About My Sex Problem

Hello from a guy somewhere in America. Is that being too coy? Frankly, specifics might get in the way of what I have to tell you and I want you to see yourself in what I write. Our families, jobs, hangups, fantasies, desires, turn-ons, mind games, and experiences will vary, but I think the reasons we get attracted and distracted, turned on and hung up all have a common base. I think we’re built from essentially the same master blueprint.

Still, it may be useful to give you an idea of how I started digging the hole I had to figure my way out of.

I was very, very modest when I was young. I think I feared my mid-section. It produced waste and otherwise only served to embarrass me. It wasn’t a problem, though. I didn’t imagine that clothing and suitable privacy for dressing and bathing would ever be an issue…until I learned early in the year I turned 11 that the kids in the next higher grade had a completely different arrangement for gym class: changing clothes and showering. Because the locker room also served as the restroom in the gym I’d been in many times, I knew what it meant: square room, no partitions, shower heads along the wall opposite the benches. So, I had a year to brood and worry about my certain future: boys gawking at my naked body, pointing and howling at my inevitable erection. I practiced a number of times with our newly installed shower in our basement at home, but going through the motions only served to prove that my penis was only comfortable with a bath…a private bath.

Advanced physical education was not at all what I’d expected—meaning I stayed soft. Yeah, I knew EVERYONE would be naked, but I was too self-aware to put myself in the other kids’ shoes [EDITOR: shoes...naked kids?]. As it turned out, nakedness created a sense of sameness and the time crunch meant there was no time to do anything but undress, rinse off, dry off, and dress. Nobody gave me any grief there—well, in comparison to the remainder of the school property. Perhaps it was also related to the common humiliation of baring all. Heck, it was like we were brothers in arms in the face of an unspeakable horror. Mind you, these over-dramatic observations are all in retrospect. Back in the day, I often had my gym bag covering the bump in my pants while I was walking toward the locker room, praying that God would make it look like I wasn’t least bit embarrassed to play show-and-tell once again.

I discovered masturbation on my own when I was twelve. I was making a wooden boat and I held it in my lap as I sanded it smooth. Let’s just say the orbital sander sent me into orbit. Of course, it wasn’t much of a leap to use my new knowledge to make bath time more fun. (No, silly, I didn’t use the sander in the tub). I’ve read so many stories of masturbation being learned from a helpful brother/friend/cousin or in conjunction with the discovery of dirty magazines under Dad’s bed, it pleases me to no end that for me the activity started naturally. Still, without guidance, my use of that guaranteed good time easily got warped into a problem.

I know some would like to blame the internet for their porn habit or point to graphic movies, TV, and music as generally eroding morals. I thank God that I was generally shielded before I became an adult. Still, the fact of the matter is that the problem of consuming sexual imagery, fantasizing obsessively, and masturbating compulsively predates modern media by thousands of years. I firmly believe that none of that is literally irresistible to you, me, or any other average, ordinary mortal.