Authors: Michel Farnac
I
will
now
begin
a
journey
that
will
take
us
through
the
sequence
of
events
that
lead
to
my
first
orgasm.
As
I
have
told
you
before,
I
think
that
if
you
know
what
an
orgasm
feels
like
for
a
man
(and
I
have
tried
to
give
you
some
insight
into
that)
and
also
know
what
the
first
orgasm
of
a
man
can
be
like,
you
can
use
your
knowledge
of
the
human
experience
and
human
condition
to
extrapolate
pretty
much
into
any
man’s
inner
workings
when
it
comes
to
sex.
I
realize
that
this
is
a
lofty
claim
and
one
that
needs
some
defense
before
it
can
be
undertaken
(by
the
way,
I
realize
also
that
I
am
writing
like
some
pedantic
18
th
century
twerp,
but
I
can’t
help
it).
My
claim
can
only
hold
I
f
the
experience
described
is
typical,
and
there
is
a
bit
of
a
rub
there:
how
could
I
possibly
claim
that
my
experience
was
typical?
Well,
to
start
with,
I
think
that
you
know
me
well
enough
to
know
that
I
would
be
happy
to
claim
otherwise
and
to
assert
that
my
experiences
were
quite
unique
and
very
much
out
of
the
ordinary.
But
in
all
honesty,
a
review
of
the
events
I
will
describe
revealed
to
me
that
there
was
not
much
that
could
be
thought
of
as
atypical
(with
one
notable
exception
that
I
will
make
clear
as
needed).
I’ll
also
point
out
that
part
of
my
experiences
were
shared,
meaning
that
at
least
some
others
had
the
same
start
as
me.
Finally,
my
experiences
were
unencumbered,
and
while
that
might
be
atypical,
I
believe
that
most
men
have
relatively
unencumbered
awakenings,
at
least
in
our
cultures…
I
was
nine
years
old
when
this
happened.
It
was
in
the
summer,
and
I
was
out
camping
for
a
week
with
my
cub
scout
den
(this
is
the
French
scouts,
mind
you,
a
catholic
outfit
I’ll
have
you
note
in
passing,
where
I
got
most
of
my
education
on
Catholicism).
This
is
the
only
event
in
the
year
that
has
us
out
camping
for
more
than
one
night,
and
so
the
tent
sleeping
arrangements
as
you
can
imagine
were
of
paramount
importance.
I
was
sharing
the
tent
with
three
very
good
pals.
Every
day,
we
had
an
hour
of
quiet
time
after
the
meal,
in
the
tent.
Many
napped
but
most
talked,
as
did
my
cohorts
and
I.
One
afternoon,
the
topic
of
girls
was
turned
to
by
my
friend
Pascal.
He
was
very
mature,
perhaps
in
part
because
his
parents
were
divorced
and
he
lived
with
his
single
mother,
still
a
bit
of
a
novelty
back
then.
He
spoke
of
naked
women,
as
I
recall,
and
exotic
dances
and
veils.
We
were
squirming
in
our
sleeping
bags,
and
Laurent,
another
friend,
asked
us
all
if
we
had
a
hard-‐on.
I
did,
without
being
aware
of
it.
He
was
asked
to
explain
himself
and
did
so
rather
eloquently,
telling
us
what
it
was,
how
it
came
about
and
that
it
was
a
reflex
reaction
and
quite
natural.
We
were
edified.
A
bond
of
fraternity
was
created
in
that
moment
that
would
soon
vanish
in
the
long
summer
to
come,
but
that
strengthened
our
maleness
into
consciousness,
honing
it
to
a
new
level
of
perception.
For
the
first
time
in
our
lives,
we
were
presented
with
a
firm
physical
understanding
of
what
girls
were
about
and
what
their
true
meaning
to
us
would
eventually
be…
Yours,
Michel”
Catherine
found
the
account
both
charming
and
fascinating,
though
it
raised
many
questions
in
her
mind,
a
thirst
for
details
never
easily
quenched
in
her.
When
they
next
spoke,
she
jumped
on
the
topic.
“You
were
right
about
your
introduction,
it
was
quite
boring”
she
chided
“but
when
I
was
done,
I
had
to
reread
it
and
I
think
I
got
what
you
were
trying
to
say,
but
you
do
think
too
much.”
“I
know,
but
somehow
some
of
this
seems
like
such
a
tall
order.
I
am
trying
to
describe
what
a
man
feels
or
can
feel,
so
I’m
trying
to
not
be
in
the
way
of
the
description
too
much.”
“So
did
you
play
with
each
other?”
“Ah,
good
question,
but
no.”
“With
yourselves?”
“Nope,
not
that
either,
at
least
not
me.
It
was
the
mid-‐day
rest
time,
and
we
were
in
our
tent
but
we
were
quite
fully
clothed
and
there
was
no
thought
of
anything
other
than
the
immediate
moment
of
discovery
for
me.
I
think
that
part
of
the
fascination
was
this
new
phenomenon
of
something
happening
to
me
that
I
did
not
control
and
yet
was
incontrovertibly
caused
by
me.
I
knew
that
the
arousal
was
mine
and
suddenly
I
discovered
that
the
erection
was
mine
as
well
when
I
had
not
felt
it.”
“You
know,
even
as
an
adult
it
is
not
uncommon
for
a
man
to
suddenly
realize
that
he
is
erect.
You
can
get
there
without
realizing
it,
or
at
least
a
chunk
of
the
way
there.“
“Ah,
yes,
your
famous
duality
of
the
penis.”
“Well,
yes.”
“There
is
something
very
cute,
very
innocent
about
this
story.”
“Because
we
were,
both
cute
and
innocent.
And
because
in
a
way,
I
was
very
lucky.
That
was
a
very
sweet
introduction
to
the
topic
of
sex.
Laurent
had
received
a
thorough
education
by
that
time
from
his
hippie
parents
who
believed
in
full
disclosure
and
sex-‐ed.
Pascal
had
seen
a
bunch
of
boyfriends
come
and
go
in
his
mother’s
life
and
could
hear
way
too
much
through
the
paper-‐thin
walls
of
the
subsidized
housing
they
lived
in.
Fabrice,
well,
Fabrice
had
a
different
revelation
that
day,
I
guess.
It
turns
out
that
he
way
gay.
What
really
turned
him
on
was
the
fact
that
we
were
turned
on.”
“Because
he
told
me
that,
a
few
years
later.
Well,
we
weren’t
talking
about
that
day
in
particular,
but
he
told
me
that
by
the
time
the
year
was
over
and
we
went
to
summer
camp
for
a
year,
he
had
a
crush
on
Laurent
and
that
was
the
main
if
not
only
reason
he
was
still
with
the
cub-‐scout
den.
So
now,
I’m
realizing
what
that
little
event
must
have
meant
for
him.
But
what
about
you,
what
were
your
defining
moments?”
“No,
I
don’t
think
so,
no.
I
think
it’s
more
about
the
comfort
of
the
moment.
There
was
no
taboo,
just
pleasure,
the
joy
of
discovery,
of
self-‐discovery.
And
no
doubt,
no
shadow.
It
was
a
private
moment,
one
that
I
don’t
think
I’ve
ever
shared
before,
though
it’s
a
very
pleasant
memory.
It
is
defining
because
it
defined
so
much.
It
would
be
years
before
I
could
rationally
think
about
sex.
Until
then,
so
much
was
based
on
this
initial
perception.”
“No
taboo.”
“Right,
and
no
shame,
either.”
“Yes,
not
like
me.”
“Meaning?”
“Well,
I’ll
have
to
think
about
it
a
little.
I’ll
send
it
to
you.”
The
email
came
soon
enough,
just
a
few
lines,
powerfully
evocative.
“Dear
Michel,
I
have
finished
the
little
assignment
of
memory
that
I
gave
myself
and
give
you
an
early
story.
I
remember
this
very
vividly
(and
have
for
many
years).
I
am
in
Study
Hall
which
interestingly
enough,
is
also
the
room
where
I
have
my
French
class
earlier
in
the
day.
I
am
dressed
in
my
blazer,
white
button-‐down
blouse,
knee
socks
and
pleated
skirt
(which
even
I
-‐
valedictorian
of
my
class
-‐
have
rolled
up
several
times
at
the
waistband
to
show
a
better
view
of
my
shapely
legs).
I
get
up
from
my
desk
to
ask
the
teacher
a
question
about
my
homework
(yes,
I
was
the
student
who
actually
did
homework
in
study
hall).
As
I
walk
up
the
aisle
to
the
front
of
the
room,
I
feel
a
slow
seeping
of
hot
fluid
from
my
vagina
and
I
am
embarrassed
by
this
as
well
as
by
the
sounds
that
accompany
this
wetness.
Surely
everyone
I
pass
must
be
able
to
hear
this.
My
panties
are
damp
against
my
skin.
Why
is
this
happening
and
what
can
I
do
to
stop
it?