I Discovered My Body Alone, and Nothing Was Ever the Same Again

All this happened when I was still living with my parents, in a quiet neighborhood on the west side of Guadalajara. I had just turned twenty and my head was full of an urgency I didn’t know how to name. My hormones ruled me at all hours, and although from the outside I looked like any other guy, inside I was boiling with a curiosity I never confessed to anyone.

I had always considered myself heterosexual. I liked women, I dreamed about them, I looked for them on the street with my eyes. But there was one detail I discovered very early on and that stayed with me for years, almost like a secret I was ashamed to admit even to myself.

One afternoon, when I was younger, I was taking a leisurely shower. The hot water relaxed me and I began to run my hands over my body without thinking much about it. Without meaning to, my fingers slipped between my buttocks and brushed a spot I had never touched attentively before. The sensation left me still under the stream of water. It was strange, intense, unlike anything I knew.

Why does it feel like that?

Curiosity got the better of me. I got out of the shower, grabbed a hand mirror, and locked myself in to stare at my own naked body with a mix of embarrassment and fascination. I didn’t know what I was looking for, only that that curiosity was turning me on in a way I didn’t understand.

***

The real discovery came by accident. At home we had one of those massage gadgets, the kind that vibrate to soothe your back. One day, playing with it, I pressed it without thinking against my groin, over my pants. The vibration shot through my whole body. It was so sudden and so pleasurable that I lost my breath, with that image burned into my mind, unable to forget it.

I waited for hours. I counted the minutes until the house was empty. As soon as I heard my parents’ car driving away, I ran for the device like a man possessed. I stripped off in a hurry, lay down, and pressed the vibration directly against my cock, which was already rock hard before I even touched it.

The sensation was delicious. I stayed there a good while, enjoying myself, not knowing how far I could go, letting myself be carried by a tide that kept building and building. The pleasure rose so high that at one point I could no longer control it. Something gave way inside me and I came for the first time in my life.

I had the slightest idea what had just happened. I didn’t understand what that liquid was or why my body was trembling like that. I only knew it was the most intense pleasure I had ever felt. And since I was barely a boy, less than five minutes later I was ready again, eager to do it all over.

That’s how I learned to masturbate without knowing I was learning it. Every time I was alone at home, I ran for the device, locked myself away, and made the most of every minute before someone returned. It was my secret ritual, my escape, the only thing that belonged entirely to me.

***

With time, the internet arrived at home, and with it access to videos and erotic stories that opened up an entire world for me. At last I understood what was happening to my body, I put names to things, I discovered I wasn’t the only one feeling those urgencies.

My sessions changed. I stopped trying to finish quickly. I learned to stretch out the pleasure, to delay the ending, to linger in that delicious boundary for endless minutes while reading or watching. I discovered that desire could be stretched like a taut rope, and that the more I tightened it, the stronger the explosion.

One night, lost among so many readings, I came across a different kind of story. A man narrated his encounter with a transvestite, and for some reason those words lit me up in a way I hadn’t expected. I came in an instant, almost without touching myself. But that night I learned two things that would mark me.

The first: there were people who enjoyed anal pleasure without shame, who dared to explore what I only barely brushed against in fear. I wasn’t alone in that curiosity. What I felt when I touched myself between the buttocks had a name, and a lot of people sought it out gladly.

The second, more practical: rubbing my cock with cream or something that lubricated it multiplied the sensation. From then on I began masturbating with my hand too, slowly, discovering textures, and little by little I set the old massage device aside.

***

Months went by and my searches narrowed down to one thing. I became obsessed with anal sex. I would stare at the way women offered themselves, how they gave themselves over to that penetration, and I devoured stories looking for exactly those passages, the precise instant when something entered a body. I reread those lines over and over.

One afternoon, after coming and with my body already limp, I was still carrying a heat that wouldn’t go away. I went into the shower to calm down. The hot water ran over me and, without thinking too much about it, I lay down on the shower floor and started stroking myself between the buttocks, remembering all those images.

But something was different that time. All my excitement had moved to that area. My cock was hard again, and yet I had no desire to touch it. The only thing I wanted was to keep stroking that entrance, pressing it, feeling what happened if I dared go a little further.

I made up my mind. I started with my smallest finger, thinking it would be the easiest. It wasn’t. I was a virgin there, with no experience whatsoever, and my body resisted. I pressed patiently, over and over, until little by little the tip managed to force its way in.

The sensation surprised me. At first it was pure confusion. Then a sharp pain came that almost made me stop. But I remembered what the stories said, that it hurt at first, that you had to go slowly, that only after the constant back-and-forth did the pain give way and make room for pleasure.

So I kept at it. I started moving my finger with a gentle, steady rhythm, in and out, waiting for that promise. And to my astonishment, it worked. The pain gradually faded, replaced by something new, by a kind of horny thrill that grew with every movement. For the first time I enjoyed feeling something inside me.

That first time I didn’t take care with hygiene as I should have, and the discomfort afterward taught me a lesson. From then on I looked into how to prepare properly, because I knew this wasn’t going to be a one-night experiment. It was a door I had just opened, and I had no intention of closing it.

***

The following days I forgot about the device and the cream. My attention was elsewhere. I learned to use the laundry-room hose to clean myself out, to fill myself with water and then expel everything, until I was in perfect condition to explore myself calmly and without unpleasant surprises.

I started masturbating every day in the shower, now focused only on that new sensation. I traced the full length of my longest finger, shoved it all the way in, played inside, pulled it out and pushed it back in. With my body relaxed, what had once hurt me now made me sigh.

After many attempts I set myself the goal of getting two fingers in at once. It wasn’t easy; my body complained at first, but persistence overcame the resistance and I managed it. Every new achievement left me wanting more, as if there were always another threshold waiting for me.

Over time I started looking around the house for objects, thicker and thicker ones, to imitate the firmness of a real cock. When my body was already accepting considerable sizes, my sessions became a back-and-forth between stroking myself in front or feeling something from behind, depending on the mood of the day.

The strangest and most wonderful thing was discovering that those anal sessions were incredibly long. I didn’t come, I didn’t ejaculate, I simply floated in a continuous pleasure that seemed endless. Much later I would have orgasms that way so intense that my whole body would shake, without needing to touch myself in front.

***

But the imagination never sits still. As I perfected my pleasure alone, my fantasies became more concrete, more demanding. I started imagining myself surrounded by bodies, in encounters where there were men and women at the same time, where I was the center of every hand. The heat no longer fit inside me.

One night, after one of those endless sessions, it became clear to me. I was tired of fantasizing. I wanted it to happen for real. I wanted someone to make me feel what I had spent years imagining alone in the shower.

The logical thing, I thought, was for my first time to be with a woman. That was what I wanted most. But with my little experience I had no idea how to propose something like that to anyone. I went onto dating sites and reality hit me: no woman seemed interested in a guy with no experience. Almost all of them were looking for a steady partner or for a mature man who knew what he was doing.

It was then, in the middle of one of those hot nights, that another idea crossed my mind. If I was so obsessed with penetration, if I had practiced it so much on my own, why not look for a man willing to initiate me for real? I wrote it almost like a game, without much hope.

The response left me speechless. There were plenty of men willing to break in a newbie, to guide a young, curious person down that path I only knew half of. Messages piled up, all of them offering themselves, all of them promising. And I, heart racing, started reading them one by one, trying to decide which one would be the first.

This is about to stop being a fantasy.

But how I chose, what happened on that first date, and everything that came after, that’s another story. I’m saving that one for next time.