Everyone has a hobby. I have a buddy, who, after a hard day of work, loves to come home to a bowl of popcorn and hours of taped TV shows. Another friend takes her dog three times a week to the agility barn to watch Buster jump through hoops. All very socially acceptable. When I am asked what my hobbies are, it’s easy to spout out the usual – “I love to read! I go to museums! I play scrabble!” But you, dear, lucky Reader, get to hear the truth.
I can out-masturbate anyone anytime anywhere. I’ve got it down to an art, and Dear Reader, at present I’m finding that sex with another can’t compare. My jack-off sessions are so fulfilling, that another person in the room would just be in my way. And I need minimum three hours or else I won’t bother. During sex with myself, I have no inhibitions, no qualms about what someone will think of me, I can be a total freak, I can be completely unselfconscious. I can dance in the mirror for hours with my hands down my pants. I can look in the mirror, one hand holding a Jack and Coke, the other a cigarette, and call myself a fuckin’ cum-lickin’ whore. You know that pill bottle full of saved cum in the fridge? Pour it on yourself. Drink a glass of piss. Sniff your pits. Spit on your chest. Love the fact you’ve got a full bush when gay magazines say to trim it. Be the cock of the block and do things you’re not sure you could really pull off with someone else watching. Consume major amounts of porn. All the while amazed at the gift that sexuality is. There is a narcissistic element to this kind of self-love, but it makes up for all the times I doubted myself or felt inferior (or...does it stem from that?). And it’s not a substitute for the “real thing”. This is real. It always feels like the first time. It’s a date with myself, wherein I shower first, turn on the music, dim the lighting, set up any sex toys I might want to play with. To me, it’s a valid as any other date I’ve ever been on. Except I never get stood up this way.
Why can’t I just do this in private and shut up about it? Why do I have to write about it for god’s sake? Why write this blog at all? The answer is simple: Anger. I’m angry that as a religious teenager, I used to masturbate for 10 minutes and then pray for forgiveness for half an hour afterwards. The fear I had about sexuality in my youth was abominable. Masturbation is not self-abuse, the needless guilt is.
I’m angry that some people would think a three-hour jack off is time wasted. Is self-love a waste of time? I think it beats Scrabble any day.
I’m angry that we all masturbate and can’t talk about it except through jokes. But why must I share the dirty details? Because we need to know that we’re not alone in our kinks. Secrets lead to shame. This blog is an attempt to shatter the hypocrisy around something that is a gift to be celebrated. I’m also just plain curious – I like to know what gets other people off. If it’s safe and sane and between consenting adults, how did it come to be that we can’t talk about it? Why, after eating the apple in the garden of eden did Adam and Eve clothe themselves for shame? I was not explicitly taught that masturbation was wrong, but as a teenager, I inferred it. How did that happen, I wonder, just as I wonder where our fear of spiders, most of which are harmless, comes from? And look at what repression does: My adolescent guilt has spawned an adult that writes a sex blog.
But I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit that, after I cum, a touch of the old-brain guilt slips in. And then I wonder if three hours jerking off isn’t excessive. Am I addicted to jacking? I’m a responsible person, working and caring for friends and family. Can’t I have this without guilt?
Writing this blog entry is the last task of a long day for me. It’s almost time to reward myself with my nightly jack-off ritual. But a worrisome thought nags at me: Why do I seem to believe that I can’t be as uninhibited sexually with another person as I am with myself? What would it take to be that free with a man? The joy with masturbating alone is that my happiness, fulfillment and self-esteem doesn’t depend on another.
After I post this, I will, in four hours, be a puddle of sweat, piss and cum. What are YOU doing tonight? Playing Scrabble?