The Stopping Starts Again
- Thread starter sonofJack
- Start date
SlaveToRighteousness
Active Member
Hey soJ, nice to see you "here". It's a good place.
sonofJack
Member
First, a real introduction: I am 56. I began masturbating at age 14, and was obsessed with it by about the second time I did it. My home life was turbulent, with an alcoholic, verbally abusive father (who was rarely aimed his abuse at me), an emotionally vacant mother, and two grown, much older siblings who left me with those people. My brother would let me hang out at his house, and was always eager to let me peruse his stack of Playboy and Penthouse mags (he had a subscription to Playboy, which to me at that time was the sign of a true man). He and his wife both offered them up to me, with instructions to "go upstairs if I had to" so I could, uh, read in private.
I masturbated my way through adolescence, and college, where I also discovered equally self-absorbed girls who were willing to get into meaningless sexual relationships with me. Luckily, I met the woman who became my wife, just months after graduating and moving to my present city. She and I have had a wonderful, interesting, sometimes stormy, but always educational relationship, which until just five years ago, offered up all the sex we could handle.
I also masturbated my way through this marriage, though not at the frenetic pace of my single days. My wife had even selected a designated Playboy magazine, perhaps her way of allowing me to "go upstairs if I had to." In fact, my masturbating had even been a part of our sexual ritual; not always, but sometimes as part of the foreplay, and at other times, to substitute for her temporary physiological, or psychological inabilities.
Five years ago, in the midst of our sexy time, my unit stopped performing. We made a couple of failed attempts afterward to fix it, but to no avail. Our sex lives, simply vaporized. Wait, mine didn't. Since about 1994, this thing had entered our house. The Internet had sex on it. Well, it wasn't real sex, but it looked a lot like it, it was readily available, and I could have it while sitting in front of a computer, instead of having to do all those squishy, emotional things with another human.
My computer sex got wilder, as my connection and computers got more powerful. So too, did my fetishist behaviour. Where before, I'd never looked at much more than the usual **trigger alert** boobs, butts, and front-of-butts **trigger thankfully over, now I was looking at much much more, and at stranger and stranger couplings, triplings, and what-not of people. I'd never been interested in seeing naked men, but was seeking their images out too. I was never one for video P, but this Internet P was the shit! I could, and did, click away mindlessly for hours, ignoring work, hobbies, and responsibilities.
The thrill may have been that I could, and always did, finish all the duties I put off for these elongated sessions. Then, one day, let's call it June 26, 2013, I stopped mid wank. I counted the number of different clicks on my history. Astonishing. I wrote down the time I'd been at it. Frightening. I noticed that for at least the last hour, and probably more, my penis had been completely flaccid. Sickening. I was caught in something way beyond my control, and unlike some other things I've done in my life, my body was clearly not enjoying the ride.
I went on YBR, and though I've had some rather fiery crashes, managed to pull myself back on board this ship of lost souls. I am not a religious man (heathen is perhaps a better description), but I do have the most deep respect for any and all people, and for their beliefs (or non-beliefs). My goal on YBR, as it will be here, is not just to quit PMO; quitting P is even higher on my to do list. I am in the process of getting control of myself. I want to be a better me; a better human than I've been.
-----------
Now, to the present:
The past two days, I had to get on the dread mill. As much as I find using it distasteful, the snow, sleet, and freezing rain on Wednesday and Thursday, chased me indoors. My runs on it were brief, and exhausting. I did feel better for trying some barefoot jogging, but that was one of the few positives. Today though, after the furnace people finished up (oh, we had to buy a new furnace; the old one hadn't died yet, but was sounding as though it was in the throes), I saw a window and went for it. It wasn't quite the running shorts weather I'd craved, but at least it was light-tights-and-long-t running conditions, and the sun was shining brightly.
Treadmill running seems a lot like regular running. Your legs are moving the same. The body reacts to the exertion in about the same way. Okay, so those are the only two similarities. Regular roads and trails do not move past us on their own. It takes an entire body-mind connection to get a human speeding across real space and time. It's a constant state of scanning for a route, listening to footfalls, feeling the level of effort, and taking in all manner of biofeedback that keeps one able to continue. This happens concurrently with the mind taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of nature, as it passes by.
Treadmill running is running porn; it's easy, readily available, relatively comfortable, and ultimately dissatisfying. Perhaps that's why I dislike it even more now that I ever have. I truly feel an aversion to mechanical, or electronic substitutes for reality. The dozens of ebooks on my iPhone haven't been touched on for months, as I fight my way through Ulysses. I'm using social media (and I must admit, I have a reputation for being rather promiscuous on social), less to broadcast my daily minutia, and more to connect with friends and colleagues who I truly do like sharing my time with. My blog has gone without my pithy observances for nearly six months, and even my posts on here are lacking of late.
I cannot honestly say that I'm becoming a luddite, but I am experiencing a sense of freedom from it all. The Internet, and my iPhone are still major parts of my life, but I no longer want them to overshadow my book reading (I do love libraries; always have), my running/biking/swimming, or my interactions with other people.
This is the place I want to be; somewhere that I feel a true corporeal connection to. When I feel this plugged-in to the world, PMO reveals itself to me for what it really is: a man made symptom of living in an artificial world.
I masturbated my way through adolescence, and college, where I also discovered equally self-absorbed girls who were willing to get into meaningless sexual relationships with me. Luckily, I met the woman who became my wife, just months after graduating and moving to my present city. She and I have had a wonderful, interesting, sometimes stormy, but always educational relationship, which until just five years ago, offered up all the sex we could handle.
I also masturbated my way through this marriage, though not at the frenetic pace of my single days. My wife had even selected a designated Playboy magazine, perhaps her way of allowing me to "go upstairs if I had to." In fact, my masturbating had even been a part of our sexual ritual; not always, but sometimes as part of the foreplay, and at other times, to substitute for her temporary physiological, or psychological inabilities.
Five years ago, in the midst of our sexy time, my unit stopped performing. We made a couple of failed attempts afterward to fix it, but to no avail. Our sex lives, simply vaporized. Wait, mine didn't. Since about 1994, this thing had entered our house. The Internet had sex on it. Well, it wasn't real sex, but it looked a lot like it, it was readily available, and I could have it while sitting in front of a computer, instead of having to do all those squishy, emotional things with another human.
My computer sex got wilder, as my connection and computers got more powerful. So too, did my fetishist behaviour. Where before, I'd never looked at much more than the usual **trigger alert** boobs, butts, and front-of-butts **trigger thankfully over, now I was looking at much much more, and at stranger and stranger couplings, triplings, and what-not of people. I'd never been interested in seeing naked men, but was seeking their images out too. I was never one for video P, but this Internet P was the shit! I could, and did, click away mindlessly for hours, ignoring work, hobbies, and responsibilities.
The thrill may have been that I could, and always did, finish all the duties I put off for these elongated sessions. Then, one day, let's call it June 26, 2013, I stopped mid wank. I counted the number of different clicks on my history. Astonishing. I wrote down the time I'd been at it. Frightening. I noticed that for at least the last hour, and probably more, my penis had been completely flaccid. Sickening. I was caught in something way beyond my control, and unlike some other things I've done in my life, my body was clearly not enjoying the ride.
I went on YBR, and though I've had some rather fiery crashes, managed to pull myself back on board this ship of lost souls. I am not a religious man (heathen is perhaps a better description), but I do have the most deep respect for any and all people, and for their beliefs (or non-beliefs). My goal on YBR, as it will be here, is not just to quit PMO; quitting P is even higher on my to do list. I am in the process of getting control of myself. I want to be a better me; a better human than I've been.
-----------
Now, to the present:
The past two days, I had to get on the dread mill. As much as I find using it distasteful, the snow, sleet, and freezing rain on Wednesday and Thursday, chased me indoors. My runs on it were brief, and exhausting. I did feel better for trying some barefoot jogging, but that was one of the few positives. Today though, after the furnace people finished up (oh, we had to buy a new furnace; the old one hadn't died yet, but was sounding as though it was in the throes), I saw a window and went for it. It wasn't quite the running shorts weather I'd craved, but at least it was light-tights-and-long-t running conditions, and the sun was shining brightly.
Treadmill running seems a lot like regular running. Your legs are moving the same. The body reacts to the exertion in about the same way. Okay, so those are the only two similarities. Regular roads and trails do not move past us on their own. It takes an entire body-mind connection to get a human speeding across real space and time. It's a constant state of scanning for a route, listening to footfalls, feeling the level of effort, and taking in all manner of biofeedback that keeps one able to continue. This happens concurrently with the mind taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of nature, as it passes by.
Treadmill running is running porn; it's easy, readily available, relatively comfortable, and ultimately dissatisfying. Perhaps that's why I dislike it even more now that I ever have. I truly feel an aversion to mechanical, or electronic substitutes for reality. The dozens of ebooks on my iPhone haven't been touched on for months, as I fight my way through Ulysses. I'm using social media (and I must admit, I have a reputation for being rather promiscuous on social), less to broadcast my daily minutia, and more to connect with friends and colleagues who I truly do like sharing my time with. My blog has gone without my pithy observances for nearly six months, and even my posts on here are lacking of late.
I cannot honestly say that I'm becoming a luddite, but I am experiencing a sense of freedom from it all. The Internet, and my iPhone are still major parts of my life, but I no longer want them to overshadow my book reading (I do love libraries; always have), my running/biking/swimming, or my interactions with other people.
This is the place I want to be; somewhere that I feel a true corporeal connection to. When I feel this plugged-in to the world, PMO reveals itself to me for what it really is: a man made symptom of living in an artificial world.
Nice to see you, SOJ.
Like yourself, I was hooked almost the moment I started masturbating. I couldn't quit and I didn't know what to do about it until I found YBOP. Oh, well, better late than never.
I know just what you mean about treadmills and the like. They are just not enjoyable.
Like yourself, I was hooked almost the moment I started masturbating. I couldn't quit and I didn't know what to do about it until I found YBOP. Oh, well, better late than never.
I know just what you mean about treadmills and the like. They are just not enjoyable.
fcjl8
Active Member
Hi sonofJack,
Yes, that is a very interesting history. It is always amazing the similarities and striking differences we all have that contributed to our use of P and then the escalation with internet availability. I also had a very drunken father and I grew up with him as my parents split up when I was 6. When I accidentally discovered masturbation and then pictorial depictions of women... whoa. Strong medication.
Interesting what you wrote about the treadmill. I have used a treadmill all winter for cardio and have found it great to have as we are in a rural area where running beside the high speed country roads can be very iffy in the winter with reduced shoulders. But, I see your point, it is mind numbing... hamster of a wheel activity.
Glad you came over to RN!
Yes, that is a very interesting history. It is always amazing the similarities and striking differences we all have that contributed to our use of P and then the escalation with internet availability. I also had a very drunken father and I grew up with him as my parents split up when I was 6. When I accidentally discovered masturbation and then pictorial depictions of women... whoa. Strong medication.
Interesting what you wrote about the treadmill. I have used a treadmill all winter for cardio and have found it great to have as we are in a rural area where running beside the high speed country roads can be very iffy in the winter with reduced shoulders. But, I see your point, it is mind numbing... hamster of a wheel activity.
Glad you came over to RN!
sonofJack
Member
No Viper, I did not. Many years ago after college, I was partying with my usual guys. We all worked until about 2am, and afterward congregated at my one buddy's place, which was just a block from work. We always drank far too much beer, which was sometimes supplemented by whatever extra anyone could bring.
This one night, we went 'til about 8am. After everyone had crashed, I was still energized, and sensing that I had some solitude, found one of his porn mags, started to give myself a happy ending. My friend appeared out of nowhere, sat down on the couch and asked me why I did that. He was good friends with my then-girlfriend too, and wondered aloud why a guy would need to M, when he had all the sex he needed, any time he wanted it.
He and I argued for about an hour; his take being that M could cause his stuff to stop working some day, mine, that I needed practice, that my girlfriend was only good for five or so days a week (because my horny little 20 year old body apparently needed more than that), and that it kept me from straying with the many fine young ladies who were readily available in our group. By the end of the conversation, I was no longer in the mood to M, and was feeling guilty about "cheating" on my girlfriend with my M.
This eventually led to my being more open about M with my girlfriend, and it probably curtailed my doing it as often for a long time.
Fast forward to my possible PIED experience. The wanking I did back then was nothing compared to the Internet-fuelled, three to four hour fistfests that I'd been sucked into in this past decade. I blamed the problems on my bike seat, my age, and my diet, but the M effect was something new to think about.
Now, ten months since I've started on this path, my junk is working again. Some 25 years later, I should let my buddy know that he had it right all along.
This one night, we went 'til about 8am. After everyone had crashed, I was still energized, and sensing that I had some solitude, found one of his porn mags, started to give myself a happy ending. My friend appeared out of nowhere, sat down on the couch and asked me why I did that. He was good friends with my then-girlfriend too, and wondered aloud why a guy would need to M, when he had all the sex he needed, any time he wanted it.
He and I argued for about an hour; his take being that M could cause his stuff to stop working some day, mine, that I needed practice, that my girlfriend was only good for five or so days a week (because my horny little 20 year old body apparently needed more than that), and that it kept me from straying with the many fine young ladies who were readily available in our group. By the end of the conversation, I was no longer in the mood to M, and was feeling guilty about "cheating" on my girlfriend with my M.
This eventually led to my being more open about M with my girlfriend, and it probably curtailed my doing it as often for a long time.
Fast forward to my possible PIED experience. The wanking I did back then was nothing compared to the Internet-fuelled, three to four hour fistfests that I'd been sucked into in this past decade. I blamed the problems on my bike seat, my age, and my diet, but the M effect was something new to think about.
Now, ten months since I've started on this path, my junk is working again. Some 25 years later, I should let my buddy know that he had it right all along.
Viper
Well-Known Member
I can totally relate. Sounds like my late teens, early 20's life. And it really doesn't matter how fine your girl is right?
Because there are other women in the circle of friends that you at least thought about what it may be like to sample those goods- LoL ...it's so f**king true!
You not only spank the monkey thinking about them but probably fantasize while you're with your girl. Classic!
PMO calls you like a drug fiend at night. Cinemax kicked things off for me but like you said, the swift and easy access from one video to another is what makes high speed internet porn the fast track to ED
That is awesome news!
Looks like your diligence paid off.
May I ask if you get morning wood?
Because I don't even get that. More like morning cork :-\
You probably should. He would get a hoot out of that.
But I never knew nor did anyone tell me growing up that this could happen. The only thing I
came across is the moral argument against porn and the objectifying of women.
If I knew it would affect me below the waist someday, I probably would've paced myself
LetItGoAlready
Active Member
SoJ,
Good to have you here.
It sounds to me as if you have found that happy medium or are at least heading in that direction. That's always good to hear!
Good to have you here.
I think you've hit the nail on the head here about choosing real life over its modern substitutes. When I began the rebooting process, I realized that many of the activities I had chosen to fill my life with, like, the mindless internet surfing that I did in the evenings before I went to bed, were, as you said, comfortable but ultimately dissatisfying. I found they were getting in the way of real-life connections to the things that nourish one's soul, like, good books, social interactions with friends and family, fulfilling hobbies, etc. Like you, I am a little more distrustful now of the technological crutches I lean on each day to provide momentary comfort because they are too quick, too easy, and offer dubious rewards for minimal effort. I doubt the day will ever come when I decide to chuck it all, get off the grid, and raise barns for the rest my days, as that would be going from one extreme to another. But I do think there is a healthier middle ground.
It sounds to me as if you have found that happy medium or are at least heading in that direction. That's always good to hear!
F
Freethinker
Guest
Cosmo said:
Great observations here. I've grown so accustomed to feeling that I really need constant stimulation from all that's available. Every time I go in the bathroom I turn the radio on. It's pathetic. Anyway, I like your views on this Cosmo. Well said.
SoJ,
Your introduction could have almost been mine. Even the comments about treadmill running. My ultimate usage may not have ever approached yours but a lot of your life experiences as you described them seem similar to mine (except the mother part) You're just a couple of years older than me so we grew up in similar times.
I'm somewhat of a heathen myself. I was raised catholic and went to catholic school for 10 yrs. I left that stuff a long time ago. I acknowledge and respect various belief systems and totally understand how soothing faith can be to someone. I'm just too much of a pragmatic materialist for any of that stuff to make much sense to me now.
(think of the "pale blue dot" picture of the earth from the series "Cosmos")
You write with great flair and an understated sense of humor about personal things that aren't always easy for one to share. That's how it all reads to me, anyway. Thanks.
The Dude Wannabe
Member
SoJ,
Like a few others said, your history could be mine! I used to fist pump before going out on dates with my Ex and my current wife. I figured I was "taking the edge off"! Man, I was taking the edge off, I eventually became blunt. I'm coming back though. I suffered a set back a few days ago, but that just strengthens my resolve.
Thanks for being here! Looking forward to experiencing our mutual success in the coming days.
Like a few others said, your history could be mine! I used to fist pump before going out on dates with my Ex and my current wife. I figured I was "taking the edge off"! Man, I was taking the edge off, I eventually became blunt. I'm coming back though. I suffered a set back a few days ago, but that just strengthens my resolve.
Thanks for being here! Looking forward to experiencing our mutual success in the coming days.
sonofJack
Member
One thing that a community like this truly emphasizes, is how we are not so alone as we had grown to believe. I hid my habits when I was an adolescent (though not as well as I'd thought), and I felt that I had kept them hidden through my adult life. How very disingenuous I have been.
The Internet has been the scourge for nearly all of us on here. The easy, instant access to so many penile-erecting pixels is what ultimately took us down, but we softened ourselves up for our defeat through years of masturbatory medication. Even as we feel, if not cured, at least in recovery from our sickness, the Internet remains one of the most dangerous facets of our lives. Today, one simple picture; one innocuous Facebook jpeg, nearly took me down. The morning had begun with another sign from below that the ED was not so much of a problem with me, and I will admit here that I did give a brief, and careful inspection. I got myself together, made coffee for my wife, and began some idle social networking, after reading the local paper (a ritual that seems to take a shorter piece of the clock each day).
The picture that got me was not even something that could be called "erotic," at least, not to my interpretation of the word. It was less the content, and more the timing; seeing that just minutes after my wake up call from Mr. Happy, brought him back in full force. Nearly everything I read after that triggered a similar reaction. I shut things down, and was about to get up from the computer, when my wife came down, asking me to look up some details of our online bill, and other Internet-only information. I'm sure she didn't notice my misshapen pyjama bottoms, as I had pushed myself far enough under the table, but even her lovely voice was triggering erectile reactions. I was a hormone addled sixteen year old, with only the life experience of my 56 year old self, keeping me from completely embarrassing myself.
When she left for work, I was in that bad place we all get. Some on here call it a trance, and I believe that describes it well; common sense, has escaped out the window, with only the silent cravings of our caveman brains to guide our actions. I opened this site and read a bit.
Bad idea this time.
Instead of setting me straight, the words I read stupidly were taken as an absolution of responsibility. I tormented myself for about an hour (without even engaging in full-on M, I was certainly in the stage of M-foreplay). I sorted myself out, called up the bus schedule, and planned a run-bus route to the pool, which I'd so carelessly skipped this morning. My run was so-so. The bus ride was rather pleasant, as I hadn't expected it to go along the lakeshore most of the way (the pool is in a shabby little village just outside our city). The swim was better than I'd expected, though I did have to negotiate a few manatees, and one over-eager (but rather slow) fellow, who was churning up the water like a 110 Mercury outboard.
Afterward I bused, and ran home. I did the few chores that she'd asked of me. I came close to starting another M session too, but this time it was my junk that declined the offer.
And that gentlemen was all I needed. My own body had begun the day, sending me signals that I was on track, and it stopped me dead when I foolishly tried to derail the process. No self-help mantra, no mind trick, no stern mental resolve, but simply a body that has begun to feel whole again, rejecting any activity that could hurt it.
When you find yourself in a similar spot (and I truly hope that you do not), you can turn yourself around. You may go further than I did today, but that won't change who you are, and what you came here to accomplish. I am in this incredibly calm place right now, where I have no inkling to beat myself up over what I started to do.
It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't perfect, but I can proudly declare another day with no PMO.
The Internet has been the scourge for nearly all of us on here. The easy, instant access to so many penile-erecting pixels is what ultimately took us down, but we softened ourselves up for our defeat through years of masturbatory medication. Even as we feel, if not cured, at least in recovery from our sickness, the Internet remains one of the most dangerous facets of our lives. Today, one simple picture; one innocuous Facebook jpeg, nearly took me down. The morning had begun with another sign from below that the ED was not so much of a problem with me, and I will admit here that I did give a brief, and careful inspection. I got myself together, made coffee for my wife, and began some idle social networking, after reading the local paper (a ritual that seems to take a shorter piece of the clock each day).
The picture that got me was not even something that could be called "erotic," at least, not to my interpretation of the word. It was less the content, and more the timing; seeing that just minutes after my wake up call from Mr. Happy, brought him back in full force. Nearly everything I read after that triggered a similar reaction. I shut things down, and was about to get up from the computer, when my wife came down, asking me to look up some details of our online bill, and other Internet-only information. I'm sure she didn't notice my misshapen pyjama bottoms, as I had pushed myself far enough under the table, but even her lovely voice was triggering erectile reactions. I was a hormone addled sixteen year old, with only the life experience of my 56 year old self, keeping me from completely embarrassing myself.
When she left for work, I was in that bad place we all get. Some on here call it a trance, and I believe that describes it well; common sense, has escaped out the window, with only the silent cravings of our caveman brains to guide our actions. I opened this site and read a bit.
Bad idea this time.
Instead of setting me straight, the words I read stupidly were taken as an absolution of responsibility. I tormented myself for about an hour (without even engaging in full-on M, I was certainly in the stage of M-foreplay). I sorted myself out, called up the bus schedule, and planned a run-bus route to the pool, which I'd so carelessly skipped this morning. My run was so-so. The bus ride was rather pleasant, as I hadn't expected it to go along the lakeshore most of the way (the pool is in a shabby little village just outside our city). The swim was better than I'd expected, though I did have to negotiate a few manatees, and one over-eager (but rather slow) fellow, who was churning up the water like a 110 Mercury outboard.
Afterward I bused, and ran home. I did the few chores that she'd asked of me. I came close to starting another M session too, but this time it was my junk that declined the offer.
And that gentlemen was all I needed. My own body had begun the day, sending me signals that I was on track, and it stopped me dead when I foolishly tried to derail the process. No self-help mantra, no mind trick, no stern mental resolve, but simply a body that has begun to feel whole again, rejecting any activity that could hurt it.
When you find yourself in a similar spot (and I truly hope that you do not), you can turn yourself around. You may go further than I did today, but that won't change who you are, and what you came here to accomplish. I am in this incredibly calm place right now, where I have no inkling to beat myself up over what I started to do.
It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't perfect, but I can proudly declare another day with no PMO.
SlaveToRighteousness
Active Member
The "trance" for me is an anxious/nervous/edgy feeling that makes me want to act out in some way. I tend to find that I'm am largely holding my breath during those times, and that everything in my chest is kind of "up". I wasn't aware of this trance until I started working to break my addiction. I am now able to identify it, and I have found that it helps to bring myself "down" by exhaling and relaxing. It seems like a simple response, but it's effective for me.
sonofJack
Member
Oh that trance. I did snap out of it in a big way yesterday. It was as though there was someone in the room with me, pointing out the absurdity of what I was doing. I guess there was someone: me.
Woke this AM with no wood, and no urges, temptations, or curiosity for any of what transpired yesterday. I was back to being myself again. We called the instigators of our actions "triggers," and it seems more often than not that mine are, and always will be there. It seems less likely that I could spend the rest of this life simply avoiding them, but that I can, with time, lessen my sensitivity to them. Six months after quitting caffeine, I have not thought about going back.
It's been fourteen years and nearly three months since I ate my last potato chip. Coffee and chips were both big parts of my life at one point. Nothing has triggered into wanting to try either again.
Soon I'll be able to confidently say the same about P.
Soon.
Woke this AM with no wood, and no urges, temptations, or curiosity for any of what transpired yesterday. I was back to being myself again. We called the instigators of our actions "triggers," and it seems more often than not that mine are, and always will be there. It seems less likely that I could spend the rest of this life simply avoiding them, but that I can, with time, lessen my sensitivity to them. Six months after quitting caffeine, I have not thought about going back.
It's been fourteen years and nearly three months since I ate my last potato chip. Coffee and chips were both big parts of my life at one point. Nothing has triggered into wanting to try either again.
Soon I'll be able to confidently say the same about P.
Soon.