No connection whatsoever

Those of you who were astute enough to take up the opportunity to study psychology at some point in your lives, would have doubtless been compelled to spend a little time reviewing the writings of one Sigismund Schlomo Freud. And your tutors will have (or should have) gone to great lengths to emphasise that whilst it is important to study Freud’s works, one should always bear in mind that what our Austrian friend proffers is a collection of theories, not gospels. You are free to agree or disagree with him and indeed such challenges to his ideas are to be encouraged.

One of the many topics of which he wrote, was of course masturbation. Now, wanking is one of those sexual activities which, if I’m on my own, I can either take it or leave it. Sure I have pleasured myself on occasions, but on the whole, it’s something which I’ve never really got into – unless there’s an audience; a lady watching or orchestrating or involved in some way. Now what would Freud make of that?

Well, let me take you back to when I was a young boy of about eleven or twelve, I cannot remember exactly which. My journey to and from school could be achieved either by bus or on foot. But as the bus service was very infrequent (it was the 190 i believe), I generally opted for the pedestrian option. My regular route therefore, took me past what at the time, I thought of as a large forest. In reality it was probably no bigger than a small, slightly overgrown, parkland area. I walked on my own both to and fro, and, as a regular walker treading the same path at the same time each day, I met and passed by the same people quite frequently. Of these passersby were three school girls, who were several years older than me and who attended a different school. Our journeys would cross at or about a pathway leading into the aforementioned wooded area. But day after day, we simply passed by, ignoring each other, me head down or reading a book, they engrossed in girlish chatter and laughter. I hardly noticed them and vice versa. Or so I thought.

One evening on my way home from school, I saw this group of girls approaching and thought nothing of it, as usual. I neither feared them nor noticed them really. But this time, as our paths crossed, they suddenly grabbed me and dragged me into the woods. I was terrified I remember that. They quickly took my satchel and blazer from me and told me that I would only get them back only if I did as they said. I knew that if I were to turn up at home missing either of these items, I would be in for quite a walloping; such was my fear of the one called “The Mother”. So I knew I had to try and agree to whatever their demands were.

It was obvious from the outset that one of these girls was the “ringleader”. Hers are the only commands that I can remember. First she lifted her skirt, took my right hand, pushed it into and down her knickers and commanded “Stick your finger in the hole”. Well I found “the hole” very quickly and I’m ashamed to say that my reaction was to instantly try to pull my hand away in disgust as I found her hole to be wet and slimy. It was only years later that I realised that she had been wet even before I touched her. But I was disgusted at the time and I remember that my reaction caused all three girls to laugh at me.

Next I was held by the other two girls whilst the ringleader undid my trousers and pulled both them and my underpants straight down. I still remember the feeling of embarrassment. But the command I heard next, practically made my heart stop. I can remember her words exactly as if it were yesterday. She said, quite simply “Rub it ‘til the white stuff comes”. And I had absolutely no idea what she meant. Sure I’d touched myself a little bit before then and it had felt nice, I’d got hard before and secretly enjoyed that, but I’d never really wanked properly and certainly not to completion. But she was insistent and reminded me of what was at stake if I was to disobey. She told me exactly what to do and I don’t know whether it was the fear or the excitement or the excitement of the fear, but somehow I got hard and started to “rub it” as instructed. I had no idea what she meant by “… ’til the white stuff comes” though; all I knew was that I didn’t dare stop. I had no idea how long I was going to be made to rub it; I just knew I needed to earn my satchel and blazer back. I remember that the feelings of shame and humiliation and excitement were a new phenomenon to me.

Well soon I became aware of a weird sensation. It was scary, but not painful, possibly almost pleasurable, but still new, unknown and definitely scary. The girls must have sensed that the time was near because I remember being told not to stop, but to keep going as instructed, regardless. And then this weird feeling got unbelievably strong and my body began to experience a strange series of almost involuntary spasms and seconds later I came, right there, right in front of these three girls. And they laughed. They knew it was my first time and thought that my ejaculations and my look of fear and surprise were hysterical.

And as quickly as my ordeal had begun, it was over. I was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek and the return of my possessions and then they simply walked off, leaving me shell-shocked.

Now I’m not making any connection between my preference for a female audience during masturbation and my first orgasmic experiences.

But I wonder if old Siggy would.

About severin

Nobody special and what I write might not be to everyone's taste - it tends to be a bit naughty. so you've been warned.
This entry was posted in Adult, sex and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to No connection whatsoever

  1. Alexis says:

    That is fascinating. Don’t you wonder how much of you has developed emotionally to reconcile with that early experience? Who would you be otherwise? Difficult to relate a story like that, no doubt. But I am grateful. I continue to believe that such things happen in the world everyday and that they reorder the universe in their strange ways. Judging from the blog and the tone of the post, you’re not sorry.

  2. Your stalker says:

    At least we now know where your liking for an audience may have come from, a psychologist could spend a long time reading these blogs and theorising! You should write more 🙂

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