where the shaft met the head, then to the tip and back down again.  I would do this for a while just enjoying the sensation.

Eventually and gradually, my penis would grow and my underwear would tighten further and further until there was an obvious bulge and the clear shape of my very hard, curved, erect penis could easily be seen.  At this point, my briefs would feel so incredibly tight that it was quite uncomfortable.  I felt I had no choice but to take them off, so I would.  And I'd lay there fully exposed and naked on top of the covers, the small night light lighting up the room just enough for me to observe my fully erect, curved penis with it's swollen, darkened head gently pulsing with each of my quickened heartbeats, my bedroom door still cracked open as always.

As I curiously, even playfully touched my penis in different ways with my hands, I would sometimes glance at my door, wondering if anyone saw me or was watching me.  The thought of it excited me, yes.  But I also think that part of it was that I wanted to be seen fully, just as I was, and to be completely accepted and affirmed by those that I loved and loved me most.  I wanted to know that this act, what I soon came to understand as “masturbation,” was not just okay but was normal, natural and even healthy to do.  In a sense, I was indirectly, in my own way, looking for permission, encouragement, and support when I felt that I couldn’t directly ask for it.  Sometimes out of the corner of my eye, a few nights here and there,  I would notice my mom walking by, sometimes even stopping outside my door, never saying anything though.  I never said anything to her either.  I didn’t mind it at all though of course, and it did excite me a bit.   It  even made me feel safe, cared for, and loved.

So each night as I did this, I explored, touched and played with my penis for longer amounts of time, the intensity and sensitivity growing each evening until one night I rubbed my penis in just the right ways that I finally had what I soon learned was an orgasm.  It felt absolutely amazing, a feeling I had never had before, pure bliss for me.  It gave me goosebumps all over my naked body and my whole body shook with waves of ecstasy as I softly moaned.  I had never felt so connected to my body and never had so much appreciation for it until then.  This first orgasm and quite a few that followed many evenings after that were dry orgasms.  But eventually, one night I had my first wet orgasm where I squirted semen all over my stomach.  I was shocked and didn’t know what to do, so I used my briefs to clean it up.  Other nights when I orgasmed, I would clean up my semen with the sheets or comforter on my bed or even on the carpet on the floor by my bed.

Needless to say, my mom eventually noticed the stains on my underwear, sheets, comforter, and the carpet and knew what it was from.  Of course, she didn’t talk to me about it and neither did my father.  But one day, when I came home from school, I noticed that my mom had put a wastebasket by my bed and a tissue box and a bottle of  lotion on the small table beside my bed.  Sure, she was probably tired of doing all the laundry caused by the stains I had been leaving.  But to me I believed then and still believe now that it was her own way of supporting and encouraging me, letting me know that it was okay, normal and natural to masturbate.  She didn’t tell me to stop or shame me at all.  Instead, she gave me the proper supplies for it.  She helped meet my needs and affirmed me in this special way. 

That night, I used the lotion when I masturbated and it felt absolutely wonderful. I had an incredibly strong orgasm. She knew it would feel so good to me, and she wanted to protect my penis from any chaffing or bleeding caused by friction from masturbation.  I then dutifully cleaned up using the tissues and put them in the wastebasket.  I would follow this new protocol each evening going forward as I masturbated.  Every few days, my mom would empty the wastebasket and check to see if I needed more tissues or lotion and would always keep it stocked for me.  This consistent, very simple gesture was very encouraging and affirming to me, which was what I really needed at the time.  I really appreciated it then and am very grateful for her to this day for doing this for me as masturbation is still a very important and fulfilling part of my daily life and always will be.