Wednesday, 25 January 2012

YYoouunngg RRaavveerr

"I feel I need to cut down," said Robinson. "Because I never have any wet dreams."
"I've only ever had one," I said.

It hadn't taken us long to start talking about masturbation. We were in the pub and the only girl who had been with us had left to go home at some point. The young raver quickly turned the subject to wanking and freely admitted that he did it religiously twice daily, setting his alarm half an hour early so he could rub one off before his day starts, and again at the end of the day, going to bed half an hour before he usually would. He even said he'd done it at camp, which adds another to my mental tally of how many of us have relieved the strain under the influence of tents and calor gas. In fact, we're now going to refer to regular masturbation as "doing a young raver."

But this post isn't about that.

"I can remember my first sex dream," said the young raver, leaning over the table as if everyone else could hear. But since everyone else in the pub consisted of one barman, I doubt they were that interested. "It was about a girl in my primary class."
"In your primary class?" I interjected. "How old were you? I mean, I know Jenna Jameson started masturbating at the age of five, but still, you...?"
"I was in, like, year six," he said, "so I would have been about... ten or eleven?"
"Who's Jenna Jameson?" said Mane.

I remember my first sex dream, too. I was in year seven, and we'd done reproduction at school, so I knew kind of what sex looked like. I had, of course, found out about sex when I was two, but I'd never really tried to visualise it for the next ten years. I'd kind of imagined a man sticking his cock up a woman's bum, and that's really not an idea I wanted in my head at such a tender age. Science Now! made it sound absolutely disgusting, but at least with the jolly diagrams I kind of knew how it worked. I had realised the fact that the lady in question would open her legs, anyway - which was, again, something I hadn't considered. But I had the picture in my head.

In my dream I was a huge, hunky man with rippling muscles. I was faceless, as was the girl I ended up having sex with. It was, strangely, in greyscale. Maybe I couldn't afford colour at that point. Anyway, there was a girl, who was totally non-specific. She was a girl.
"You want me, don't you?" I said, in a low growl.
"Yes," she said. Or something to that effect.
"I'm all yours!" I said, and then I led her into a kind of house, and lay on top of her on a bed. She made the noises that I was to assume someone would make. I hadn't considered the fact that one should move at all, despite Science Now! saying something like:

During sex the man and the woman move their bodies against each other which makes them both feel good.

But then again, that could be interpreted so many different ways.

So I was lying on her. She had an orgasm. That was it.

It's not a very impressive sex dream, I'll grant you. But then again, I was about 11 - maybe 12 years old maximum. And I made up for it with the next seven years of soft porn and continuously more elaborate sexual fantasies. But I suppose that's where it all started, with that greyscale house and the rippling muscles.

Glod knows what the young raver did about it, though. Although I have a vague idea. Maybe he did it twice.

2 comments:

Catharine said...

The how your body works book I had when I was little made sex look like it involved trains.

Innocent Loverboy said...

I still have that book.