On May 3, I set to try the “do nothing” method. I lay on my back with knees up, and waited for whatever sensations might visit.
Doing nothing wasn't strenuous, but the minimal effort still got to me. My legs fatigued, so I stretched out and lay flat.
An odd, tiny tickle occurred somewhere in my abdomen. I didn't think anything of it, but it was intruding on my focus. Just to make it go away, I rotated my hips backward, raising my lower back a little off the bed. I held there for a second until the tickle dissipated, then flattened myself back out. The tickle returned, so I rotated my hips again, waited a moment, and flattened again. That repeated a couple more times. Then a most peculiar thing happened.
My hips kept up the slow rocking motion after I decided to stop. It was going at a frequency of about one cycle every ten seconds. I wasn't making it happen, but it was still happening. Of course, I could have made it stop, but I chose not to, mostly because things started feeling pretty good. The familiar tingle of early-stage orgasm had sneaked up on me, and it was growing. After a few more pumps, my pelvis spazzed and drove my cock upward, just like when a girl's on top and I'm thrusting it into her all the way to the hilt.
Holy hell! That was an orgasm!
Not a great one, though. It built up too fast and didn't stick around long enough to enjoy, and it didn't really peak well. Still. There it was. A few more like it came along in the following half-hour. Then a second most peculiar thing happened.
My whole body fell into calm. I hadn't realized just how many muscles I had been tensing until they all went limp. Arms, legs, abdomen, face . . . everything relaxed at once. All that was left was a slow rhythmic . . . well, I struggle to find a good word for it. “Pumping,” “breathing,” and “wobbling” each describe what my body and the helix were doing, but none is correct on its own.
I don't completely trust my perception of it, anyway. My attention was taken by a deep internal thrum that periodically grew louder. This was another early-stage orgasm, but substantially different from the others. It alternately diffused and swelled, and finally hovered just below what would be point-of-no-return in the context of ejaculation. I have doubts about my temporal senses of the moment, but it felt like it went on for several minutes. I had time to whisper “more, please” to an absent lover, and to hear her silent response. It was delicious.
The lengthy sub-orgasm gradually evaporated, but I was still very turned-on. I started jerking off. Normally, if I'd been aroused that much for that long, I'd have cum on the second or third stroke. This time, I was furiously working it for minutes, and it still felt like I'd just started. I had to stop when my dick went soft.
So I'd just had several convulsive orgasms, one exquisite not-orgasm, and I'd masturbated into exhaustion without ejaculating. That whole experience was so far off-script that I had trouble dealing with it for a few hours.
When I finally got a grip on things, I saw something I had grossly misunderstood. The training material repeatedly mentions spontaneous and involuntary rhythmic contractions, but I overlooked any mention of the period or frequency of those contractions. I had assumed the contraction tempo would be similar to fucking or stroking. The real tempo of contractions was, in my case at least, far, FAR slower than anything I've ever done with my cock, with a surprisingly long period of around ten seconds. I'd been anticipating something that simply wouldn't happen the way I expected.
Work the next day was torture.
The very least of my distractions, I had blue balls for the first time in more than twenty years. Achy balls. All day.
The worst distraction was anxiety over the risk of getting a wet spot on my pants. I've always been a little leaky with precum, and the aneros has greatly amplified that tendency. I felt it dribbling out of my penis while I was thinking about and re-experiencing the previous night. I finished work without a crisis. I carry a condom with me now. Yet another thing I haven't done in more than twenty years.