We can learn many things from the chimps

From: subspecies23@aol.com (SubSpecies23)
Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Sun, Jun 24, 2001 1:36 AM

I found this at http://www.playtimestuff.com/afterdark/

Ever have one of those days? Your girl's giving you a load of shit
because suddenly you remind her of the father who never understood her. You've
got papers due and lectures to sit through. It's taking just about everything
you've got to keep that 2.0 going for another semester. Or maybe you just found
out some ass in the financial aid office misfiled one of the 88,000 necessary
forms, and now you have to get a job selling over-priced coffee at the local
food court, outside of the cinema bizillion-plex to a bunch of middle aged
suburbans who think they're socially in touch because they just saw the newest
Spike Lee movie on a screen the size of a postage stamp?
Well, Dr T (that's me) has got the cure for what ails ya. I'm talking
about the dynamic, systematic, not satanic, maybe manic, but never panic
surefire cure for every last pile of bullshit that the world wants to kick in
your face. I'm not talking about libations, penetrations, fornications,
proclamations or reclamations. I'm talking about 100% pure, uncut, USDA prime
MASTURBATION.
Sure we all do it, but do we embrace it? It's primal kiddies. I think
back to a young Dr T on his eighth grade Catholic School trip to Six Flags
Great Adventure in fabulous Jackson, New Jersey (the garden state). As the bus
load of little boys, girls, and of course nuns, rolled on through the Wild Life
Safari Park, we made that right turn and that's when it all became so clear to
me.
We were in the heart of Monkey Land when I saw my little furry cousins
doing what little Dr T had only done in the dark of night, snug deep under the
covers. They were right out in the open smacking their tiny little monkey wangs
for all the world to see. They didn't have the guilt I had to deal with in my
room. They had taken it to a whole new place, or maybe an old place. Whatever
the case, they were having a party. The nuns lost their minds. It was great.I
think the only true difference between man and monkey is the attitude towards
self-love. Take a look around any busy street. You'll see all the same patterns
you'll see in the jungle. Watch the young bucks posturing to show their power,
the street people competing for the scraps left by the hunters. It's all just
survival of the fittest. You'll see everything on the street you'll see on the
discovery channel. You just won't see anybody jerking off. Our primate brothers
on the other hand will get together on a tree limb, and whack their weasels in
festive moves that bring to mind the Temptations kicking out "Can't Get Next To
You." From the beginning we're force fed all the propaganda. Don't play with
that or you'll go blind. You'll get hair on your palms. It will stunt your
growth. You're a pervert, and if you had the benefit of being screwed up with a
Roman Catholic school education there's the ever popular "it's a sin" and
"you'll burn in hell for all eternity." I mean Christ, I was taught sex
education by a nun in grade school, and a priest in high school. It's a
testament to the human condition that I ever tried to get laid at all. Grade
school was co-ed, so the "sex lecture" which lasted about 30 minutes start to
finish was a complete freak show. On Monday the boys were sent to the library
as the little girls were addressed on the changes their bodies were going
through. On Tuesday the girls went to the library and Sister Fridgida, told the
little boys all about the evils of sex, with a quick how-to guide that made the
entire act sound like a final examine in advanced calculus. My secondary
sexual education experience was a little more entertaining. A priest who
obviously had questions about his own sexuality would say things like (and this
is absolutely true) "Sure, you may make $20.00, and some old man may get a
protein dinner but that doesn't make it right." He would also refer to the
"protein dinner" as Sammy Sperm'ÄPI was 13-years-old. This was fucked up on so
many different levels, especially when you consider the fact that this subject
came up on almost a daily basis, no matter what the lesson plan was for that
day. It was like, "Today we are going to discuss the Protestant Reformation,
and it's effect on young boys letting old perverts give them head for twenty
dollars. Tonight's homework assignment is to write a paper on Vatican Council
II and not to let old men blow you for money." Let's guess what was on his
mind. Sometime during the next year "Father Freaky's" roommate a 300+ pound
monster priest was arrested after being found on top of a young boy during a
monthly retreat.I was never asked to go on one of the "retreats" which I guess
on some level bothers me. It was bad enough being rejected by women at that
age, but then to realize that even sexually repressed pedophiles weren't
interested in me. I have to admit there is a bit of a sting there. Not that I
would have wanted anything to happen, but I had buddies that these guys used to
fight over. Man, this paragraph is going to a really weird place. I did have my
father's guidance. I remember my "sex talk" like it was only yesterday. Here is
the actual transcript:

Daddy T: Want a beer?
Little Dr T: Sure. (Something is up.)
Daddy T: Get me one too.
Little Dr T: Okay. (It's obvious he started way before I got here.)
Daddy T: Do you know about messin' around with girls?
Little Dr T: Yes. (Oh shit.)
Daddy T: Good. If your mother asks tell her I talked to you about it.

Is it possible to come out of an upbringing like this with any kind of normal
sexuality? Thank God I had the streets. I had my first sexual experience one
night on a loading dock. A game of Truth or Dare led to me receiving a hand job
from a skinny, ugly, breastless girl when I was 14. I believe that was the same
night I started doing my own laundry.Well actually that wasn't my first sexual
experience. The first was a few years earlier. I was probably ten, maybe
eleven. I was lying in bed one night, and kind of rubbed Mr. Happy a little
bit. It felt pretty good. I did it again, and again, and again, then a few more
times after that. Suddenly the love gun fired off a small warning shot before
the main blast. "Holy shit!! What the hell is that?" I sprung from my bed and
ran into the brightly lit bathroom. Something was wrong. I had no idea what
this stuff was. What did I do to myself? I spent the next week feeling guilty
and afraid, knowing full well that I had broken something inside my body, and
that death was inevitable. This is why I had always been told not to touch it.I
wouldn't dare say anything to anyone about this. How could I? They would know I
was a perverted freak. "Oh sweet Jesus, I'm sorry. Please don't let me die this
way." I thought maybe I should go to confession, but then I would have to tell
the priest, and he would most probably yell at me in disgust and ex-communicate
me from the church. How would I explain that? No, my fate was clear. I was to
die on my own. The only thing awaiting me would be a headstone that read, "Here
lies a pervert who played with himself and broke his insides."It was probably
months before I got over the guilt, and maybe a year before I understood the
act, and tried again. Once I started there was no stopping me. Hell, if there
was no one home, it wasn't unusual for me to go for the gold four or five times
a day. The only problem was that after every time I would feel this sickening
guilt. How could something that felt so good feel so wrong?It took years of
practice to refine the art and lose the guilt. I examined the wonders of
pornography, first with magazines that belonged to a friend's older brother.
Then by spending hours playing with the fine tuner on an old console
television, just so I could maybe see some breasts on a broadcasted, scrambled
porno channel. I learned the wonders of lubricants. Soap in the shower will
burn when you piss afterwards. The first time this happened I thought I had
given myself the clap. Baby oil or other water based lubricants tend to break
down quickly, and can actually lead to friction burns. You can't go wrong with
petroleum based products, although it can be difficult to explain to your
mother why you need her to pick up Vaseline at the grocery store.Now the years
have gone by, and even though I have a special woman in my life I still need
those quiet "me" moments. Things are so much better now. The monkeys helped to
take the guilt away. I can buy my own magazines. I can rent my own porn. The
internet is a virtual cornucopia of spanking material. (Plug alert.) My
personal favorite would be AmIaHotBabe.com (End plug alert: if this would have
been an actual plug you would have been asked to go directly to AmIaHotBabe.com
to check out the beautiful women, and many other features.) So I guess all I'm
trying to say here is you were given the ability to please yourself at
absolutely no monetary cost, and without infringing on the rights of others. So
go take matters into your own hands, but make sure you clean up afterwards.
----------------------------------------------------------------
I have an 8-track mind; useful, but outdated.

Back to document index

Original file name: Maturbation Rant - converted on Friday, 29 June 2001, 22:32