Thanks, mom.
Back in the day when I was 8 (i.e. 1996), my mom came home from the library with this delightful looking book called something along the lines of "Where did I come from?" My mother had only flipped through the first few pages of cheery images of cranes hauling babies and the like before picking it up. Oh, this is worse than what you're thinking. Yes, it was a children's sex ed book. Coming from a somewhat liberal family, the 'rents just laughed and the offending book was not hidden nor immediately hauled back to the library.

Of course it was only a matter of time before I got my greasy little hands on it. It had graphic anatomically correct cartoons of the naked male and female bodies, the genitals, the differences between them, and all sorts of juicy stuff.

Now to get to the part that really changed my life. When explaining that sex was enjoyable, the book described it as being like pleasant tickling for the genitals, just it felt reeeeaally great. Huh. Tickling? I know where all my lady bits are, I could do that... I should try it.

And that's the story of how I became a compulsive masturbator - given some exploration of technique - at the ripe young age of eight. For shame.

Note: when I read this QOTW, the first book to pop into my head was Necrophilia Variations (about, y'know, necrophilia. Rather vivid, I might add), which triggered my intense fascination with paraphilia three years ago. Currently taking bets on how long it'll be before I'm a registered sex offender.
(Exempt OH WOW, VICODIN, Fri 16 May 2008, 9:26, Reply)