Let's say for a minute, that you're a guy. Let's also assume that you grew up in a relatively normal environment, filled with a reasonable amount of love and care from your elders and developed rather normally into adulthood. It would then be fair to assume that, ignoring any possibly developed fetishes, kinks or general abnormalities in your sexual existence, for all intents and purposes, you like many other individuals enjoy reminiscing about past sexual experiences. Most notably, of course, those experiences that were, "firsts".

You know, first kiss, first time you got to second base, first time you dipped your balls in chocolate to let the neighbors dog get a taste...the usual fare. Because of our tendency to romanticize our own history, it's understandable that each of us has one of those moments that, because of it's total awesomeness, tends to sit comfortably in the back of our mind waiting to be stirred by a casual reminder. Once triggered, a flood of sensory overload takes control and it's as if, even for the shortest moment, that we are reliving that experience all over. This experience might be called our, "Spirit Hump".

If you need a minute to find your spirit hump, please take a moment now to do so.

When I was in 10th grade, after a long spell of refusal to entertain the concept of sexual contact with another human being, I decided that it was time to get myself a lady friend. Not because my hormones had reached critical mass but more because of the fact that I realized my G.I.Joe and Transformers toys taking up most of the space in my families basement was beginning to reflect a bit negatively on me as a growing boy. It also seemed logical that as a growing boy, it might be time to experience certain parts of growing up that had eluded me. Thus, I set about to find myself an official girlfriend. Of course, not having made even the most casual of indications that I was interested in any female classmate the 4 or 5 years earlier had resulted in me being pegged as a, "POSSIBLE HOMO". This was a shock to me when I discovered this label existed, however, being a surprisingly confident young man, it did relatively little damage to my ego. However, this label did succeed in making the hunt for a female a much more difficult challenge than I had expected. And so, 10th grade was spent quietly, alone with my buddies.

Then 11th grade started and lo and behold, I found myself a gal. A real sweet girl who was in my art class and seemed to dig me, bowl cut, punk t-shirts, skull rings and all. We had our first kiss following swim practice one afternoon after we had been dating for almost three weeks with little more than casual hand-holding on the menu. I had forgotten to realize that once a girl had been obtained, I would most likely be expected to follow through with normal dating activities like sucking face, etc. Being a novice of course, made it difficult for me to initiate. Ultimately, she had to basically grab me, pull me close and plant one on me while I went limp in her arms, dizzy with confusion.

However, a kiss it was and bingo, like that, my horse was out of the gate.

Our relationship blossomed into brutal make-out sessions in bathrooms during school, on bathroom floors at friends houses after school and in the back of movie theaters. Marks, bites, bruises...all the signs of successful integration into sexual contact. It sort of rooled. We investigated second base, hands wrestling through izod sweaters and small white bras. I had assumed of course that the female breast was a soft, fleshy bit. However, once there...in complete sense realization, I don't think I could ever have expected just how soft, warm and firm they actually were.

A few weeks later Halloween rolled in. Having crossed as many bridges as possible before full de-pants disclosure it was clear that it was time to round third. And here, my friends, is where my Spirit Hump resides.

Technically, I'm not a big Halloween guy. Sure, I love candy and any chance to get my hands on some is a good time, but the stress that goes into costumes and the like always wore me down. Thus, by the time I was in 11th grade, I had already established myself as one of those, go-to ghoul kind of guys. My lady friend, being more adventurous settled on a swell pirate costume and into the night we both set off. We had made plans to meet behind the old church around 11PM, me with my crew of male retards and her with her batch of ponies. Ponies of course referring to young ladies.

We met and for the next several hours we wandered our suburban landscape until the witching hour was upon us. The time where unless something gets going, folks will be heading home. My gal pal, ever the adventure seeker grabbed my gloved hand (it's cold on the east coast around Halloween) and we worked our way through a thicket and into a clearing circled by some of the most enormous evergreen trees I had ever seen. Sure, this was my hometown, but hopped up on sugar and the sweet smell of K-Mart Halloween make-up made me feel as if each sensation I was experiencing was new and fresh. Then, there in the clearing, as we molested each others faces, snot mixing with saliva, cold tipped noses rubbing, my girl went downtown.

She opened my belt with the skill of a blind woman, and there in cold moonlight, she took my young stuff in hand and got to tuggin'. At first I wasn't sure of the penis now showing in the pale light was mine. Sure, there was no one else around, but could this really be happening? I made a mental note to document every detail that occurred, every sensation. Only after a few minutes of what I can only describe as the greatest motherfuckin' feeling in my entire life did I realize that she was still wearing a very rough, thick wool glove.

This realization was a shock to say the least. In some regards it was a horror. The friction was unbelievable and honestly, it hurt. But goddamnit, her hand was one my penis and that in itself made it worthwhile. It could have been glass shards, I still wouldn't have called it off. Ah, teen dreams

And so, as I've aged, this Spirit Hump has stayed with me. And yes, while the handjobs have improved immensely over the years, that initial moment, that experience tends to be one of the strongest memories that sits quietly in the back of my brain. Now some people like to say handjobs are old hat. That they lack pizzaz but to those people I say, find your own Spirit Hump. This dood grooves on the hand's on.

With that said, My Handiwork Volume 1 has to be one of the best handjob DVDs I've seen in some time. Lexi Belle, Faye Reagan, Gianna Michaels, Chayse Evans all recalling the first time they gave a handjob? Nice.

Get at it. Buy it, relive it. It's only $14.99 and you are going to be really, really happy you did.

MY HANDIWORK VOLUME 1