I remember the first time I masturbated quite clearly. It wasn’t glamorous or exciting, just a tired boy on a tuesday afternoon glued to PBS.
Antiques roadshow was on, a program I quite enjoyed watching in the boring hours between school and homework. Hidden treasures, locked away in dusty old houses for generations finally being brought into the light. How inspiring. I remember the opening item was a pair of antique flintlocks from the 18th century. The carvings in the ivory handle excited me in a way that was largely new to my experience and I felt a rise in my loins.
It wasn’t till 2 items and a request for donations later that I saw the object of my first and greatest passion. An elderly Rhode Island woman had wheeled in a chaise lounge with the help of her son. At first glance it was meeting all the criteria for an outstanding piece of furniture. The finely maintained gold upholstery had an intricate pattern of thick protruding vines running along the surface. The dimples were gentle valleys stretching the fabric inward towards the blood red mahogany backing. My eyes were drawn to a pearl inlay of wheat atop the wood ridge exposed superior, suddenly halted by thick bronze protuberances shaped like rolling waves on a New England shore at the corners.