» Wanking Disasters Part II

A poke in the eye for him.
A friend. No, really.

Living in deepest Leicestershire in the early nineties, and being too young / innocent / monumentally blushing to buy any real pr0n from that nice Mr Jones at the newsagents, my mate Nathan was reduced to sniffing out any and every potential masturbatory visual-aid in the house. From the clinically precise line-drawings in the relevant volumes of Encyclopedias, to the minute-but-full-colour models posing for adult chat-lines in the back of his parents' magazines, he was an expert at finding inspiration for his energetic manipulations.

Cue one day, finding a small pile of photos in the corner of a cabinet in his lounge. Grainy, early seventies shots of irregular size and shape, and all featuring a gang of late-teen hippy-types disporting in minimal clothing on a beach somewhere.

Ah well, needs must: and Nathan enjoyed several adolescent moments in the privacy of his bedroom with these unknown-but-curvy beauties (some of them women).

Until, that is, his thirteen-year-old brain made the connection between one of the bathing beauties (long hair, deep tan, cute smile), and his (now much older and more sedate-looking) mumsy.

Yes indeed, without realising it, and through a combination of the mists of time and some over-developed film, Nathan had been wanking enthusiastically to an image of his own mother.

He told us in hushed tones of terrified awe, swearing us to secrecy.... Hmm.

To be fair, we did wait three whole minutes before blabbing to the entire county. Three minutes which were profitably employed in looking up the spelling of "Oedipus".

Length? His mum told him not to worry what the other boys said: she thought it was perfect.
(Thu 24th Feb 2011, 12:45, More)