Cushion: (n) a soft bag on which to sit, kneel, or lie.
I must warn you that if you are sensitive, parochial or very squeamish about sexual matters, you probably shouldn’t read any further.
So now that I have everybody’s attention…
I will tell you an embarrassing story.
When I finish telling you this tale, I will share why.
When I was eighteen years old, I had a girlfriend who went off to Europe and didn’t contact me. It was understandable in the sense that what we had shared was a high school affair. She experimented with me and I with her. She just thought the experience was done sooner than I did.
Problem was, the experiment brought about a pregnancy in the Petri dish.
Therefore, the lack of hearing from her left me upset, bereft, and dare I say, horny. (We all know that once you awaken the magical worm or open Pandora’s Box, there’s no going back to hand holding and kissing.)
Yet, I had no intention of finding another girl and having sex.
But no one—and I say NO one—ever taught me about the miracle of masturbation. I had no idea.
Even as I write this, I realize how unlikely that seems. But all I knew was that I had a penis that was looking for a vagina, and absent a vagina, an adequate stand-in was needed.
So one day, lying on my couch, I unzipped my pants and let my little wanderer out. I noticed that when I rubbed it against the couch cushion, it felt pretty good. After a few minutes, though, it also hurt.
It was a contest.
Does it hurt more, or does it feel good more?
I persisted—so much so that my little trouper got all inflamed and angry. It was very sore.
Trying to figure out what to put on my friend to make him feel better (because alcohol was bad and Ben Gay was out of the question) I opened the medicine cabinet, and there was my mother’s bottle of lotion. I put some on my hand and reached down to comfort the reddened area.
I not only comforted my penis, but ended up discovering, in that moment of time, what was missing from my training.
It was a magnificent moment.
I was grateful.
My girlfriend did come back and she became my wife.
But I will tell you one thing: it’s a damn shame if a young boy does not know the correct male usage for hand lotion.