I was a late bloomer — though like Eric Idle in The Holy Grail, I got better. But as of the summer between senior year and starting university, I still hadn’t seen a naked woman in real life. This was a source of constant angst and shame, as a painfully shy giant nerd with a raging libido.
So almost 30 years ago, my family was on vacation, camping on one of the barrier islands of Florida. This was the worst kind of hell for me. I liked camping, but I preferred mountains and forests. Also this was hundreds of miles from all my friends, my computer, my carefully assembled stash of dead-tree porn (USENET porn existed by this time, but I wouldn’t have access to that life-changing piece of technology for another couple of months), and the softcore wonders of late-night Cinemax. Worst of all there was no lube, and absolutely no privacy — and back then a *conservative average* of my jerk-offs per day was around three.