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EXCERPT FROM THE
BOOK:
ADVENTURES IN MARINE
BIOLOGY
Masturbation In The
Marines - a Perilous Affair
One of the most embarrassing and disheartening realities of
youthful Marines is the powerful drive for sexual release, plus
the desire for emotional bonding that comes with it. It is
especially distressing that this desire is all pervasive
regardless of the availability or lack of availability of
potential sex partners and the required privacy. Of course,
privacy was necessary to engage in sex or masturbation with the
convenience and dignity that almost all of us desire.
Imagine if you will, a hundred guys housed in a barracks with
two to four men per room. Also imagine the head or bathrooms are
communal with approximately three to four shitters and eight
shower heads – no private shower stalls.
The only semi-privacy is in the four stalls containing the
shitters. There are two of these bathrooms in each barracks.
That means, at any given time, fifty guys have access to each
head or bathroom. Where does a young horny Marine have sex or
masturbate. Do civilians think that Marines have private
masturbating dens, much like the opium dens of early China town?
Do they think Marines just grit their teeth and tell their
member in their best John Wayne voice, “Well, hey, there little
pilgrim, you’re just going to have to wait until the guns are
cleaned and the floors are buffed! Then you and me can find us
some privacy and spend some quality time together.” Yeah right!
It is something recruiters never speak of and I think they
should. Let’s face it; sex and masturbating are all that most
men between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five think about.
It’s
said, that men, especially young men, thing about sex every
minute or so.
They aren’t thinking, “Am I a good Marine? When will I make my
next promotion? I hope the Master Sergeant likes me?” No, the
Marine is usually thinking, “Oh, please God, when can I have
sex?” or at least, ”When and where can I masturbate in private,
this puppy is driving me nuts.”
When a
recruiter is trying to seduce a young man into joining the
Marines, especially with the draft no longer in effect, the
hopeful recruits are offered all sorts of incentives to join:
Choice of MOS, duty stations, sign up bonuses, promises of
further education during and after their tour of duty and
stories of exotic places with exotic women.
I propose that young men start to make one other demand and that
is the written and public-notarized guarantee that each Marine
will be provided their own private soundproof booth within which
to masturbate with monotonous regularity. They must also be
provided with their own 55-gallon barrel of lubricant. The
officer candidates can have videos (let’s face it, they need all
the help they can get).
If I could go back in time, I’d imagine the recruiter saying,
“Mr. Chimera, the Marine Corp is going to send you to exotic
places of your choice. You will meet many exotic and beautiful
women. We will give you a $50,000 dollar signing bonus, the MOS
and duty station of your choosing and the most extensive and fun
training that anyone could hope to have.
Believe me when I say that when we are through with you Mr.
Chimera, James Bond and Jason Bourne will pale by comparison.
Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Chimera, the Marine Corp has not
developed the intelligence to provide you with your own private
whacking-off area.”
“Shit,” I would tell the recruiter, “sayonara, and the hell with
you. I’m going to Canada!”
Imagine if you were in our situation, all that wood and no place
to go. Do you pick one of the four shitter stalls late at night,
knowing that someone might come in or go out of their way to
harass you? Because, believe me, everyone knows what you’re
doing at 3:30 A.M. with a playboy magazine laid on the floor and
a bottle of Jergens lotion nearby.
Once you’ve decided on using the stall, what posture do you
take? Will it be the lean forward posture to get a better
glimpse of the pictures, or will you forget about the pictures
and take the sit perfectly straight up posture so that anyone
who comes in the bathroom is less likely to suspect what you’re
doing?
Do you take the “Aw, fuck it” posture and lean back with wild
abandon on the hard and unforgiving plumbing pipes at the back
of the toilet, as you convulse against the pipes fracturing your
vertebrae, your legs and feet splayed out straight in front of
you? With all that quivering and shaking, everyone and their
mother knows exactly what you’re doing (this last posture
invariably gets one or more Marines hooting and hollering while
pounding the sides of the stall in tandem to your strokes). “Hoo
rah, hoo rah, hoo rah!!”
Perhaps you’re not a bathroom kind of guy, and instead crave the
semi-privacy a four-man room will afford you, that a fifty-man
bathroom will not.
You
reason that your roommates will hopefully be sleeping and the
dark and blankets will be your cover.
Damn your luck if you happen to be in a bunk-bed setup. Maybe
you can tell me, what is worse, getting seasick from your
bunkmate whacking off, or making your bunkmate seasick?
Do you quietly put a sock over your poor neglected puppy so as
not to stain the sheets, while doing your best to keep your body
movement and breathing so subdued you would be the envy of a
dead man? Or are you the racier type, throwing caution to the
wind, saying fuck it to the sock and blanket, allowing your
member to breathe as you’re whacking off, dreaming of your
favorite lady?
Believe me when I say, that the likelihood of four young Marines
in the prime of their sexual life falling right to sleep and
staying asleep without masturbating, is next to nil.
It is more likely that two chimpanzees will be able to
collaborate and have a new version of the bible written in a
month.
For most Marines - a single go around at spanking his monkey is hardly
enough. Our puppies are usually slapping our belly and waking us
up several times a night (Wakey, wakey, I’m all quivery and
quaky!}
Trust me when I say a Marine’s roommates are not able to mask
the sound of their harsh choking and raspy breathing, plus the
sound of rhythmically squeaking bedsprings are always a telltale
sign of their furtive self-fondling. Yoga masters, they are not.
The sound of a Marine’s harsh raspy breathing and squeaking
bedsprings are rarely masked by the breathing or squeaking of
the other Marines. Instead, you are acutely aware of the sounds
of each Marine’s struggles and self-abuse, even your own.
It is
obvious that this is true for each of the other Marines, as
well, and it is disconcerting as hell.
When I say that four Marines trying to masturbate in unison to
hide their activity will only fail, but will never orgasm at the
same time. Instead, they’ll have to endure the private shame of
listening to each other’s choking gurgles of lonely release.
This shamefully repeated private or semi-private process enacted
every night for years, does not keep the Marines from doing what
biology demands. Something society vilifies at worst and
neglects at best.
A few
Marines, the brave, the crazy, or the deviant had learned to
take the bull by the horns and publicly celebrate their need to
masturbate. One guy I knew would make a show of grabbing a
picture of his fiancé, a bottle of lotion, his bathrobe, a pack
of cigarettes and a nice soft wash cloth, saying, “I’ll be back.
I gotta go to the shitter and make love to my woman.”
And he
would.
A few of the more deviant guys would go to the shitter or under
the blankets of their bunk anytime, day or night, and just spank
the bejesus out of their monkey.
They made a lot of noise while doing it, too, and I mean
including loud screaming, “Agghh!! Shit yes!! Ohhh Fuck yes!!
Aagghh!!” One bunkmate was unabashed about making me seasick,
and his screams of pleasure often kept me awake until I would
finally lose my temper and shove my foot against the underside
of his mattress.
I sometimes worried I’d have to fight a guy who had a hard dick
in his hand. I have to say one thing about these show off
bastards. They had the same affect on their fellow Marines that
a rattlesnake has on people.
A ‘don’t
tread on me’ sign would not have been more effective.
Years
of masturbating under these stresses gave some of us cause to
worry about the future.
I often wondered, “When I get back to the real world, will I be
unable to have sex or masturbate unless I am sitting on a toilet
in a public restroom, with the threat of being discovered by a
stranger looming over me? Will I be able to let loose and scream
out my pleasure and release with uninhibited and wild abandon?
In the future, if I want to have sex or successfully masturbate,
will I need other people in the room with me? Will it only
happen at 4:00 a.m. and will I always need special socks?” You
start to think about all sorts of weird shit.”
Not having the privacy to indulge in proper masturbation or sex
was the only thing that would have kept me from staying in the
Marines if I hadn’t been able to afford off-base housing.
The years of experience have left me with one all consuming
question. “Why did my roommate’s and my night vision get better
when my need to masturbate increased?”
In the final analysis, this type of set up for young service men
is, in my opinion, unhealthy, dehumanizing and unnecessary. I
hope the military branches have come a long way to accommodate
the troops for their occasional need for privacy.
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