Cruelty To Stuffed Animals

When I was fourteen I became obsessed with masturbating just like millions of other healthy teenaged boys. Although the first time I masturbated I was merely twelve, by the time I hit fourteen it was integral to my everyday life. At any possible moment I’d sneak away and abuse myself. I even made this horrific semen stain on the basement carpet after years of  droppingroppingloads in the same spot. I didn’t even bother to use a tissue! What was wrong with me? Dozens of hot sobbing loads dribbled out of my penis and formed this crusty yellowish stain. When I was approaching that glorious divine moment I simply stood up and bombs over Baghdad!

After a while it became like a science experiment--how much semen can one teenagr dump onto one spot until something strange happens? At some point does it become radioactive? What if I create some kind of semen superhero.

Aside from just doing it wherever and whenever, I started getting curious about bringing other objects into the relationship with my hand and penis. When I was fourteen I would stick my dick in just about anything except another human being. Put it in between two pillows? I think I’ll try that. Ohh look at that cream, I’ll definitely whack off with that.

I only masturbated with Rub A535 once and I’m sure you can figure out why. It was like jerking off with jalapeno peppers. That day, I learned my lesson: A cream is not just a cream.

One day alone in my room I noticed that I had a few old stuffed animals on the top shelf of my closet and I got to thinking. Hmmm . . .  

Every male teenager goes through a phase where they want to stick their cock into various things to simulate sex. Some fuck an empty roll of toilet paper, some put two pillows together and go to town, some buy rubber vaginas, Me? I took to fucking my old stuffed animals.

One evening it began. I grabbed a cute little cuddly wuddly teddy bear. I was full of nervous excitement. I was about to lose my virginity…well sort of. I grabbed a pair of scissors and made a nice tight little fuck hole in just the right place. I stuffed my shooter in and violated that teddy bear. In the wild, bears attack humans but it's the other way around in my bedroom.

And my parents thought I was doing homework! After 7.8 seconds of going back and forth stabbing that helpless bear the inevitable happened. At least I pulled out and finished in some toilet paper; I didn’t want any baby bears running around.

The dye had been cast. For the next year or so I had many torrid affairs with my old stuffed animals. First, I chose the white teddy bear the folks got me from Sears when I was about ten because it had the softest fur, but I soon found out that the cotton in and around the pseudo-vaginal area became, after a few uses, how can I say…tarnished. I had a real dilemma. What could I do? I was really enjoying some new sensations here and the cotton is getting all packed in and hard. It just doesn't feel good anymore. But this is a teddy bear, so I got to thinking... I don't have to screw it in the vaginal area. Look at that big bulbous fluffy head. I bet there's a ton of pristine cotton in that dome of hers. I grabbed the scissors and jabbed one of the blades into the top of the bears skull, then cut a tight slit. It's showtime. My first stuffed love, I wish you had known her, we were quite a pair. 

I went hunting for more victims. The next one I grabbed was a brown dog, something like a sheepdog. I don't know, who cares, I cut the old bitch open anyways. This cotton wasn't as soft as the white teddy bears, and for that she only stuck around a few nights.

Like Nero of the Stuffed Animal World I took what I wanted and moved on. Yeh, that's right honey, I just used you for your sweet honey cotton, then I'm onto the next one! Tossed right back into the closet like a memory long forgotten.

On one of my birthdays, about seventeen, some friends bought a blow-up sheep for me as a gag. Complete with a functional vagina and everything. Well, not totally functional, I don't think it could have my baby, actually I'm quite sure, but the kind of function that a man needs.

I've been a bah-h-h-d, bah-h-h-d boy," I said, rubbing some bargain store lube on my unit. The sheep did not protest as I slid it into it's orifice. What sex was this sheep? It simply had one hole--the Vasshole. A genderless sheep, right up my alley, yes sir. Oh, the sights God would see perched in heaven! Me and my skinny white legs in my socks pumping furiously into a little white sheep. Satan is waiting for me with outstreched hands.

This sheep was great sex for a week or two. The perfect affair. She didn't nag me, I didn't have to visit her parents, didn't have to listen to her problems at work, didn't have to send her any Blue Valentines, etc., etc. Only had to listen to her soft little squeaks as I thrust into her.

A year or so prior, I actually had broken down and went to San Diego. It was a store at Shopper's World that sold novelty items: Sex gags, funny shirts, funny shot glasses, bongs with multiple tubes to suck on, aprons complete with furry pubic hair and floppy penis. You know the store. The sex gag shop. The shop you always wanted to go in when you were younger but were too afraid. I found a blow up doll in a back corner and carried it to the check out counter. I couldn't stand my own hand any longer! Variety is the spice of life, I told myself. So here she was, my new girlfriend tucked comfortably under my arm; what a splendid couple we made. I carefully layed her out on the counter. My only purchase. I could feel my cheeks burning up and turning scarlett, but not johansson.

The cashier--a teenage girl about the same age as me--launched into a pre-scripted routine about how the inflatable sex doll is just a PG joke, it doesn't have an actual hole.

What kind of fucking joke is this? I thought as she yammered on. Another genderless toy! Why on earth would you sell such a thing? Horny teenage boys want to ravage their synthetic girlfriends and you give them THIS? A tramp! She can't cook or clean or vacuum AND she can't fuck? And we package her up and sell her for $30 a pop! Maybe it really is the end times.

Now I was stuck in the awkward position of pretending to know that it was fake all along, like I meant to buy a blow up doll without a vagina. I was too nervous to reject the product because then this girl would know that I was buying the doll just to sexually abuse it. She didn't deserve that trauma.

"Oh, it doesn't have a hoooole?" I said in obvious mock disappointment. Of course it doesn't have a hole, I knew that! She giggled and that made my day. I thus continued, "It's just a birthday present for a friend and he's having a pool party. I thought it would make for a good floatation device." Quick thinking Nezbit, I told myself.

"It sure will," she said, and we briefly locked gazes after the transaction was complete. I turned around to leave and once she couldn't see me my face, it tightened in anger and my brows furrowed. "Fucking bullshit," I muttered to myself. "Goddamn fucking doll, can't even fuck it."

I got home and begrudgingly blew her up anyways; she took my breath away. I tried to kiss her and though she accepted my loving pecks, she wouldn't accept the flick of my tongue in her mouth.

Another low in my continuing saga of sexual frustration.

She became the only woman I've ever knifed. I couldn't exactly leave her propped up in the recycling bin now could I? I cut a slit down the top of her head and she deflated along with any remaining vestiges of desire.

And that was that with the stuffed toys. So--ahh--anyways . . . I moved on to real women with real heartbeats only to catch the pieces of my broken heart in my hands. Shit, look at me already getting nostalgic for the good ol' stuffed days. No tight ropes to walk, no delicate balance to uphold, no emotional justice to stand in judegement of. Freedom, baby! But that hook of love keeps digging in, reeling my bloody gutted old weary carcass back, a body limp and lifeless.

Sometimes what we call love is really something else. Where are the words! There aren't enough of them to go around for all the mouths. A scream looking for a mouth, ahh...how right you are Selby.