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The first of several journal entries of a walrus scientist, where he remembers his first session of self-pleasure, and the results that begin his journey into self-discovery....

**DISCLAIMERS AND STUFF:

The following story involves verbally graphic depictions of male genitalia, male masturbation, and strong language. Readers under the age of 18 or in countries/situations where these kinds of things are not allowed should not read this story! Otherwise, please enjoy and comment as you see fit!**

Internal Universe

by Furio

5/29/2010

Part 1

From the desk of Matthew Odin Rosmar

November 1st, 2009

I write these thoughts now at my desk, to any who wish to peruse them, and gain a greater knowledge of the magic and mystery that they carry.

So much to tell, but where to begin?

Probably that April. An evening by myself, a sleepless night, and a moment. A normal, humdrum, yet extraordinarily mystical moment.

The moment that would spark a lifetime of education, mystery, and pleasure.

I rolled over.

I couldn't sleep. Pains of my body growing through puberty were flooding my entire system. After shifting position many times, I finally rolled over, consequently causing my oosik (that is to say, my penis) to push against the soft mattress of my bed.

My eyes shot open, and my muzzle barely parted.

I looked down, wondering why I had just felt a bolt of warmth pass through my body...something that made me feel so incredibly...good.

Always the experimenting sort of walrus, I shifted my position slightly, rubbing my oosik slowly against the mattress. There! That bolt! It passed through my thighs, and down my legs, all the way to my flippered feet, which twitched excitedly in response.

I could feel my heart rate increase, and my mind went back to the biology classes of the past week. What was happening to me? Was it...dangerous?

But my young brain was too eager to know more. I rubbed again. Oh God, yet ANOTHER bolt!!! This time, through my whole chest and down my arms! I took several deep breaths, noting this time that my lungs were struggling to catch up with my heart.

Worried, I flipped over on my back and looked up at the ceiling. I began to rasp heavily, my growing belly rising and falling with quickening speed.

Was I dying? Was I crossing over? What was happening to me?

It might be safe to tell you now, dear reader, that while I was very much in tune with my general biological structure and function, the mysteries of sex had always eluded me. My education in parochial schools eventually allowed me to learn the mechanical functions of reproduction (i.e. penis goes in vagina, sperm comes out, sperm meets egg, baby born nine months later) but it also neglected to teach me what I would feel, sense, and experience on my own. And while you may think that is a crying shame, I must say that, in the end, I have never been more grateful to have such secrets kept from me. For what is the greatest joy than that of discovery, especially on your own terms?

Such is what I experienced that fateful April evening. The rapid beating of my heart, the tingling sensation in my flippers, the warmth I felt in my legs, the growing sensations in my belly, and, of course, the indescribable feelings of my oosik, and something further below and deeper within that I couldn't quite explain.

I looked down at my body, still covered by the flannel bedsheets. Already I could see a growing lump stretching up my belly, and I swallowed hard. It was my oosik.

I should also probably tell you now, reader, that I was very well-endowed. However, this is only a common trait among walruses. The average male walrus has a baculum of about 25 inches, but on this April evening long ago, I only carried about twelve inches. And if you think I'm bragging, trust me, I'm not. I could not be more ashamed of my size. But I'll explain that in greater detail, later.

With shaking flippers, I slowly pulled down the bedsheets to reveal the lurking horror that laid beneath: my exposed penis. It seemed to have stopped its growth, but I was still astounded at its much larger size. And, as you can tell, I was deathly afraid of it.

It had never before been so monstrously...BIG. The shaft extended to the center of my torso, and the tip seemed to cup inward slightly, instead of bulge outward like the penis I had seen in my biology textbook. It spasmed lightly at random moments, and I could actually SEE my heartbeat through the pulse of the veins that lined around it in certain places. It felt warm, too, with what I suppose now was the increased amount of blood flow. Worse yet, it was growing warmer...almost hot.

I shifted underneath the bedsheets uncomfortably, scared to allow anything, even any part of my own body, to rub against the behemoth connected to me. Why was I feeling these sensations as it rubbed against the mattress? Worse yet, what would happen if I dared to...touch it?

I reached out a quivering flipper, and slowly pressed the tip of it against the underside of my penis, close to the head. My whole body shook. I felt that warmth flood my heart again, as if all blood flow had been reconnected to engulf that central organ. An image projected itself in my brain of my heart growing bigger and bigger with the surplus of blood that was flowing inside me. My ears teared up at the thought that it could explode, and I could very well die tonight.

I momentarily thought about screaming for my parents to come into the room, but something in my brain stopped me from doing so. Again, I wanted to make this discovery on my own, in the secret of darkness, in my room.

I looked down at my member, watching it twitch repeatedly with my heartbeat and breathing. I moved my flipper towards it again, this time placing it over my penis, in a flat, planar position. Perhaps I thought I could contain any imminent explosion or extended growth.

But...the warmth. I will never, EVER forget...the warmth.

The warmth felt absolutely perfect. There was no bolt of pleasure this time - only a sensation of absolute tenderness and intimacy, as if my own flipper was a sort of lover or protector of this particular organ. Considering what I do with my penis now, I consider this a very laughable and ironic action. You are free to laugh as well, dear reader.

I stayed in this position for quite a few minutes, just covering my penis with that one flipper, then taking the other flipper and covering it with that, too. I remember sighing and smiling, closing my eyes, and leaning my head back again, my belly growing with one huge breath, and then slowly deflate just enjoying this feeling of perfection that filled my soul and body. My penis was safe, a part of my body encased within other parts of my body, filling me with perfect contentment.

And I dared to rub.

I moved my flippers up along my oosik, ever so slowly. I gasped. My heart jumped. I moved them back down again, hoping to slow down my heart rate. Not possible. I moved back up again. Oh dear God...the torture...the unbearable, unimaginable, PLEASURABLE TORTURE!

I remember moving my foot flippers back and forth along the mattress, murring in a cacophonic mixture of pain and pure happiness. I was so incredibly scared, and yet, somehow, this felt so ADDICTIVE. I shifted all over the bed, never stopping the rubbing motions, but finally, I kicked out my right flipper sharply. Then my left flipper. Then the left flipper again. I kicked out both flippers, thrashing and throwing my head from side to side, as if I had just been born and crying out for air. The worst part was trying to keep myself quiet so my parents wouldn't discover this embarrassing predicament I had put myself in.

I so wanted to will away all these feelings that were so addictive, and yet so incredibly frightening to my young body. I continued to rub, not wanting to stop, feeling the fire of sexual hunger grow deep within the pit of my stomach. I rubbed faster and faster, shifting the position of my flippers slightly to experiment with different sensations that just continued to make this pleasure grow!!!

I opened my eyes, and slowly widened them. Something was happening. Something...impossible.

I had to go urinate. But I couldn't get up.

Fear and pleasure continued to cause tremendous dischord in my brain. I couldn't stop rubbing my penis, but I had to go urinate! I could FEEL something crawling up through my penis, getting closer and closer to the tip! If it came out of me, and I soiled the bedspread, I would be in such trouble! I remember crying out meekly, begging my penis not to urinate, wishing for the worst not to happen. I remember tears. I remember trying to cover the tip with one flipper, hoping I could somehow block the impending stream.

With the other flipper, I squeezed the base of my penis, thinking that I could stop the flow of urine entirely. Yes, I know. Bad idea. This just ENCOURAGED the explosion of my very first orgasm.

Absolutely fucking incredible.

As academic as I consider myself to be, that may be the best way to describe it. Godly. Majestic. Other-worldly. I was flying through the universe and coming into contact with every star, exploding with them in so many ways. I saw lights and fireworks before my eyes. Every single color visible and invisible to a walrus' eye. The delicious tastes of chocolate, fruit, syrup, and ice cream flooded my senses, as did all their associated smells and textures. The sun exploded in a massive ball of white-hot liquid, and the moon crashed into me as I stifled a deafening scream in my throat (which was the most painful aspect of the experience). The greatest mysteries of life and the universe were revealed to me in a split second, and I collapsed, panting heavily.

As my room became once again visible, I slowly became aware of what had happened. I had urinated. I had wet the bed, at fifteen years old. The shame never felt greater. I looked down to see how much of a disgusting mess I had made, and how much I would need to clean up and ultimately explain to my parents.

My eyes widened again.

This was NOT urine.

The substance splattered all over my belly, neck, and muzzle was white, sticky, and much more viscous than urine. And it had a distinctly different smell to it, as well, almost like detergent. I was greatly confused, and somewhat worried. What liquid in my body was WHITE? I had never known of anything so bizarre in my entire life.

And yes, in case you are wondering, I did not learn of the physical aspects of semen until a few days later. Shameful, I know.

But what was unique to my personal nature was my sudden excitement of the situation. I immediately did what probably no other male would do after his first orgasm.

I struggled to get out of bed, careful to not lose a single drop of the precious substance or get it on the sheets, and hobbled over to my microscope on a nearby desk. Turning on the desk lamp, I hurriedly went through my desk drawer, looking for a clean, sterile slide and dropper. I instantly extracted some of the strange liquid from my belly into the dropper, and squeezed out a single bulb of a drop onto the slide.

With shaking and excited flippers, I put the slide under the microscope and turned it on, setting the magnification to 1,000x, which I hoped would be enough to see what I had just produced, in great detail.

I put one eye to the microscope's lens, and for the third time that night, it widened.

I saw them. Cells. Wriggling, moving cells. LIVING cells. Bulbous heads, long, flickering tails, all swimming around each other rapidly.

My heart beat wildly, but it might as well have sung. I had created LIFE. Somehow, there were living creatures deep within my body that I had just created a minute ago. My muzzle broadened into an open mouthed smile, and I may have even shed a tear at the new, beautiful discovery.

But this smile soon faded as I watched the cells move slower and slower, until they stopped moving entirely. My eyebrow ridges arched as I softly tapped the slide, hoping to agitate them into moving again, but they did not move. I tapped it again. No response. I held my breath as I realized the truth.

They were dead.

I had just killed the very beings I brought to life, purely through that act of pleasurable release. It only made sense; they could not live outside of my body. I looked down at the sticky, huge mess on my belly and groin, and realized that I had produced far, FAR more than just a single drop, and therefore had given birth to, and killed, millions.

I looked up at the window across my desk and beheld an ugly, villainous creature in the reflection. The mess of white dripping from his tusks might as well have been red, looking like he had just devoured millions of innocents.

I had slaughtered them all. Billions of them. I had never felt (and never would feel) more shame in my entire life at such an action.

I remember collapsing on that desk, adding a flood of tears to my dead cells, and nearly throwing up from the disgust of my shameful action. There was indeed a reason to fear and regret what I had done. As I thoroughly cleaned every drop of my dead children from every part of my body and desk, I vowed that night that I would never do it again.

I would eventually break that vow, but I will relay that to you later.