Some of us are born more sexually experimental and curious than others. I do not, in the slightest, mean this in reference to sexuality preferences. Rather, what I am referring to, is the sexual curiosity that every child/prepubescent reaches at a certain point. We begin wondering what kissing is like, and what exactly “sleeping with” someone really means.
The more resourceful of us make-out with pillows, slobber over stuffed animals, or even the backs of our hands. Some of us discover the pleasures of masturbation at an early age. Others, not so much (Lord knows I didn’t). And some of us stop experimenting with inanimate objects sooner than others. A close friend of mine insists that making-out with the back of her arm greatly improves the quality of her fantasy, and therefore the orgasm to follow. (I am inclined to agree.)
Many of my prepubescent years were spent quietly holed up in my room, re-runs of “The Nanny” on repeat, whilst I mounted the giant stuffed Pooh Bear someone had given to me as a gift for my first holy communion. Coincidentally, this was also the period in which I began experimenting more heavily with makeup. Should it ever come up, Revlon’s Cadillac Red is not a good colour on a furry yellow snout. Poor Pooh Bear lost his little red shirt over me. I became a heart-breaker at an early age, because I quickly exchanged Pooh Bear for a body pillow more closely resembling a human being once I realized that I wasn’t actually into animals.
While Pooh rotted in a dark dusty corner of my walk in closet, I set my sights on a young science teacher by the name of Jason Kissell. He was the Jake Ryan to my Samantha Baker, The Sam Coulson to my Josie Grossie. Late at night, I would imagine him sneaking into my house to help me study for the “oral exam”, and I would ask him whether I was going to need any “extra credit”, or if I had passed, to which he would always respond, “with flying colors”. After a cheap porno dialogue (complete with innuendos about his ‘rocket ship’ being ready for ‘take-off’), we would passionately kiss. Naturally, he would always develop a hard-on, which I would pretend to be afraid of (even though I was super flattered that he found me attractive enough to pop one) and then he would (incorrectly) explain to me that it was nothing to be afraid of, and that I should just ‘ease into it’ as if it was retractable, like a Star Wars light saber toy (only without the cool light and sound effects). We would then cuddle for the remaining minutes until I fell asleep, his imaginary magical retractable dick nestled between my thighs. I was convinced that this counted as masturbation (and not complete and utter lunacy at all) so I would constantly pray for God’s forgiveness of my impure thoughts concerning Jason Kissell and the extra credit scandal.
I was discussing my early childhood attachment to inanimate objects with a friend, who said “I think I must be weird. I’ve never done that.”
I was shocked. “What?”
“I’ve never made out with stuffed animals.”
It then occurred to me that perhaps I was the odd one, and alarmed at the prospect, decided to probe further. “You’ve never even made out with a pillow?” I asked.
“Maybe I shouldn’t write this piece,” I said, “Maybe most people don’t tongue-fuck oversized stuffed bears. I mean, I don’t want to look like a total nut-job.”
He shrugged, “Well I mean, I used to make out with walls when I was younger, to figure out how tongue kisses would work.”
What a freak, I though. Who makes out with walls?
Further research only helped prove my point. Another (blatantly homosexual) friend confessed to having tongued his own reflection in the mirror. More interestingly though, upon asking, I received a story involving Alvin and the Chipmunks, and a personal back massager. A dear friend claims she had her first sexual experience at the barely walking/talking/functioning age of four. While listening to the high pitched crooning of the singing rodents, my friend moved the back massager over her dwarfish arms, legs, and head, giggling at its ticklish vibrations. Curiosity consumed her, and she placed the back massager between her criss-cross-applesauce legs. She decided, “hey, this feels pretty good,” and let the massager remain there for the duration of the movie. She claims remembering the feeling being as close to an orgasm as she can describe, and that for years afterward she still got a little hot at the sight of a particular red-capped chipmunk and his band of brothers.
If readers are contemplating the sanity of the people included in this article, probably they are lying to themselves about their own childhood curiosity. One other person was brave enough to admit that he used to remove all clothing from his male action figures and make them have sex while he touched himself. Which I think is kind of hot, actually.
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I also found that two of the very few heterosexuals I talk to at school admitted to watching the totally shit movie “American Pie II”, where a guy practices bra-removal by dressing a pillow in a bra, and repeatedly removing and re-dressing it. They both report being “bra-removal experts” due to this tactic. After beginning work on this article, I received an instant message from a totally warped cyber friend of mine who basically only messages me in search of cam sex, and always gets turned down. Before he had the chance to ask for my assistance, I decided to ask him a few questions of my own.
“Did you ever make out with pillows when you were younger?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, totally,” he answered, “plus I had this stuffed soccer ball I used to fuck, once I realized I could cum.”
“It had a hole in the side, and I put one and one together. I always felt guilty for violating that ball.”
“Oh, duh,” my mind was already reeling with inspiration, “Do you mind if I use this in my article?”
“Sure,” He responded, “I don’t care. You can even like, interview me about it, if you want.”
Obviously, I jumped at the opportunity.
So, who initially explained sex to you?
I don’t know. I think I figured it out by looking at Playboys. I got the concept, but I was surprised that the vagina wasn’t on the front of the women. I thought you could just walk up to a girl and stick your penis in her, like a hole in the wall, or something. Looking at playboys made me realize that it wasn’t so. My parents definitely never said anything. Probably just playground talk.
The visible hole thing would be handy, probably.
Yeah, but it would be a bitch for you guys to pee.
How old were you when you started masturbating?
I’d say around 10 or 11.
Early bloomer. What attracted you to the ball?
I wasn’t attracted to the ball! I just sort of stuck my finger in the hole one day while I was playing with it. It felt good. Kind of like soft cotton. Naturally the next thought in my head was to stick my penis in it. I would dry hump the ball.
I was (and am) a sick fuck apparently.
Actually I think that’s pretty inventive and resourceful.
Yeah I kind of agree. I remember being scared as hell that my mom would find my soccer ball, because I never pulled out.
Oh yeah, embarrassing. I’m sort of on the fence about fleshlights. (But stuffed soccer balls are totes original and therefore acceptable.) What is your opinion of them?
I wouldn’t use one. A fleshlight seems excessive to me. The soccer ball was innocent. I was discovering what an orgasm was, and what felt good. Now I know, and a fleshlight just seems dirty.
…And this is coming from a guy who would drive over and fuck you in the back of my car. I don’t mind dirty, but fleshlights just seem kind of pathetic dirty.
Lolz. You just fucked up my next question.
My bad. Go ahead.
Would you rather fuck the super hot ball? Or the [super hot] me?
You. Easy one.
I’m super flattered. Thanks for answering these questions.
…So can I see your tits now?
words Casey Fischer