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The first time I masturbated, I wondered if I was doing it right. I had read a story about a boy climbing up a tall pole, his legs wrapped around it so his dick rubbed under his jeans. I knew that I needed to rub mine, back and forth, and at the end I was supposed to get that feeling I got after those special dreams that come around the time of puberty. I was 11, in the sixth grade, and thought that this is what everyone did and even if it wasn't what I should do (I was Catholic, after all), I needed to be like everyone else and I was going to do it anyway.
It turns out that, yes, I was doing it right, so right that I burst wide open and I swear that if there is any way to reach heaven it's the first time you masturbate at eleven years old in your parents bathroom with the shower running.
It turns out that, yes, I was doing it right, so right that I burst wide open and I swear that if there is any way to reach heaven it's the first time you masturbate at eleven years old in your parents bathroom with the shower running.