I encrusted my bed as a kid to the point that it was brown.

I encrusted my bed as a kid to the point that it was brown.

When I was around 12 or 13, my hormones were in full effect and I was a nonstop masturbator. Every night I would fire up my DSi and surf internet for hours like clock work until I was finished, in which I would turn it off and go to sleep. Now, I obviously did not want to sleep with me all over my hands, so I would go to the corner of my bed, lift the bed cover, and kinda just wipe it off there and fall asleep. I would like to say that I would get up some times and rinse my hands off in the bathroom like a normal person, but right hand on the bible I cannot remember a single time where I did that.

This nightly ritual went on for a few months and at one point I did notice that the bed started to feel “rougher” when I would wipe my hand on it, but me being lazy didn’t really pick up on what was happening because I would be understandably tired and it would be at night and I really couldn’t see. So I was blissfully unaware until one day I was changing my sheets and noticed that it looked… brown in that area. I’m not talking like a light hue, I’m talking Scooby Doo brown. I felt it and it was a hard rock candy feel, like touching the surface of a jolly rancher and its was weirdly sweet smelling. There was so much that some it hardened in tear drop formation like a water droplet on glass, ontop of the base layer of spunk. I immediately knew this was me and tried to scrape it off, and it did somewhat come off in like small flakes but the mattress itself was stained, there was no denying that. After I finished my brilliant mind thought the problem was solved, so I kept doing what I was doing for about another year and a halfish.

I did not clean it again and pretty much forgot/ignored it until the day came where we moved. My Dad wanted to throw the bed out, so we went up and I undressed my bed and my heart sank when I saw that the brown patch was back with a vengeance. Unfortunately for my Dad, that’s the side that he decided to carry and when he saw it he said “what the fuck is this? Did you spill Coke?”. I said yes immediately because wow, what an out! But looking back would not have made any sense unless I spilled multiple cokes in the same exact spot for years. We lift it and he grabs it directly on the spunk spot and I am internally screaming as we bring it all the way down the stairs and out to his car to throw out. It’s been over a decade since then and I still think about this and have never told a soul.

EDIT: Guys I’m sorry, I did not mean to ruin everyone’s association with Scooby Doo.