Hand Reared Boy - Masturbation discovered

[My brother] Nelson was thirteen when he got me in the garden and showed me how to masturbate. It was extremely interesting. Later, he showed me again in the bedroom, where we could get a good look. Although I had seen his penis for years, without thinking it of any particular account, I now observed how well it had developed. He urged me to try rubbing my prick; with the promise of similar development, I tried there and then, with no effect. Was the sensation even pleasurable? I forget.

Memory is an elusive thing. It stores episodes well, but misses out intervening passages of time. Some months must have passed before I was tempted to try again. With Nelson's help I was then more successful.

This episode took place in [my sister] Ann's bedroom, which doubled as playroom, Ann being out at the time.

...He brought his penis out, made it stand, and made me produce mine. He worked at it, and it also became erect,

What excitement and delight!

At once I wanted to bring Ann in on the new game. Nelson was more cautious, recalling that she 'will only tell Mum'.

Ann did not tell Mum, however. She enjoyed the game too much. I introduced the idea rather carefully, when we were both getting dressed one Saturday morning and running between each other's bedrooms. Producing the mystery object from my pyjamas, I held it in my hand and invited her inspection; it gave her the traditional pleasure females derive from the sight.

We persevered. Soon it would stir and rise at her touch. The idea of rubbing it came naturally to her.
...

Nelson and I now held regular wanking sessions. Soon we took it as a matter of course that Ann should be present. She insisted on being present, threatening to make a fuss if we would not have her - for I had not long been able to resist telling her that Nelson had an even bigger one than I.

At first she was content to watch. Later she began to insist on doing it to one or other of us. We had to admit that this was more enjoyable than doing it to ourselves.

She also did it to us both at the same time, a penis in both hands, but this seemed rather clumsy. Although it was scarcely true to say that we looked on what we were doing as wrong, we certainly took good care that our parents did not discover us at it.

Ann had a nasty school friend called Rosemary. She asked us once if Rosemary could attend a session - 'not touching, just looking' - but Nelson and I refused; we disliked Rosemary. Nelson told Ann that some boys looked different because they had skin over the ends of their cocks; there were boys at school like that. She begged Nelson to bring someone of that kind home, so that she 'could have a go with it'. Nelson told me later that he had approached a boy he knew and suggested it, but the boy refused.

This ur-sex with our sister was entirely a one-way transaction. We took it for granted that she had no instrument, and there was an end to it; she seemed to labour under the same delusion. Neither Nelson nor I, to my recollection, ever tried to examine her crack, although we both had enough knowledge by then to grasp that that crack represented a decided presence and not just an absence. But we weren't interested.

No doubt our own little cocks seemed far more fascinating than anything Ann could offer, for at this age we were passing through a proto-homosexual phase often noticeable in the boys. But I believe there was something more to it than that: the question of personality entered, personality of which sex is only a part. Children respond instinctively to each other's characters, often in a way baffling to adults, who will cry plaintively, 'But Jimmy's such a nice little boy, dear!', or 'I do wish you could find a better playmate than Freddie!', in their inability to see the real nature of Jimmy and Freddie.

For all the frequent sex-play between Nelson, Ann, and me, our relationships were in fact formal and carefully guarded beyond a certain limit - unlike the relationship between Hilda and me; Hilda and I loved each other, as far as our immature personalities were capable of it; we were intimates.

Hilda apart (and by now she was well on her way to plumpness and her new school manners), sex in those days had little to do with love or affection; curiosity was the basis of it.

Roaming through the fields with a couple of my pals one day, and stopping for a pee, I saw that one of them had the other kind of prick, with skin. When we were alone I asked him to let me have a look at it.

He brought it out willingly. It seemed a very strange object, somewhat long and pale, with the skin coming over the red knob and ending pink and pursed almost like the bud of a small flower. He let me finger it. I rubbed it a bit for him, nothing happened. I believe I asked him if it would open and he said no.

That time of life is a curious mixture of knowingness and complete ignorance. In the summer term I played in the school cricket team, and gained a reputation as a fast bowler. We were all sitting behind the pavilion, smoking - sharing two fags between the group of us - when one of the bigger boys, Peter Adamson, a good bat, told us that he knew where babies came from. The Adamsons' maid had told him. He said that they came from ladies' cracks and that, before they came out, pricks had to be stuck up the crack.

The notion struck us as both repulsive and unlikely. Peter insisted that the maid had shown him how was done, demonstrating with a finger up her own crack.

Infuriated by his persistence in such a lie - such a disturbing lie! - we seized him and beat him on the behind with his own bat!

Peter's preposterous tale lingered in my mind. So did my interest in uncircumcised penises. When a big plump boy called William offered to show me his, I was eager. William, by his own account, 'flapped himself', as he called it, every night. His penis felt pulpy and peculiar, and was covered by a very thick skin, which I touched. It became erect in my grasp and he let me draw the skin back, to reveal his glistening knob brightly coloured. I wanked him for some while until he shuddered and groaned and gasped and cried 'Faster!' to me.

That was exciting. Although I did not greatly like William, his home was fairly near ours, and so we returned from school in the same direction. Just out of our way stood an old semi-derelict farm which the farmer had half-converted into a filling station. One of those gaunt old petrol pumps of the thirties stood there, and old broken cars, and a shiny metal sign advertising 'Pratt's High Test' - a brand of petrol. William got me into the back of these premises through a hole in the hedge, and we there investigated each other.

I did not much like his holding my penis. But I had the notion, before his grew too large, of inserting my knob under his foreskin. In this unusual position we proceeded to wank ourselves off. It excited me as much as it did William. Eventually he broke loose, rubbing himself briskly and crying 'Here it comes!' I was mystified, and not unmoved, by my first glimpse of anyone undergoing orgasm.

No sense existed then of urgency, or of the need to follow up one thing with another, such as one feels as an adult. The phenomena of life were isolated. There were so many phenomena; it had to be left to chance to see which connected to which.

For all that, my interest in sex was growing. I confided in neither Nelson nor Ann about my activities with William, perhaps because they disturbed me too much. It was the contortions he went into, as well as the mystery of that extra piece of skin. He rubbed me also, on two occasions - enjoyable for me, but he was annoyed that 'nothing happened' to me, and after the second occasion I would not let him do it again, though I continued to manipulate his foreskin whenever the idea entered our heads. Each time he went shuddering off into climaxes I could not understand.

If this sounds inconclusive it was inconclusive in a deeper sense. I knew from my limited experience that sex pleasurable; I could not know that it was more pleasurable than I had experienced. Of orgasms, I comprehended nothing. William's pleasurable writhings had no meaning; perhaps I regarded them as a kind of affectation on his part, a facet of his rather unpleasing character.

This record is predominantly sexual in its emphasis. In life, and more especially in my childhood, it was not so. This truth, while it affects every page, cannot be repeated on every page.

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