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Subject: Discovering Betty Dodson (1/1)
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Discovering Betty Dodson
My mother's friend Peggy lived in a house near town with her two young
sons, both of whom were still too small to do many chores around the
place. It followed that I would be offered up from time to time by my
mother to complete various tasks around her friend's home.
One such Sunday when I was about eighteen or nineteen, I worked
on the upstairs landing of Peggy's house, painting the door frames
with white acrylic latex. It was rather boring work, and my eyes
frequently lit upon the spines of the books arrayed on the many
shelves opposite the railing. Besides the inevetable [and
eye-catching] blue-and-white "Catch-22," there were assorted novels,
old college textbooks, and other such.
One book--really looking more like a pamphlet, with a stapled
spine and no title showing--caught my eye after a time, and eventually
I wandered over to pull it out and read the title, more out of a need
for closure than curiousity.
It was lettered in freehand script, a little hard to make out,
but there was no mistake: "Liberating Masturbation: a Meditation on
Self Love." I could hardly believe my eyes. Could there be such a
book?
My hands almost trembled as I opened the book, wondering at the
contents. I had completely forgotten about my task, the paint fumes
that filled my nostrils powerless to remind I was supposed to be
working.
It was somewhat difficult reading, as it was set in handwritten
script, clearly published by the author [the wonderful and inimitable
Betty Dodson, the irrepressible "Mother of Masturbation"], and
illustrated with her drawings.
I hurried through the text, trying to glean what I could of its
content as I felt myself getting hard. The book described a workshop
which Betty held in which a group of women sat around nude and
exchanged stories about their sex lives and then masturbated together!
The mere idea set my head spinning. I had never participated in
circle jerks, but I had experienced vague longings for such contact.
I'm not sure it was out of homoerotic desire [though such things can
certainly encroach on a straight young man's thoughts at that age] as
much as out of a desire to come out of the closet, to throw light on
the dirty little secret that nearly everyone shares but no one speaks
of. A pang of envy at the free and open feeling of Betty's
masturbation rituals mixed with the heightening arousal I felt,
attested to by a throbbing erection.
The author had illustrated the book with a few pen-and-ink
drawings, some of which were close-up views of women's cunts. In the
early 1970's, most women still grew up thinking that their cunts were
ugly or dirty, and a lot of Dodson's workshop dealt with women
becoming more comfortable with their bodies. But it was the mental
image of a circle of women all masturbating together, arousing
themselves with the sight and sounds of other women beating off, was
just too much. Hardly aware of what I was doing, I reached down to my
pants and sent them sliding down to my knees.
With the book still in hand, I stroked myself. I could hear
Peggy in the kitchen downstairs; just a few steps would bring her into
the living room and expose me succumbing to my need for release. All
that existed for me was my cock and the picture in my head of those
women banging themselves. A little further in the book were a few
sketches of nude women riding their vibrators, and it was all I could
take. I stood on the upstairs landing, with my mother's friend
scrubbing away at the kitchen floor, and pumped my eager young rod.
There was to be no teasing and savoring of the sensations of this
session of Onanism; I pumped quickly, working my was to my climax.
It was only as I felt my balls tighten as they prepared to unload that
I realized I needed to figure out where this load of spunk was to go;
one hand held the book, the other was committed to the stroking action
on my member. As my knees buckled and my strokes turned short and
rapid, all I could think was, "Not on the rug, stupid." I turned and
aimed my cock at the shelves beside me and squirted my come into a
white puddle on the varnished pine, oozing slowly toward the edge of
the shelf. A few drops oozed out with the lingering pulses of my
climax to be caught in my stroking fingers.
I should have cleaned it all up right away, of course, rather
than standing there with a book in one hand and my slippery cock in
the other, but there was no way to get past the post-orgasm stupor
which filled my brain with cotton as I slowly stroked myself into
softness. I stood there, knees weak and listening to the squelching
of my spunk through my fingers, the urgency of my need for release
smothered under the cloak of satiation.
Of course, I was still standing in a hallway with my cock in my
hand and a load of jism on the shelf in front of me, and as the white
cream started to drip off the shelf I shook myself out of my
afterglow and put the book down. I nipped off into the bathroom to
get something with which to wipe off my semen from my hands and from
the furniture and heard Peggy coming up the steps, doubtless to check
on my progess. By the time her head peeked up over the stairs I had
managed to frantically stuff my sticky member into my pants but I had
to leave my fly undone in order get my hands away from my groin.
There I stood, blood draining from my face, semen drying on my
hand, fly unbuttoned, willing Peggy not to look down and spot her copy
of Liberating Masturbation and a pool of warm spunk on her bookshelf.
Of course she spotted it right away, her eyes drawn to the sight of
that liquid next to the small paperback. Though her expression showed
that she saw the mute evidence of my Onanistic interlude and was able
to draw the correct conclusion, she said nothing, just went into her
room and came out a moment later with her dirty laundry. Of course I
had darted back into the bathroom for a handful of tissues and had
wiped up the residue of my pleasure while she collected the clothes in
her hamper. Thereafter she seemed sometimes to look at me in a funny
way after all I had jerked off on her bookshelves but not a word was
ever said.
I went through the rest of the day in a sort of daze induced by
the adrenaline jolt of my near-discovery. Peggy's matter-of-fact
reaction to catching me masturbating or at least apres-onanisme, if
you will was another step on the road to my own liberation of
masturbation.
After all, there was no harangue or condemnation of my indulgence
in this harmless,simple act though by rights she might well have
questioned my judgement (to say nothing of my manners) as to my choice
of time and place none of the horror and repulsion which I had always
expected to accompany the moment of discovery.
Of course, it doesn't take any great insight to understand why
she elected to give my masturbatory moment the go-by; Peggy was a
masturbationist herself, as the presence of the book attested. It
would have been sheerest hypocrisy to berate me for an activity in
which she herself indulged.
It is a measure of how nonplussed the moment left me that it was
only when I was safely in bed that night that I first thought through
the fact that the book implied that Peggy who was still quite
attractive—also masturbated. That night I substituted her for the
women in Betty Dodson's illustrations and imagined what she looked
like nude and vibrating herself to orgasm. The mental image of
someone I knew beating off sent me into an orgy of autoeroticism, and
I came again and again that night, soaking my sheets with cum.
Thus my fascination with the subject of masturbation was firmly
entrenched in my consiousness, female autoeroticism most of all. I
would read anything on the subject, and stories about masturbation in
places like Penthouse Forum always set me stroking. Betty Dodson and
her amazing groups became a minor preoccupation of mine, and I
eventually bought both of her subsequent books. Last I heard, she was
still at it, teaching women to be comfortable with their bodies and to
enjoy their sexuality. I even wrote a couple of "fan letters" and she
was kind enough to answer them. That's the extent of my experience
with her, though I harbor a hope of meeting her someday.
Did you like this adult story?? Find many more masturbation and first
time stories and hundreds of other types for free at
http://members.tripod.com/~foru/stories.htm
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