I had figured out that it could feel nice to have something in your hole while jacking off. Of course, a fifteen-year old in suburbia in the 70s wasn't going to have a great array of options for butt toys. Like many a teen, I was creative, making do with what I had.
So I assembled my hidden stash of butt toys. I started with a pen. Skinnier than my finger, but also longer and firmer. From there I progressed to a dried-up marker. The end was reasonably smooth and with a little baby oil it could be slid into my hole. It was thicker. I did find an old candle at one point, but I kept worrying that it was going to break inside me or something. How could I explain a butt full of bits of wax? Would it break off inside me?
I was also worried about anyone finding my little collection of toys. How could I explain this collection of random junk? Who keeps a dried-up marker? What would you do with it? Obviously, "slide it in and out of my hole when I jerk off" wasn't going to be a winning answer.
After any sort of butt play, I'd take my makeshift toys and very carefully clean them. Didn't want any traces of baby oil left behind, because that would completely give things away. And forget about poop. That would have been a disaster.
Eventually, a bit of home repair meant that the hiding place for my toys wasn't going to be usable any more. If I hadn't removed them myself, they would have been discovered. I didn't want to explain the baby oil and marker to my father. So, after a final bit of butt play, I threw away these items I had saved from the trash. It was a sad moment.
There was another memorable opportunity for getting creative. I had read in some source about the frequency at which men could orgasm. I knew that although I tended to spread things out in eight-hour intervals, I could probably do it more frequently. One day my family was going off to something that my sisters wanted to do. My brother was going, but I was old enough to be left on my own.
I waited a few minutes after everyone left, just to make sure that no one was suddenly coming back. Then I ran to my room and stripped, throwing all my clothes on my bed. Now I was naked at home. I strutted back and forth a bit, reveling in my nudity. It was a warm day so I didn't need clothes to keep warm. It was great.
But there was no time to waste. I got on my bed, lying back with my knees slightly raised. I grabbed my cock (yeah, by this time I had worked out that it felt better if you wrapped your hand around it) and stroked out a load. Of course it was as done as quickly as possible. The concept of delaying an orgasm to improve upon it had not entered my mind. Edging would have seemed not only incomprehensible, but physically impossible. Keep an erection for a half hour? Can't be done!
And that was not the point that day either. The goal was to to get as many out as I could before my family was due back home. I shot all over my stomach and chest and then went to the bathroom to clean up. This felt really naughty, taking my cum-drenched naked body down the hall to the bathroom. Normally, this would be impossible. With my family gone, I could do what I wanted.
After cleaning up, I went back to my bedroom. Before long, my cock got hard in anticipation of my plan. I forget how long I had to wait for shot #2. A little longer. Cleanup was easier this time. I had thought of grabbing some toilet paper which I wadded up and threw into the toilet.
Still naked. I touched my cock and balls while I waited for the next hardon. This was new. Usually my cock was hard before I got my underwear down. This time, my underwear was in a pile at the foot of the bed and my cock was in no hurry to get hard.
But it did eventually. I wish I had made notes. I kept a journal at the time, but all of these exploits were exactly what I didn't put into my journal. Once, in my teens, I wrote something about either some messing around on a camping trip or jacking off. I thought better about it the next day and carefully scissored out the page, transcribing an expurgated version on the next page. What if someone found it?
By the time my family was due home, I had blasted out eight loads, although the last couple hardly counted as blasting. A little dribble. I cleaned up, flushed the evidence of this experiment down the toilet. Then with shaking legs, I made my way back to my bedroom and put my clothing back on.
I opened a book and was reading when my family got home. My mother noticed my wobbly step. "My foot went to sleep."
I was also worried about anyone finding my little collection of toys. How could I explain this collection of random junk? Who keeps a dried-up marker? What would you do with it? Obviously, "slide it in and out of my hole when I jerk off" wasn't going to be a winning answer.
After any sort of butt play, I'd take my makeshift toys and very carefully clean them. Didn't want any traces of baby oil left behind, because that would completely give things away. And forget about poop. That would have been a disaster.
Eventually, a bit of home repair meant that the hiding place for my toys wasn't going to be usable any more. If I hadn't removed them myself, they would have been discovered. I didn't want to explain the baby oil and marker to my father. So, after a final bit of butt play, I threw away these items I had saved from the trash. It was a sad moment.
There was another memorable opportunity for getting creative. I had read in some source about the frequency at which men could orgasm. I knew that although I tended to spread things out in eight-hour intervals, I could probably do it more frequently. One day my family was going off to something that my sisters wanted to do. My brother was going, but I was old enough to be left on my own.
I waited a few minutes after everyone left, just to make sure that no one was suddenly coming back. Then I ran to my room and stripped, throwing all my clothes on my bed. Now I was naked at home. I strutted back and forth a bit, reveling in my nudity. It was a warm day so I didn't need clothes to keep warm. It was great.
But there was no time to waste. I got on my bed, lying back with my knees slightly raised. I grabbed my cock (yeah, by this time I had worked out that it felt better if you wrapped your hand around it) and stroked out a load. Of course it was as done as quickly as possible. The concept of delaying an orgasm to improve upon it had not entered my mind. Edging would have seemed not only incomprehensible, but physically impossible. Keep an erection for a half hour? Can't be done!
And that was not the point that day either. The goal was to to get as many out as I could before my family was due back home. I shot all over my stomach and chest and then went to the bathroom to clean up. This felt really naughty, taking my cum-drenched naked body down the hall to the bathroom. Normally, this would be impossible. With my family gone, I could do what I wanted.
After cleaning up, I went back to my bedroom. Before long, my cock got hard in anticipation of my plan. I forget how long I had to wait for shot #2. A little longer. Cleanup was easier this time. I had thought of grabbing some toilet paper which I wadded up and threw into the toilet.
Still naked. I touched my cock and balls while I waited for the next hardon. This was new. Usually my cock was hard before I got my underwear down. This time, my underwear was in a pile at the foot of the bed and my cock was in no hurry to get hard.
But it did eventually. I wish I had made notes. I kept a journal at the time, but all of these exploits were exactly what I didn't put into my journal. Once, in my teens, I wrote something about either some messing around on a camping trip or jacking off. I thought better about it the next day and carefully scissored out the page, transcribing an expurgated version on the next page. What if someone found it?
By the time my family was due home, I had blasted out eight loads, although the last couple hardly counted as blasting. A little dribble. I cleaned up, flushed the evidence of this experiment down the toilet. Then with shaking legs, I made my way back to my bedroom and put my clothing back on.
I opened a book and was reading when my family got home. My mother noticed my wobbly step. "My foot went to sleep."
I had a stash like that as well
ReplyDeleteI don't recall ever thinking of including my ass in my sex practices until my late teens and early 20s, so you have me beat there!
ReplyDelete