A few weeks back, I promised to tell a story I confessed to in my “Mayan Confessions” column, were we all to survive their forecasted doomsday. Having done so, and being a man of my word (which is usually “fuck”), it’s time to own up to my end of the bargain.

Due to length, which is something I’ve NEVER had to say, I’ve broken it down into 2-columns, which conveniently becomes one of those slick writer’s tricks of luring you back tomorrow as well. Sit back and dive further into my world with a tale of my nose, an aunt and a pair of dirty underwear.

When I was fifteen years old, my favorite uncle invited me down to Texas to spend the summer with him. My older sister had decided, after years of no contact, to go and visit my real dad in Kansas that summer and had pressured my little brother into going also. This was not done as some grand gesture of forgiveness, but rather to try and hurt my Ma and see if the grass was greener. She was sixteen years old and, between normal female hormones and the fact that she was a raging bitch at the time anyway, she and Ma were not seeing eye-to-eye most of the time. Cue “run to daddy”.

Moving on, I had still not forgiven my father for his actions years before and was going to be the only kid at home that summer. While that would’ve been fucking peachy-keen with me, I jumped at the chance to go see my uncle in Texas. Due to the miles, we did not see much of each other but my uncle had become a father figure to me over the years and I really admired and looked up to him. He helped out quite a bit through the divorce years and we kids even lived with him for a spell after an “occurrence” with our parents. He would always lend me advice, and an ear, and this continued into my adulthood.

My uncle’s family consisted of his wife, my aunt, and two cousins, a boy and a girl. My female cousin was around nine that summer and the male was around six or seven. Aside from getting to hang out in Texas all summer, I also got paid to babysit them at various times, giving me some spending cash, which was cool.

Before we get to the main topic, I’ll give a little explanation of where I was in mind and body as a 15-year old boy. While I had always chased girls, about halfway between twelve and thirteen, I discovered the joys of what the little critter below my waist was capable of, at least in my hands. And by the time I was fifteen, masturbation was a critical part of my everyday activities.

It started out simply enough. I found these old books Pop would hide in a box in the basement and began reading them. These were straight up fuck-story books or books of “shit that never really happened” letters from lonely dick-wads locked away in a hole somewhere in Backward Fuck Square, USA. Like I said, I was around twelve at the time and quickly realized what reading these books did for my nether regions. At first, it would just be raging boners (great word) that were almost painful and fighting to pop out of my much too short Adidas shorts.

Even after reading, I’d find myself at different points of the day visualizing what I had read and once again trying to fight off my adolescent soldier at attention. This is also when I first experienced “blue balls” or “grape nuts”. Whatever you want to call them, gentlemen, you know exactly what I’m talking about. And ladies, they are entirely real and not just an excuse for you to finish us off, though we definitely learned to use it for that. This is a swelling of your little fella’s when you’ve reached a certain level of sexual excitement, but not come to a completion, if you will.

I spent weeks getting myself to this painful point, with no relief, but still kept flipping the pages, always wanting more. At some point, I discovered that cupping my hand and rubbing my crotch through my pants, while reading, eased the tension somewhat. This became part of my normal routine.

On a side note, when I say “normal”, I mean FUCKING NORMAL. Don’t let the guys you know try and tell you that I’m some sort of freak and that them or nobody they knew ever engaged in such behavior, ‘cause that is pure, unadulterated bullshit. Men are strange with masturbation. We deny it for fucking years through junior and high school and then, sometime in our twenties, we suddenly admit to and now spend the rest of our lives practically bragging about it…or at least 41-years worth, I can tell you that much.

Anyway, like I said, young boys rub and yank their crank just like young girls realize that when they rub up against certain shit, it doesn’t feel half-bad. It’s human nature and if this makes you uneasy, get over your fucking self.

Well now that I’ve convinced you of how normal my activity was, I’ll get into the abnormal part. I enjoyed this new activity so much that I would sneak off into the basement up to 3 or 4-times a day to be alone with myself. It was romantic really, cozy into a chair, open a nice book and BOOM-I’d be all over myself! The passion and attraction was undeniable!

I would run home from the bus stop while my sister walked with her friends, just so I could have a few minutes to myself before she got there, or Pop arrived home from work. Any spare moment was jerk-time my friends. I would literally wear rug burns, if you will, onto my poor little shaft from so much fabric-to-skin friction. It was the first of my addictions in life and yes, my name is KMFP and I was a spank-aholic, the first step IS admitting it.

Sleep on that; see you tomorrow for the big finish…KMFP-out!

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