The Tale of A Chronic Masturbator

Fri, 14 Dec 2012 00:00:00 +0000

At the tender age of six, I found my anatomy endlessly fascinating and I remember holding my mother’s make-up mirror down below while I peed, to see exactly where it was all coming from. Such a revelation! Of course, I knew about the back office, because my older sister, who claimed to know everything, made jokes about ‘where chocolate’s made’ all the time. When I asked her about the front, she just looked embarrassed, and said darkly, ‘You’ll see,’ probably because she’d been at school when the Big Red Moment happened, and was mortified to have to do the walk of shame all the way home wearing a giant maxi pad.

Frot on Gromet's Plaza Archive

The Tale of A Chronic Masturbator