Memoir of a Russian Punk

2

Eddie-baby can't get back to sleep again and is now thinking about how to sneak past his mother to the toilet so she won't notice the spot on his pants. Eddie-baby is very ashamed of this secret side of his life. His mother will think he masturbated and will maybe say something to him about it. As soon as he started masturbating (Tonka was mixed up in that business too, since Eddie-baby copied his dreams in his thoughts), his mother knew about it. And Eddie-baby knows how she found out.

Very simple. He used to wipe his penis with sheets from a tear-off day calendar. Sometimes he would throw the sheets in the toilet, although sometimes he forgot to. His mother obviously found the sheets, stuck together with a dry yellow substance very much resembling glue, and obviously guessed at once that that substance was none other than semen produced by her son, who had finally reached the age of sexual maturity.

As gently as she could, Eddie's mother gave her son a lecture. Raisa Fyodorovna is a well-read woman – the bookcase in their room is packed with books – and since it was clear to her that Eddie-baby understood very little about his own behavior, she decided to warn him about it.

During the lecture Eddie-baby blushed and then turned pale and denied it all. The most he would concede was that, yes, the calendar sheets were his work, but he had only blown his nose on them. Eddie-baby knew his mother didn't believe that the substance on the sheets was dried snot, but what else could he say? Admit that he abused himself several times a day, panting and moaning with his eyes closed while reviewing in his mind his latest dream about the huge, insolently smirking Tonka sitting with her legs spread wide apart?

Despite his mother's warnings that masturbation is a dangerous disease, that it dries out the brain and sucks the strength from a boy's body, Eddie-baby failed even to reduce the frequency of his masturbation. The fact is, he gets tremendous pleasure when he comes, and he hasn't the strength to deny himself that pleasure. Although he does hide the calendar sheets in his pocket now, throwing them away outside.