The most shameful onanism

In the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind there is a scene where the main character, Joel, is trying to hide in his most humiliating thoughts, and finds himself transported in a placetime in the past where he is in his bed as a teenager masturbating to crude drawings of feline humanoids with breasts. Which reminded me, haven't we all? As men, there are points is our lives, particularly in adolescence when our instilled social shame has yet to fully accommodate with what we come to call "our Personality", where we find ourselves working toward an orgasm via stimuli of things, images or thoughts, that later in time seem simply outworldly. Did I really do that? Was I really that sad? Over time an unconcious burrowing of those sickening but overall minor memories make us easily forget about those situations possibly to never resurface all the way to the grave. And yet, they've happened, we forgot them, we wanted to forget them, we didn't try to forget them, but they're gone. Perhaps it's for the best, perhaps there's a safety mechanism in the human brain that makes it simpler to exude these, not really painful but disconcerting parts of our history, these crude rooves on our Starry Night, these typos in the notes of our Lusiads, these out of tune violins on the edge of our ensemble playing the Canon in D, so that in the unlikely event that someone picks truth in a Truth or Dare game (no one picks truth) and ask "What was the most messed up think you jerked off to?" you can guiltlessly say "I don't know" ("I don't remember").