The Story of the First No-Nut November
From William Bradford’s Journal of Plymouth Plantation, Sixteen Hundred and Twenty-One.
A lamentable malady had taken fifty and two souls from the humble colony that first winter. Some said God had forsaken them. Others feared plague. But most remarkable were the words of Myles Standish, a well-respected member of the community. For he declared the pain that afflicted them was neither Divine retribution nor another Great Sickness, but was the consequence of their men too often partaking in lustful self-gratification.
William Bradford, being a just Governor, shunned Myles Standish and his beliefs, reminding him that they were a Christian people, and had never before engaged in such carnal pleasures.
“Right?” he asked the men.
They all did then look around sort of sheepishly and murmured, “Yeah, of course,” but in a way that wasn’t entirely convincing. John Billington stepped forward. “But maybe we should listen to him anyway?” he said. “Just in case someone here—not me—has been partaking in it two or three times before each sundown.”
Thus did the men charge John Smith, he a learned man, to add an addendum to their Mayflower Compact, each man pledging to cease that goodly and pleasant activity for the duration of two fortnights so that they may be strong and fruitful and serve His greater glory. And so an autumn tradition was born. They called it No-Nutte November.
On the seventh day of November, the community lost two men, John Lyford and Charles Chauncey. For those two had nutted, and were no longer of good use to the men’s task.
On the fourteenth day, the colony was visited by two of the Wampanoag people, Samoset and Tisquantum. This pair told Governor Bradford they had been watching the settlers and could rightly see their neighbors were not well because of the men’s visible tension and very, very short tempers. The Wampanoag offered to share their skills in fishing, in hunting, and in farming the land.
William Bradford rejoiced, for this news would relieve the problems that had bedeviled Plymouth since the start of No-Nutte November.
“No-Nutte November?” asked Tisquantum. Governor Bradford smiled and proudly told the Wampanoag how his community wasn’t releasing any ejaculate until December.
Tisquantum and Samoset looked at one another for a long while. “Why would you do that?” asked Samoset.
Bradford, eager to convert these two pagans to the No-Nutting path, told them of its virtues: “It improves mental focus, and there’s this one study that says it makes your sperm stronger. They even talk about it in ancient Taoist literature. You two need to try it.”
But Tisquantum and Samoset were already speed-walking back into yon forest. “We forgot we had a thing!” yelled Tisquantum. Samoset waved goodbye but didn’t stop moving: “We’ll come back and teach you how to fish tomorrow!”
They were never seen again.
By twenty-one November, many more men had abandoned their noble experiment and resumed defiling themselves. It was in this way the settlement was torn asunder, divided between those who abided by their pledge to keep their seeds inside their rods, and those who thought the endeavor to be “superstition disguised as medicine” and “really dumb” and “please stop talking about masturbation.”
Woe! It was brother against brother. Christian against Christian. Balls against blue balls.
The failure of this communal project of No-Nutting, which was tried by good and noble men, revealed the endeavor to be empty, even as their scrotums were full to the brim. Nevertheless, as one small candle may light a thousand, so this brave undertaking may yet inspire generation upon generation on these shores to carry on No-Nutte November.
For that, this land can be truly Thankful.
