In 1989 my brother had his first orgasm. I wasn’t there, but he told me all about it afterwards. Sex education classes were less than helpful, meaning he wasn’t exactly sure what would happen and even after it did happen he wasn’t sure that that he’d done it right.

“So who’s the woman?” he asked.

“What woman?”

“The woman that you see when see at the end. She’s pretty. I don’t think I’ve seen her before.” I had no idea what he was talking about. I told him that sometimes I'd picture women to help me get going, but it was mostly women I already knew or I'd seen on tv.

A couple of weeks later he had another orgasm. He waited that long, because he’d heard a strange rumour that wanking makes you go blind. I’m not sure who started that, but it’s a theory filled with holes and inconsistencies. Anyway, he told me that when he climaxed he saw the woman again, but her face wasn’t as clear the second time. I told him that he should stop telling me about his masturbatory adventures, because it was weird. He didn’t stop though, and the stories started becoming more and more frequent.

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen” he’d say “But her face is becoming foggier every time”. Sometimes he said that he thought she was trying to say something, but she’d disappear as soon as she opened her mouth. By 1991 he was wanking fourteen or fifteen times a day. He could only see her face when he came and the face was so distorted now that it was like trying to read a newspaper through muddy glass from a mile away, but he still had the memory of the first time. That sweet day. He couldn’t picture the face, but he knew that it was the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

In 1993 my brother lost his virginity. I was away at college at the time, so he sent me a letter. It went into a lot of detail and some very basic drawings. The letter said that when he reached the orgasm he saw the face again and it was as clear as the first time, maybe even clearer, but the woman was crying. Tears were falling down her perfect face and she was in pain. My brother never had sex again.

During his next few self-inflicted orgasms her face was as vivid as it was back in 89 and he began to hear a heavenly whisper. He was sure that she was calling his name. He dropped out of school and started wanking all day every day. Within a month the face was lost behind the muddy glass again and the whisper was nothing but a dull echo.
Eventually my parents took him to see the doctor. The doctor had terrible news. My brother had wanked so often, that if he stopped, he would die. I’m not sure what the science behind it was, but that man had been our doctor since the 70s. We trusted him.

So they took my brother home, put him on a drip and let him carry on searching for the face or an answer. By 1995 he was down to 6 stone and hadn’t left his bed in over nine months. We called in a specialist and he said that it would probably be for the best if we tied his hands and let him go peacefully. He said that he wouldn’t last another year anyway. My dad said that he couldn’t allow it, but my mother said that she couldn’t bear to watch her son destroy himself anymore. They divorced two weeks later and my dad had my brother put into a special care facility.

In June 1996 my brother finally wanked himself to death.

Steve, London.

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