Thursday, February 7, 2008

Firsts are always changes

Category labels: Community, D/s dynamics, Emotions, Femdom, Kink events, Male sexuality, Masculinity, Masturbation, Personal experience, Relationship, Sex, Uncategorized, Writing and blogging

One of the reasons I’m so interested in kink and sexuality is because it’s implicitly a big part of my life. It’s everywhere and nowhere at the very same time, not unlike how many people understand god. For me, my sexuality is akin to my religion: self-expression (and particularly sexual self-expression) is my prayer, I am my own god, and the pleasure-positive, queer-friendly, self-empowering communities of which I am a part are my Church.

I like the references to religious imagery apparent in much of my play even though the thought of religion in my sex life makes me feel viscerally repulsed. I won’t do religious-themed play (naughty priests, nuns, and even Rabbis spring to mind—all potentially sexy for some people if not for me), but I understand the impetus of those who do. I like getting wings, being referred to as an obedient angel, or the idea of being nailed to a cross. I am no martyr, for martyrdom and ultimate self-sacrifice is in many ways the epitome of what I find repugnant; I ask to be hurt, to be beat, to be etched and marked, because it’s what I want, not something I dislike that’s merely a path to something “more.”

Parts of my life, like kink, present themselves in interesting ways sometimes. They’re like habits, much in the way going to the gym is something that is at first difficult but over time becomes habitual and—not necessarily in a negative context—addictive. If I don’t get my kink fix for a while, I start getting antsy. The physical catharsis of a good beating goes hand-in-hand with emotional catharsis of some kind. It’s one way that I experience the connection between the body and the mind.

What I’ve found over the past few weeks is that, at least for now, writing about these experiences and continuing my own introspective explorations about myself, my sexuality, and how I relate to the world around me (as well as why the world around me is so fucked up), is similarly emotional cathartic. Yes, I’ll admit it: I blog as a form of self-treatment. And I’ve been itching to start writing again.

However, I’m a horribly change-averse person at my core, in spite of the fact that I am also occasionally an eager risk-taker. When I stopped writing often, it became difficult to start up again. So many pieces of my life are scattered about the floor around me, in piles waiting to be sorted, packed, and shipped off to the other side of the planet (I’m moving to Sydney, Australia, from New York City), that I desperately wanted to maintain some semblance of continuity and order among the change and chaos.

You’d think, naturally, that with all the preparations to be made, the telephone, Internet, gas and electric, and other utility accounts to close down, the bank accounts to open and close, the taxes to complete for the previous year, the stuff to move, the apartments (and jobs?) to find on the other side of the world, and everything else I have to do to move my whole life from one of Earth’s hemispheres to the other, that I wouldn’t be able to squeeze in time for more play. In fact, I expected to be so busy that kink would have to take a back-seat to the rest of my life until I was settled again. Boy, was I wrong.

In the past few weeks, I’ve played more often than I have in the past half-year. Furthermore, I’ve played with more people in less time than I ever have before—the exact figure would have been even higher had there been the time. I lament the fact that it’s only now, with my imminent retreat from the in many ways stifling New York City scene that I’ve suddenly experienced an explosion of play partner possibilities who are not only fun and intriguing but who also seem to actively desire playing with men who bottom or, (gasp!) are actually submissive and self-respecting. C’est la vie….

The experiences are not all incredibly intense in and of themselves, but the experience of my own broadening “promiscuity” and apparent desirability is incredibly disorienting, and surprisingly uncomfortable at the same time that it is very welcome. After repeated conversations about the topic, in which I often express confusion, doubt, and glee at the situation, the best I can come up with is that “I’m not used to being liked at so intensely,” to borrow one of Rona’s lovely grammatical idioms. Of course, I’m not oblivious to the reasons: I’m relatively good-looking even if I still don’t consider myself “hot”, I have a pretty wide and (to some) intense range of things I enjoy doing, and I’m an all-around decent person.

What’s so astonishing to me, then, is that other people have taken note of these things, too. Actually being in demand by people who’ve never even heard of me before, as opposed to being merely available, is a lovely, self-affirming experience. It’s the ego-boost I’ve heard so many women talk about. And I’m not too proud to admit that it was really, really nice to have.

The weekend after the Flea in Rhode Island, I went to a weekend-long private party near Boston, having been invited by a friend along with Eileen, and the experience (much of which is the foundation for the feelings expressed in this post) was the exact opposite of what I expected. Instead of feeling shunned, I felt wanted. I played each night, each night feeling a bit more comfortable than the one before, until on Sunday night I not only got beat in ways that made me moan when I moved for days, I also had my first semi-public orgasm and outright sexual experience with someone I’d just met.

Oh, it was tame, and relatively short-lived, but the fact remains that it was the first of its kind: invited to join Eileen and the top both she and I had met (and played with) earlier in the party on the floor in a corner of one of the party rooms, I lay back and the two of them proceeded to rub and caress my bruised body while he (the top) pressed a Hitachi Magic Wand against my penis. A few minutes later, while I was just beginning to start writhing in pleasure on the floor, my friend from Kink in Exile, who had just gotten through beating my thighs and ass with one of her metal pipes, joined our corner and took a spot rubbing my chest, nipples, and sides.

I was uncomfortable being the center of so much explicitly sexual attention. Three people, one of whom I didn’t even know before the weekend started and another whom I’d seen in person for only the second time, were now sitting around me while I lay on the floor and braced myself against the vibrator’s insistent buzzing. And at first, I really was bracing against it.

“This is not very like me,” I was thinking. It was weird and uncomfortable, and I wondered if they were actually enjoying this anyway, letting me just lie back and enjoy myself with almost no words exchanged about it. “Maybe there are expectations I’m not aware of. That’d be bad!” I closed my eyes early on to try to fend off any triggers for more doubt, and not being able to see is something that helps me turn inwards, to focus on the sensations in my body rather than the thoughts in my mind.

It took me a long time to shove the nuisance of my own self-doubt out of my head in order to relax enough to enjoy what they were doing. At the start I was giggly and clearly nervous, but they all reassuringly told me to hush. The orgasm built slowly, but as a result it was fierce and explosive and wonderful and it left me a little dizzy.

After it was over and I came back down from the high of the beatings and the orgasm, the newness of the experience struck me most clearly: I’m changing, too. For years, even though I’ve had due cause, I’d been walled off and detached from the social and sexual possibilities and opportunities laid out before me. No, they aren’t always there in such massive quantity as they were at this party for the first time, but I know they were there.

Maybe I’m starting to be ready to really say “yes” to a lot of the things I wanted but wasn’t ready for before. It took the right people, in the right place, at the right time, to make it happen. Just as it did when Eileen and I first met.

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Monday, November 26, 2007

While fucking, I prefer to get fucked

Category labels: BDSM in the media, BDSM psychology, Bisexuality, Bitter and jealous, Erotica and pornography, Gender fluidity, Masturbation, Politics of sex, Sex

This began as a comment on Bitchy Jones’s recent and wonderful post (in typical “rock-the-boat” fashion) on how awesome getting fucked is, but it spiraled into a bit of a longer remark. It expresses a sentiment so frustratingly common in me that I’d rather keep it here. You know, for posterity or something.

Bitchy’s a self-described “dominant slut.” That is great (really); I’m all in favor of pulling stagnant gender binaries out of the penetrative experience of sexual power play. (Penetration being equated to power was first discussed when strap-ons made their debut in my corner of the blogosphere.) Bitchy basically made the oft-but-never-oft-enough-made argument that any sexual act is not inherently dominant or submissive, kind of like this:

it wasn’t being penetrated itself that was submissive. It was just that all femininity was equated with submission - that everything a woman did in sex had been made to look as if it was a priori submissive.

But there is no way that such simple basics – being the hole or the plug – are on their own submissive or dominant. It only has further meaning in context.

Then she talked a lot about how awesome getting fucked is, kind of like this:

You know what I fucking love? I fucking love to get fucked. […] I like fucking for the same reason I like hitting men, looking at bondage porn or eating steak and chips. I like pleasure.

So I suppose I’m a submissive slut, and I’m happy to say so. I like fucking, too. Catch is, (and I hate that I have to qualify it) even though I’m a guy, my dick just gets harder for the getting fucked part way more than the doing the fucking part. Kind of like Bitchy. In fact, except for all the dominant context, exactly like Bitchy.

Sometimes I have to wonder where men like me fit into the picture. Here’s a hint: It’s not here.

A guy who prefers to get fucked instead of preferring to do the fucking. Well, that’s hardly a mystery: “Must be (a) gay (bottom).” Or, “must be a sissy.” Or, “must not be an alpha (aka. best kind of) male.” I can’t even begin to imagine how I might defend myself against these things because that would imply that these things are bad to be (they’re not) or that they aren’t true (parts are, though they’re not universally true).

I’m not gay, I’m bisexual. I’m not a sissy, but I’m clearly not the hegemonic masculine man, either. I’m not what sociologists would describe as an “alpha” personality, but I can piss on the alphas with the best of them (and I’ve had to in the past). Often I feel that nobody bothers to look at this nuance. Robert Heasley, a gender theorist, began exploring some aspects of this in Chapter 5 of Thinking Straight as what he calls straight-queer men. While some of what he writes about strike very close to home for me, I am not straight because there’s that whole quibbling eroticism of homosexual encounters thing.

So I’ve never known what language to use while doing any soul-searching, or how to present myself so others know what to make of me sexually. I never felt like I had a place in either mainstream kink or femdom kink, so I keep trying to make something up.

I might naively say “I’m just me,” but I refuse to accept that I’m just that unique. I’m not that special (no matter what my father keeps trying to tell me). There are other men like me—and if you’re willing to put some money down on it, I’d bet there are lots of them. But, let’s get back to the having sex part.

I like fucking. I like it when I’m getting fucked on my penis. Yes, that’s perfectly possible. When I’m talking about getting fucked, I’m not necessarily talking about getting penetrated. A man with an erect penis can actually get fucked—fucking or getting fucked does not have a one-to-one relationship with one’s anatomical genitalia. That said, I don’t see why men who top shouldn’t be able to get it up the ass if they want to. Again, topping or bottoming does not have a one-to-one correlation with whether you are the “active” or “receptive” partner in a sexual encounter. So, it follows, that I also like getting fucked in my asshole.

Hell, if it weren’t for all the “must be gay (or a sissy)” crap which not-gay and not-sissy submissive guys (i.e., that’s me, in case you lost track) are pelted with all the time I might have even felt like I got the best deal of all: I have a plug and a hole to use while getting fucked. Actually, I have two holes if you count my mouth, and I do. It sounds like the perfect recipe for a foursome to me, and I bet you can figure out how I’d put the puzzle pieces together. (I always liked Tetris.)

Only, frustratingly, very few other people seem to be putting the puzzle pieces together the same way I am. This leads to some very upsetting experiences, like trying to jerk off to stuff that instead of turning you on increasingly makes you bitter. Yeah, I thought that was pretty fucked up, too, but I’m going to save that rant for another entry.

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Friday, November 2, 2007

The unexpected clarity

Category labels: BDSM psychology, Chastity/Orgasm denial, D/s dynamics, Emotions, Femdom, Masturbation, Personal experience, Relationship, Sexual teasing and control

I am anal retentive, persistently consistent, and have a notorious dislike for change. Yet whenever something new happens for the first time, I am endlessly fascinated by it. Just such a new thing happened the other night. Allow me to set the scene.

It is late, past ten o’clock in the evening. It has been a long day, pleasant at parts and disagreeable at others, but it is over and I am through it nonetheless. Throughout the day, I have spent some short moments flirting with Eileen and making horribly inappropriate remarks about the use I think she should put me to when we are home for my being in an office. I don’t dare stand up, though I have been looking forward to being home.

And, of course, I am horny.

Eileen and I met up on the subway and went home together. At home, she ordered me to fetch her food and drink as she settled down with her computer onto the bed in our living room, which doubles as a sofa because neither of us really care for “proper appearances” and you might be amazed how useful a four-poster twin-size bed is in the living room. Eventually, I had gone to the shower, where, because I was horny, I spent a chunk of the night masturbating (and, of course, not having orgasms).

Now, after ten o’clock in the evening, I am horny.

But, I am also somewhat disappointed, and consequently somewhat annoyed, and consequently somewhat pissed off. I wanted to spend time with Eileen, ideally being sexual, but if not then just spending the night with her. I was specifically looking forward to it, and thought she was looking forward to the same. Instead, I feel lonely because it’s been three hours and her computer is getting the attention I want from her, and now it is getting late and I am tired anyway and soon it will be bedtime and then I will have missed the chance to spend time with her and then I will have a crappy day the next day or I will not have a good night sleep…and…and…and….

And, by the way, I am horny.

I try to ignore the horniness, as masturbating will only make the distraction stronger and anyway I’m not permitted to do that without Eileen’s explicit permission. But even if I did have permission to pleasure myself and even if pleasuring myself would have satiated my growing sexual restlessness, I am uninterested in doing so because it’s not what I want. What I want is to spend time with Eileen, and masturbating while she is focused on her own work does not fulfill that desire in any way.

So I sit down at my computer, trying to forget about how incredible horny I am.

Only, I can’t. I turn to Eileen and dejectedly remark on the time. Only, the conversation doesn’t proceed like the one in my head and instead of making me feel better it makes us both feel bad. Now Eileen, I imagine, feels as though I am too much to deal with, too clingy and demanding of way too much time. I feel bad because maybe she’s right, because I have frustrated myself further by failing to create a better situation for myself, and I still feel lonely and want to spend time with her but then isn’t that potentially asking too much anyway? I am like this a lot. I really am a high-maintenance boyfriend.

Now, I am upset. For a few moments, I’m no longer horny at all.

We stop talking, having gotten nowhere and instead I turn back to my computer, intent on watching iPhone Developer Technical Talk videos from Apple’s WWDC 2007, something that is sure to lift my spirits. Only it doesn’t, and as I’m sitting naked in my chair I feel silly and needlessly exposed.

I do something that is actually a big deal when I’m home: I put on some pants. My mood has shifted and I shed the old one like a skin, donning the new one like a shell that I crawl into. My pants are this shell, letting me emotionally “climb under the covers” and away from this badness.

Only that’s not enough either, and now I’m feeling worse because Eileen is in the kitchen without a smile on her face and I am further away from her, which is exactly what I didn’t want. I’ve succeeded in nothing at all. And now, worst of all, I am getting horny again.

In uncontrollable frustration, I stop the video and rip off my headphones and glasses—but not my pants—and march into the bedroom where I abruptly shut off all the lights and jump into bed, under our sheets. I curl up on my side and try to relax. I tell myself to let it go, that it’s not really a big deal and I’m just being moody, just being affected by all the hardship of work and the uncertainty the next few months are undoubtedly going to bring. But now I’m thinking about hardship and uncertainty and I am angry at the situation I have found myself in and I don’t want to be thinking about it and I just want it to go away.

And worst of all, every time I succeed in calming my mind even a little, my body forces something else to fill the void: I am horny.

Soon, Eileen tentatively enters the room and asks if she may lay next to me. I say nothing, way too deep in my invisible shell to speak, and she knows this. She joins me, snuggles up next to me. I feel her warmth and her skin and her arms around my shoulders, and my penis becomes ever more insistent. My breathing changes involuntarily. She notices, and moves her hand to my back, carefully.

How dare my body do this to me? I am angry, and in some perverse way, I want to be angry right now. And my body isn’t letting me because I’m too damn horny to be thinking about anything except her hand on my back and the softness of her skin and how hard my cock is and how much I want her to fuck me ’til we come. I want it, but I don’t. I try to stifle a soft moan, but can’t. She hears, and now her hand has found its way to my ass.

Eventually she pulls me out of my fetal position and removes all the layers of fabric that are covering me until I am naked once again. “Tell me this is okay,” she says to me. “It’s okay,” I whimper, surprising myself with the speed at which the response came out of my mouth. It’s no use trying to fight it anymore: I still don’t want to be sexual but I want her to force me to be sexual with her anyway. I am not so naive as to be perplexed by how these two seemingly contradictory feelings could possibly be within me at once, but I am nonetheless unfamiliar with their incredible genuineness and intensity.

What I want is to have things—my mood, our communication, the night—be better. I want to let go. This is the most indispensable quality of surrender, and of submission. I no longer care what happens. I just want her to take me so that I am dominated.

She touches my penis and I instantly shudder. Slowly, she moves my own hand to it and strokes me with my own fingertips. She tells me to keep masturbating myself the way she is showing me and I do. While watching me, she brings a bottle of lube and pours a few drops on the head of my cock and tells me to use my index finger and thumb to slowly rub along the underside and the top of my penis, from base to shaft and back again very slowly.

After another short while of watching my body shake and my mouth gnaw at my lips, she tells me to press harder. Then to go slightly faster. Then she closes the rest of my fingers around my shaft and guides my masturbation somewhat faster still, all of this to the music of my moans and whimpers.

Then she peels her underwear to the floor and lays down next to me to begin masturbating herself. “You’re not going to have an orgasm tonight,” she tells me quietly and I fight for breath at the thought, “but I’ll give you a choice. You can keep masturbating now, or you can stop and lie next to me here so I’ll hold you while I come.” I just whimper more. “It’s going to be excruciating either way. Do you want to keep masturbating?” she asks. For a moment the only sound that fills the room is that of the lube between my hand and my penis popping. I nod, and she smiles. “I like seeing you like this.”

She gave herself a strong orgasm that night. When she was done and had caught her breath, she looked back at me, my face contorted as one might be when near to the point of tears. She addressed me by my real full name, something she rarely does, paused so we could lock eyes, and said simply, “stop.”

Though I did stop, I also almost shrieked as I did so. She quickly collected me in her arms and hugged me close. Afterwards, I felt oddly satiated, and I had no trouble falling asleep that night.

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Thursday, July 19, 2007

Quick Thoughts on Blogging, Bisexuality, and Prostate Stimulation (no relation)

Category labels: Bisexuality, Chastity/Orgasm denial, Masturbation, Personal history, Polyamory, Sex, Sexual teasing and control, Strap-ons and dildos, Writing and blogging

Perhaps this should be three separate posts, but whatever. In preparation for Floating World, Jefferson from over on One Life, Take Two has asked for some reader participation. The topics are absolutely fascinating so I couldn’t help but offer my input:

1) Do you blog about sex? Let me know your site, your reasons forblogging, and your experiences as a blogger.

My experiences blogging are somewhat unusual because I have been blogging since before it was called blogging. Back in 1995, I set up a web site for bipolar youth on which I kept a semi-regular running journal. I was 12 or so at the time. My life since then is a remarkably open book. I find that blogging is one of the key techniques I use to maintain self-awareness and self-observation. I do this about sex, but I also do this about friends and family life, social events, and my work life. Making things public just makes things more accessible. I’ve gotten correspondence from people and have friends I would not have had other wise. To date, I’ve never experienced a profoundly negative effect from public blogging.

I keep getting warned that one day this is going to bite me, and you know what, maybe it will. But I’ve already gained so much from my own openness that it seems like a silly thing to fear the potential backlash of the future. I am much stronger now anyway, more confident but also more of a success in other people’s eyes. It becomes very difficult, I believe, to point at someone and say “You’re bad because of this or that” when you are presented with all the other things they have done that you don’t have any problem with.

Those of you who only read this blog may not know about the other topics I write about elsewhere, and those people will probably not wander on over here to read about kink and BDSM. As a result, while I am just one voice, I am a voice for many things. It’s that kind of diversity that gives people their strength and which makes it hard to demonize any one aspect of a person’s life.

2) What are your experiences with male bisexuality? I’m interested in your personal experiences as well as those involving friends, lovers and/or communities. Anyone is welcome to reply; you needn’t be bisexual or identify as male to have an opinion or experience to relate.

I’m a bisexual guy. Bisexuality is hard: there is very little community identity because I don’t know of any bisexual guys (or girls?) who are *only* bisexual. Everyone is bi but also kinky or heavily involved in LGBT activism (from which I’ve noticed the B and the T get dropped very frequently), or something else such as polyamory. Indeed, I am guilty of this myself. It’s been to my own detriment, in fact, because while I strongly desire male-male experiences I have been focused elsewhere.

It doesn’t help that community norms typically marginalize male bisexuality, and it is infuriating that female bisexuality is actually expected to be par for the course. (First because, hey, I want some of that same-sex action, too, and secondly because don’t you think this is completely unfair to the women who aren’t interested in other women?) I often shy away from meeting gay men because all too often they dismiss my homosexual interests as merely a passing fad. Or sometimes the reverse case, where my heterosexual interests are inauthentic. To this I say that they have clearly not been reading their own “liberation” material.

Furthermore, the notion of claiming a bisexual identity because it is the cool thing to do, annoyingly dubbed “bi chic” and thankfully not nearly so big a social stigma anymore as it was in the mid-1990’s, casts nothing but more shadow over an already veiled identity. Conversely, there is the popular notion of “forced bi”, wherein self-declared straight men have irresistable fantasies about being forced into sexual encounters with other men. (Oh, and that’s another thing that pisses me off: guys who say they are bi for the sole purpose of getting women. But that’s a whole ‘nother rant.) When I was in high school and trying to understand what my body was telling me, I struggled for longer than I’d like to admit with the binary idea that I was either gay or straight, but that bisexuality was not an option.

What is it about such black-and-white simplicity that is so attractive to so many people? It’s easy, but it’s false. Once again, the diversity and fluidity of my gender identity is extremely important to me, and is something I think is actually a healthy thing for everybody to have an understanding about.

3) What are your experiences and interests on g spot and p spotstimulation? Do you enjoy them? Are you frustrated by an inability tolocate them, or to stimulate them?

Kind of dovetailing off the last item, one of the reasons why I am a little hard-up for male-male action is because I absolutely love receiving anal sex. This is primarily because the prostate stimulation is so intense for me. Maybe I’m just wired differently than most people (though I doubt it), but prostate stimulation is so incredibly spot-on (no pun intended), that I am convinced it’s one of the most perfect developments in the natural world.

I’ve never had any problem stimulating my prostate. I’ve been doing so as a regular part of masturbation since my very early adolescent years (about 11 or so). I started by first pressing my fingers into my perineum and gently rubbing across it. Eventually I began to anally penetrate myself with my fingers. Thank goodness for flexibility! When I masturbate this way, I feel like orgasm approaches much, much quicker than it would otherwise. It’s a wonderful addition to sexual play, one I enjoy a lot. I’ve since bought toys specifically for this purpose, such as the aneros helix. At times, it’s actually difficult for me to avoid ejaculating when sexual stimulation is supplemented with prostate stimulation. When I met my current partner, Eileen, we quickly took to strap-on sex in part for this reason.

However, another aspect to our prostate stimulation playtime actually stems from our orgasm control and chastity kinks. Prostate stimulation is a central part of many submissive men’s chastity regimes for reasons of perceived prostatic health. In addition, the incredible arousal I experience when my prostate is stimulated makes me super horny. Eileen calls it “stoking my fire” when she fingers me. It’s very effective for sexual teasing because many men, myself included, can’t ejaculate powerfully via prostate stimulation alone if they can even reach orgasm at all. The net result is that I get more horny, but can’t relieve my arousal. That, of course, is the point.

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Monday, July 16, 2007

Don’t be nice

Category labels: BDSM psychology, D/s dynamics, Emotions, Masochism, Masturbation, Torture and abuse

I have this lovely little buddy icon of this pretty boy on the floor, leaning back wearing a sweater jacket that reads, “Protect me from the things I want.” I love that icon because the boy looks so sultry and so vulnerable and so seductive and so helpless all at the same time. I want to be that boy. (I also want that boy, but that’s another entry entirely.)

Why is it that I want the things I don’t want to actually happen to me. And do I really want them to happen to me for real or do I just like the threat of them happening?

Mean things. (Backhand me.) Deadly things. (Suffocate me.) Bloody things. (Stab me.) Things I just don’t like. (Bite me.) I fantasize about having all of these things done to me. In some cases there’s a part of me that really wants it to happen because I think I’d enjoy it. I’ve had too many fond experiences with pain to feel bad about liking that so much.

And then there are the things I’m not really eager to have happen, but I’m so nervous or frightened about them happening that a part of me wants them to happen just to get them over with. And hell, being nervous and frightened is kind of fun too. And there are the things I just don’t get off to, but I know my top likes so what the hell. I like getting my top off—doesn’t quite matter how they like as much as I like doing it.

But then there are the things that, no, I really don’t want them to happen and if you do them to me I’ll fight and scream and cry and beg you to stop. And those are the things I want to have happen because I love the fighting, the screaming, the crying, the begging, but most of all the very fact that I’m not enjoying myself. I won’t like it when you do it, but I’ll love that you did it. It probably won’t turn me on while it’s happening (though it might), but I’ll masturbate to the memories of it later. And oh, it’ll be good.

I do want to be tortured. I don’t want to be tortured, but I want it. I have no idea how to explain that in simpler terms because everything else about this fact in my head is just circular logic. But y’know, a lot of things about submissiveness and masochism is pretty paradoxical.

Take orgasm denial, for instance. A classic example to be sure, but an appropriate example nonetheless. The wanting to orgasm is what gets me all hot and bothered. Once I’ve come, well sure I’m enjoying it, but all the goodness of wanting that orgasm is sated and the replacement satisfaction just isn’t the same. It’s the same with the death fantasy. Dying is pretty awful but, for me, it’s only awful because once I’m dead I can’t be bothered to care about the dying anymore. It’s like, “Oh look. Here’s death. Well, the dying was fun while it lasted. So…what’s the weather like in hell these days?” See? Not hot.

I want what I don’t want because I don’t want it, but I also want my top to want it. It’s similarly not hot if I’m being pierced by someone who doesn’t enjoy piercing me. The reason I do it with Eileen, despite my preference not to actually be poked with sharp things more than necessary, is because she has a great time with it. Back to the getting my top off bit again. Yes, I know I’m a total whore.

Is this service? If so, then could I conceptually extend the service theory to the point of torture, or death? And now that I’m thinking about it, doesn’t that sound a lot like some very well-known cultural and religious imagery? How many times have I been reffered to as Jesus on the cross when I’ve been whipped in a public setting? (I bet my hair doesn’t help avoid the analogy, but still.) Martyrdom is hot for tops, I guess. It’s not the martyrdom that turns me on though, it’s the suffering. Martyrs who don’t want to be martyrs.

Make me suffer. Please.

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Thursday, March 22, 2007

Thoughts and fantasies on guided masturbation

Category labels: Chastity/Orgasm denial, D/s dynamics, Fantasy, Femdom, Masturbation, Sexual teasing and control


I’m having trouble sleeping tonight for the obvious reasons such as the fact that my life is beginning to turn topsy turvy again, but I’m also spending quite a bit of time exploring new sites and thanks to their content, naturally, masturbating quite a bit. In fact, even though I’m not really masturbating to any unusual degree, I seem to be dripping precum like never before. I’ve already been able to coat my whole shaft with the lubricant it’s provided. This is interesting to me because I’m not typically that drippy a boy. Is it the way I’m masturbating? Is it the fact that my last orgasm was abandoned and perhaps I’m hornier than I would be otherwise? Maybe my body is beginning to get used to producing lots of precum? This would be a wonderful thing, because it might even save me money on buying lube. ;)

(Sidenote: I have a fantasy that Eileen would force me produce a certain amount of precum before I’m given a treat such as being allowed to masturbate to orgasm. Perhaps she only lets me use an eight of a teaspoon of lube and the rest has to be precum, and that’s my “lube ration” for the day or week.)

Whatever it is, it’s sort of besides the point anyway. I got to thinking about masturbation in general and went to go find some corresponding writings. Though I didn’t set out to surf tonight with that goal specifically in mind, I’ve been thinking about it for a few days already because I’ve been away from home and away from Eileen. Interestingly, though I do enjoy the sensations of masturbation, there’s simply nothing that can compare with masturbating in her presence, when she’s present with me. When I’m not around her, I want to masturbate to fantasize about being with her and being controlled by her, but when she is around, I find that I don’t tend to start masturbating unless I ask her for permission first, even though I don’t have to by our rules.

Surfing around, however, sometimes takes a while so tonight I’ve been doing a lot of masturbating and clicking on links. Eventually, the Web did that thing it’s great at doing and I’ve just now been successful in finding a new treasure trove of things to read. The Peter Files is a web site all about male masturbation under female guidance that I’ve been exploring for a little while tonight.

Guided masturbation is an interesting thing. Basically, it’s where one partner masturbates obeying the directions given by another. That’s a sexy thought because there’s an implicit power dynamic embedded in the obeying and giving of directions. This sort of activity is the basis for such forms of pornography as web teases, as can be found extensively at Milovana.com. It makes me wonder why thoughts of guided masturbation is such a turn on for me.

I think one of the major reasons is because, frankly, I’m really good at pleasuring myself. I’ve been practicing for years, and before I gave up control of when, where, and how I orgasmed, I would masturbate myself to several awesome orgasms every day or so. So you know, I’ve had a lot of practice. I think also, just in general, manual masturbation (hand jobs, to put it bluntly) are totally underrated. Sex is good and all, but the lowly hand job is often overlooked as a major part of that. While browsing the Peter Files a bit, I found this excerpt from the Hand Job Manual page that sums up that sentiment nicely:

Sex means more than intercourse; It is also exploring all the different variations that enhances your sex life and keeps it from getting stale. Masturbating your partner can be very exciting for both of you.

But I digress. Hand jobs are one thing, guided masturbation is another. Perhaps, then, it’s the thought that I’m being told what to do that is at the root of the attraction? I certainly like that thought. It reminds me a lot of hypnosis, without the hypnosis. That is, being told certain things, focusing on my dominant’s voice, but instead of being in a trance state I’m in an extremely aroused state. In fact, I wonder what guided masturbation while under hypnosis would be like; certainly a trance state is not mutually exclusive of an extremely aroused state. An interesting twist that I sometimes fantasize about as well would be to be told to masturbate, and then being told to imagine (or perhaps hypnotized to believe?) that the sensations from the masturbation are actually from sex, or from topping a lovely slave girl. (Yes, there’s a streak of toppiness in me sometimes, too!)

I also find guided masturbation to be a possible component of the various games of chance people like to play with orgasm control that I am also interested in. The difference is that games of chance don’t give as much arbitrary control to the dominant, and I rather enjoy the fact that it is Eileen who has ultimate say in what I do. Yes, at times it is sexy to fantasize about her playing the role of a mockingly comforting sweetheart who is simply “playing by the rules,” but I also really enjoy the simple fact that what she says goes.

A few days ago, Eileen asked me if I wished she was “harder” with me. Honestly, I can’t say that I do because I love it when she’s sweet and gentle. There are even times when I will become aroused through even non-sexual, gentle caresses for no other reason than she’s being sweet and delicate with me. It’s less an issue of being hard on me or not, I think, but rather simply following through with the things she wants, making everything that happens be on her terms, and balancing that with the things I am interested in like exploring all sorts of new things.

I think guided masturbation is something I’d like to see us explore a bit more. I think we’d both enjoy it a lot, and it even may provide a comfort and/or a sexual connection during times we’re not with each other physically. (Never thought I’d actually be desiring phone sex, but hey….) I imagine a situation where she tells me to masturbate, giving me instructions like, “A little faster, a little harder…good, now slow down and use just two fingers,” and eventually maybe starting to masturbate herself while she does it. Finally she’ll want to get off so she’ll tell me, “Get yourself to the edge and stay there for me…yes, don’t be silent, moan if you feel like it!” She’d orgasm, and I’d be keeping myself as close as I can until after she finishes, smiles at me, waits a choice few moments, and finally tells me simply, “Stop.”

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