Pajeros somos todos

In what other place would I post this if it wasn't Poringa! Well, I hope someone takes the time to read. We know that everyone comes here to jerk off and not to read, but I'm betting a couple of you (among the millions who enter) will make it to the end. It was so much fun writing this and I had an incredible response from readers. Here it is, I hope they enjoy it.Poor Boys are all of usI'm going to talk about the curita without any intention of doing good. What's correct has been rotting me and it's time to talk about important things. Masturbation is a taboo topic. It's barely spoken about, and conversations are reserved for the strict confidentiality of deep friendships. And sometimes not even that. When prejudices relax and conversation flows, interesting climates of description emerge on the subject, smiles appear, and one allows public matters to be taken into private ones. We live tied to not saying. Not just with masturbation but also with other personal areas like sex, hygiene, almost all activities performed in the bathroom: from how to wash it to the noise we make when we poop, to fears, frustrations, relationships with the same-sex or family violence. Thousands of things. I don't want to go off on a tangent, I'm going straight to the root.The DiscoveryWhen I was in fifth grade (or sixth) (I would be 10 years old, maybe 11) I heard about masturbation for the first time. We were at recess. All the boys were running around the patio, wearing white aprons. In a circle of several boys, Luciano Rivilli bragged about masturbation. I think he was saying you have to grab it like this and do that. No need to explain his hand gestures. At that time, I didn't understand anything and continued not to understand for a long time.

It's supposed that men start ejaculating from 11 years old, more or less. I didn't investigate in any medical site or Google or Wikipedia. This is learned knowledge. At an age where we are still children, immature and highly awkward, the body is already ready for action. I was 11 years old and looked at my dick with distrust: to me that only served to pee. I didn't even clean it because I didn't care. But slowly came the interest in knowing what all this fuss about masturbation was.

We were 12 years old. The seventh grade, the apron, primary friendships, hiding, Playmobil, and a series of carefree things from that age. We started to leave childhood behind (very slowly) without leaving it yet. I think it was hot. Gordo, Chucho, and I were at home, alone and drunk. Gordo bragged, telling us he came. We asked him how it was. You start doing masturbation and after a while you feel a tingling; then it gets stronger and then it comes out, probably said Gordo. We didn't believe him. He swore it was true, that he had done it with his cousins and if we didn't believe him...

So we decided to see how it was. Effectively: the fat guy did masturbation and after a little while (the arrive is not a term we used at that time. We used the come) a small stream of cum came out of his dick. masturbating. Chucho and I agreed, we congratulated each other, and we confessed to each other that if that was the masturbation then neither of us had ever done it and none of us had yet come. From that day on we decided to get to know the masturbation, to do it every time it felt like it until we came.

“Do you come?” Chucho asked me a few weeks (or months) later. “No, I don't think so”. We exchanged doubts, considerations, and ways. We were twelve years old and nothing was happening. I remember sitting on the toilet, giving my little white and hairless dick a hard and equal time, suddenly feeling an unprecedented tingling sensation and letting go. It was something unique and indescribable. I was scared. Later I learned that after the tingling came the cum, but the cum didn't come.

At twelve years old, without knowing it, I took one of the most unfortunate decisions of my life. By fool, by disinterested, by pure ignorance, I decided to go to the same secondary school as Gordo. I had no idea what it was about, how it was, or how many hours of schooling it had, nothing. I followed Gordo and Chucho followed me. We had to take an exam to get in and we prepared with a very old woman, Elina, who was a real slut. She made us cry if we did the exercises wrong. As revenge, we would pee on her lip pencils that were in the bathroom (that was Gordo's idea).

The day of the exam arrived and miraculously I got in. I still didn't know what I was getting myself into. The first day of classes I learned that the school was a technical one for men only, with priests and double schooling. Not only that: it was located at the bottom of hell. I would have to get up early every morning to find transportation and recruit guys to take them to Alcatraz, a place where nobody could escape. Why am I telling all this? Because those were furious, traumatic, and loaded with cum years. the subjects. And besides, I was still not coming out. This couldn't be revealed to the rest of the guys in the class then I lied. When I got home I would sit on the toilet and give myself a good beating. I swore by all the gods that if I ever came out even though it was just three drops of cum I would stop masturbating. I was worried, naturally. This wasn't something you could talk to anyone about. Little by little the idea of Christian guilt was getting into my body. Priests made you feel guilty about everything. It was obligatory to confess at least once a month. Then we all went and told the old guys in robes how many times we had snot, how much money we stole, how loud we cursed, how often we disrespected our parents and also how often we masturbated. Obviously we didn't tell them because they asked. No, it was much more painful. When you finished telling your sins the old guys would look at you and ask with a subtle voice and how are we doing with masturbation? You have to remember that masturbating is a sin. And I'd say well yes, last week I did it once (lie, stupid priest, I was masturbating every day). Then they'd lecture me on how bad it was to give yourself pleasure at twelve years old. They'd tell you to pray the Our Father and forget about it. The problem is that I was a scared kid, susceptible to everything these old pedophiles told me, so I felt bad, anxious about everything, even about masturbating.

Clearly my promise to limit masturbation was broken. At some point I started coming out again and I told myself I had to keep going until the process consolidated... to make sure there wasn't anything strange in me.

Masturbation at early ages is something wonderful. It was the perfect union between the boy who still was, and the man starting to emerge. It was an explosion of imagination. You'd masturbate with The force of your thoughts, you'd get hot with the math teacher, with your sister's friends, with a friend's mom or with a photo from Gente magazine. And if that wasn't enough, well, you needed to see a woman in balls, any way it was. Juanca kept some cutie calendars in balls in a nylon bag with two elastic bands on the roof, behind the tank, covered with a piece of brick. The gang would organize to go look for a ball we dropped on the roof, man, and we'd pass around the calendars from Gomería Claudio or Taller Mecánico Sánchez. In those worn-out cardboard squares I could see a tit, some hair and what day my birthday fell on in '89 or '93. It was abuse. But once you tasted the honey, you wanted more... and we went for more. With Chucho, Juanca and Gordo, we put together a collection of important magazines. Since we were still guys, we kept them in a shack. We had twelve or thirteen years old and would send Juanca to buy because he was the tallest of the three (?). We'd pool our money, sit on the front sidewalk and observe the situation. Generally there was a high rebound coefficient, but one out of every five chicks didn't care about legality, saw us and sold us the magazine, not without giving us something extra: a newspaper, an auto racing magazine or a Pato Donald comic strip. The library got lost after the fire. Some guys from another neighborhood burned down our shack under the tree and when the firefighters came they took all our bibliography away.Consolidation and new horizonsThere is an age at which the opposite sex becomes present. Let's say from 14 onwards many consider seriously the possibility of kissing a cutie, putting their hand under their clothes and even screwing. But we're talking about masturbation here, not sex, and I was (still) closer to hiding and Playmobil at 14 than touching a girl's elbow.

At this stage in my life, I continued to masturbate with some regularity: almost every day. We were still reading magazines. Each time we handled the quality of them better. We knew that in Playboy no one was screwing, they were all productions of photos where you only showed good tits and good booties. Much journalistic note, many letters, few cuties. At this height, we had no interest in reading a note about anything other than football. Penthouse was more or less the same vibe. Then there were others that were more explicit, where everything came out! Even comics porn appeared! Among the guys, there was no consensus, some liked it more explicit, others not so much.

Flipping through magazines was something fantastic. You still had to use your imagination. There you had a beautiful blonde in front of you, with high boobs, and all you had to do was close your eyes and find yourself somewhere in the movie. It was sneaky, but there are always new horizons.

I remember that once, after primary school, a friend, Nicolás Farías, invited us to his house. He told us that his older brother (an endless source of historical pornography) had some videos. So we all settled down, put the VHS on, and it got dark. A fat guy with hair on his back was putting it to a black woman with big breasts. I think it was the first time I saw a porn video. Nicolás (who was already knowledgeable about these things because of having an older brother) threw something with adolescent superiority that's a French one, when the guy put his thing between the two tits of the black woman. Ah, yes, we said. I didn't understand what... God, I had to see France with all that stuff. Those were years of Menemism, strong changes in life, society, everywhere. Before we would spend the whole day messing around on the street. There was nothing on TV by air. The same three channels always and TVs that didn't work well. But, as I said, everything was changing, and one great day came cable TV and another fantastic day came Venus.

I think the JVC in the kitchen was the best TV I had in my life. Before the encoded ones were very tricky. You'd go to channel 99 and see waves moving all around. Some waves of any color that sometimes adjusted and you could see the shine of two bodies having sex. Old and faithful TVs like mine had a lot of knobs to tune in the channels correctly. Then it was just a matter of being patient and learning the subtle movements to tune in the channel. Sometimes you'd get to see everything in black and white, or blue and green, or with just a couple of cuts.

The encoded one started at midnight. I would wait for everyone to go to sleep and get up. It's incredible to remember the nervousness, the stealthy movements. I always followed the same method: I'd serve myself a glass of water and leave it on the table, then take something, anything from the cabinet below the TV in case someone appeared unexpectedly and I had to improvise something like I got up to get... this adapter. Masturbation was worth double for the effort and risk indices.

It was 1995. River was champion of everything, Diego's legs had been cut off a few months earlier, a pound was a dollar, I had known Brazil for the first time in my life, I had more than two pairs of shoes and Amigos was the series for kids/teens at the moment. At school, thanks to a Minister of Education, I skipped from first to third year. And I was really doing badly. I was carrying all my subjects. My old woman cried when she brought the notebook, didn't understand how 'such a smart boy can have such bad grades'. I understood: I had no single gram of willpower for anything. All I cared about was soccer. And soccer arrived at home with all its joys.

The official story says that when they offered the encoded football, in the same package came CNN in English and Venus, and it was even cheaper to accept all channels and not just the encoded football. Years later I realized: pure scam. My old man is a man and as a man should do masturbation. Then the package with the key arrived at home.

The thing is that Venus had a code. The Multicanal salesman came by, connected the decoder, and explained to my parents how to set the code. It didn't take me long to discover the code and access unlimited pornography on Venus. I grew up watching pornography. And it was fabulous.

The procedure was the same: getting up after 12 and turning it on. The only difference now was that I didn't have to tune in anything. It was addictive. A boy of 14, 15 years old, with the key to happiness within his reach and his cock. The best thing that could happen to me was for my parents to leave somewhere, for my sister to disappear, and for me to have the whole house to go a little further: turn up the volume and listen. Because that was the other variable I couldn't always concretize, the sound. It had to be all in strict silence.

From 14 to approximately 20 years old, I had the best Sunday afternoons with encoded football and the best nights of any day of the week with Venus. Except for Tuesdays, when I detected with shock that the first movie, which ran from 12 to 2 am, was gay cinema. No, two guys sucking each other, no.A new shine on the screensIt seemed like after Venus there was nothing more, that was the ceiling, but no. The nineties were dying and one day I looked up and saw the sky. There was something more and it was called internet.

The beginnings were timid and insecure like with all new technologies. Internet was something different that escaped structured reasoning. How was this navigating? Or so if I clicked here and waited 60 seconds, a page would open? All that and more. The first internet was a potato, connected to the phone and expensive. One would give the double click on connect, strange noises would start, and if you were lucky, it would connect. New words like mail, proxy, server incorporated into everyday vocabulary.

If the origins of internet had an educational spirit, well, the geniuses of pornography were going to give it a twist and turn the network into the most impressive business of the last decades. With time, porn became part of internet and today there is no page you enter where a tempting tit won't appear eventually.

But let's go back to the beginnings. With internet at my disposal, I started conducting my first researches. As I was (and am) a cheese in informatics and everything was very new and potentially dangerous, I didn't dare to go too far. I was afraid of breaking the machine, having to call the technician, having the guy say yes, here's the problem, someone downloaded content from this page (chicasenbolas.com... put it there) and that generated a problem in the board bla bla, and it's a typical virus bla bla, and I would have to go through the humiliation of breaking a computer for looking for a tit on a screen instead of a real one. But, as I said earlier, we're not talking about sex here, we're talking about masturbation.

In the early days, you had to pay to see almost anything. Nobody knew anything about internet, democratizing the space was still far away, so one wouldn't it could go too far without a sign offering you for just U$$9.99 the last video of a blonde who would never culiar in my dreams. They asked for credit card numbers and promised discretion. Once, only once, I found myself looking at the credit card numbers of my old man. I raised my head and looked at the screen (the blonde or brunette, it was the same), lowered my head and looked at the card, screen, card, screen, card, teta, card, ass, card, rubia and brunette together, card. It was too risky. Anyway, I think I stopped and ended up masturbating.

Those were transitional times, with masturbation, technology, the country, and my life. The year 2000 had started, and some people predicted that the world would collapse. Well, it wasn't like that, but in 2001 Racing won the championship, and many say that was the reason Argentina exploded, there were five presidents, looting, death, poverty, and so many other painful things. In that context, I managed to see a cheap and free porn video for the first time in my life. I accessed Pamela Anderson's famous video with Tomy Lee. I must have seen it 500 times. The Anderson was very good, the other son of a slut had a giant cock, and between them they made a 30-minute masterpiece (edited) where they were fucking in all ways. When it came out, there was a media scandal. It didn't take long for the blonde lifeguard and Mötley Crüe's drummer to decide to commercialize the video and get rich off of it. The complete tape lasts about an hour and can be found on various pages for curious people. Pamela Anderson was running all the time to save someone in Baywatch, and you saw those two plastic tits moving everywhere; the video suppressed imagination and showed everything just as it was, or impressive. Then everything seemed like a joke because years later another video came out In the one where the blonde gets herself into another rocker, Bret Michaels, vocalist of the 80s band Poison. But it didn't have as much impact as the first (some say it was because Michaels wasn't that big). Words more or less (Los Rodríguez), the internet opened up an unlimited field for pornography, which is the same as saying it opened up an interminable horizon for masturbation. Then came better times because users realized how things worked, then they rolled up their sleeves and got to work. Not only could companies have pages, now anyone could generate a space. Just like Hotmail was born as an email option (remember that in the early days you had to pay for mail service), later came YouTube, the first chat portals, search engines like Google, blogs, photologs, Messenger, Taringa, Facebook, Twitter, and countless other things I still don't understand what they consist of; and amidst all that revolution, infinite porn pages were born, made by common, ordinary, and horny guys like you, like me, and almost everyone. Poringa is a site, a forum, a portal, a page derived from Taringa. Just as YouTube had to divert inapt videos to its parallel page (YouPorn), the same happened with T! since they couldn't control the influx of inapt videos, the guys decided to create Poringa, a space where millions of guys and cuties (yes, there are also cuties) exchange videos, photos, links, texts (yes, there are also texts), knowledge (yes, there is also knowledge), experiences, and opinions about sex. Masturbation is no longer the same. From those distant times, sitting on a toilet, exploiting my imagination to see as much as possible, closing my eyes, a breast, a butt, until today, when with one click and ten minutes of solitude, you have everything, everything. The bad side of the coin is what's already descripto: the cancellation of imagination. No longer do you need to place an image in your head, now the image does it for you, and that, I think, is not so good. This world advances, technologies also, and masturbation adapts to new challenges.

And I go back to where I started: masturbation is a taboo topic. Because of idiots or come hosts or repressed people, we struggle to talk about it, and I'm only touching on half the issue, because female masturbation remains an impossible topic to discuss.

Trying to follow logical reasoning, someone who masturbates is called a masturbator with the intention of insulting or humiliating them. Masturbator as opposite to the one who fucks, the one who gets it up. That's where the error lies, that's where the censoring mechanisms, prejudices and idiots act: the one who gets it up, the one who cums, is still a masturbator. Every man does himself, so every man is a masturbator. The time it takes to come is directly proportional to masturbation. It only consists of giving yourself some pleasure in a world that makes us pay for everything. Masturbation is free and we should celebrate it in all possible ways.

Amen.