I've always been fascinated by people's stories of how and when they first shot off. I guess our own personal history makes us curious about different things. Sometimes I'm unfair and label others as reticent if they say they can't remember but I suppose some just drift through that stage without anything exciting or traumatic happening to them.


There's a back story to this tale: a long time ago my best friend showed me his cock - he'd been waving it around at school to make the girls scream - and thought I might like to see it too. Needless to say the next time we found ourselves in his bedroom we had a game of show-and-tell. I'm not going to say what age we were but just that it was completely innocent in a don't-tell-parents kind of way.


Anyway his cock had this bit of moveable skin on the end that I found mesmerising. Until he'd shown me his foreskin it had never occurred to me that they could be retracted. He had a brief tug at mine and when I said it hurt when he pulled at it made a face and told me mine was 'wrong'.


I've since discovered what I had was a phimotic ring around the tip, and it was this tight band that kept my head completely covered.


So that afternoon, cock packed back in trousers, I was sent off to make sure it 'worked like his'. In the bath that evening I devised a method to keep the skin supple with soap, and stretched. As I lay in the water with my little hardon poking up like a submarine periscope I began to rub the bar of soap between my hands until they were covered with lather and then transferred it over to my shaft and head. Then I proceeded to rub the skin covering the glans and tug away at the slight overhang I had.


Well, like the building of Rome this took more than a few days... Or weeks... Or months... Over time I got the foreskin tip father back over my head, marvelling at the reddish purple globe inside. I stopped using the lather as a proxy and started rubbing my soaped shaft and covered head between my hands like a stick, loosening up the skin. (I guess this is why the raphe on my shaft isn't a straight line but twists a bit). I liked the sensation the rubbing caused: it made my legs feel tingly and wobbly.


By this time my legs were beginning to get hairy and had a nice patch of pubes I was proud of. I'd moved on from just playing with my foreskin to attempting to rub the bare glans itself. With my skin peeled back I'd soap up the head then place it between my palms for a rub. It didn't occur to me to fist the shaft as most guys do - as far as I was aware the most intense feeling was in the purple nob at the top.


Each time I did this my legs would start to shake and I'd back down and stop. But backing down didn't do anything to fix this intense excitement I felt, it just left me in the cold water with a slight sense of dissapointment and frustration.


Finally one night I geared up and once my legs began to feel wobbly I sped up my rubbing. I felt a sense of urgency rising up. My cock head was dark purple by this stage and felt very very sensitive.


Suddenly this thick white rope arched out of the slit at the end and fell onto my stomach and pubes. The feeling was indescribable. I just lay there in the water for a second or two bathing in the glow of my first successful wank.


Then of course the horror set in. I'd no idea what masturbation was let alone spunk. My brain grasped to make a whole picture of the jigsaw and I surmised I'd burst an internal vessel and bled white blud cells or something similar. I even contemplated how I could get the juice back inside and hide the evidence before the ambulance arrived to carry me to A&E.


I was so traumatised by that event I waited a whole three days before testing my cock again to see if I could repeat the exercise. Only later did I figure out what had happened.


So there you have it. I must have been 13/4 and pretty backwards when it came to cocks and sex. I envy those who started earlier and had all the joys of dry cums.