Roots (Part 1)

This entry got a little out of control and ended up being way too long for one installment, so I’m going to break it up and give it to you piecemeal. Tune in tomorrow for the next exciting episode!

Sunday, September 12, 2010

I don’t remember when I started fantasizing about jacking off with other guys. My memory in general is kind of tenuous. I wish it weren’t so but I’m not going to fret over it. I have only impressions and vague images come up when I try to trace the roots of my co-masturbatory predilections. Let’s see what’s there…

I have a strong recollection of being at the Aqua Center in Park Forest, Illinois, a community swim center with a big, open, men’s dressing area. I think that was my first multi-generational locker room and I must have been 10 or 11 at that point. It was essentially a big concrete room with rows of benches secured to the floor, and tiny foot lockers we’d lock wire baskets into. Just rows and rows of men and boys getting into and out of swim suits. On one side was an open shower area. It was all very… open. 

I’d already been masturbating for a couple of years by then (I hit puberty abruptly when I was 9. My mom took me to the pediatrician because she was afraid I was going to be a giant. “No,” the doctor told her, “He’s just an early bloomer.” I prefer the term, “precocious.”)

I remember being overly awed by one lean, hairy guy with a dark tan and a pale butt, which was fascinating to me since I’d never seen tan lines like that, or a naked butt on an older male. I had that riveted experience of total focus. That may have been my first strong attraction to a fully naked male…

I remember seeing my big brother walking around in his underwear when we shared bunk beds. I don’t think he was doing anything other than walking in my direction, but that fleeting image replayed in my mind many times later. 

And I remember very clearly watching another kid playing with himself in social studies class in 7th or 8th grade. His fly was open and the outline of his hard cock was visible inside his underwear as I saw him just running the side of his thumb up and down the frenulum as he sat back in his desk. It was an amazingly hot, searing moment I may never forget.

So… all hot, interesting images for a pubescent gay boy, all fuel for many repeated sessions of fantasy, but none were really about co-masturbation.

When I was 13, I indulged a foray into a Pentacostal-style Christian cult (I was a Jesus Freak for a little less than a year) and I recall one particular sleep-over at a fellow fundie-boy’s house when we somehow got to talking about beating off, and trying not to. He was far more freaked out than I was, and I was “sort of” trying not to masturbate, but I specifically remember him talking about how he couldn’t lie on his stomach in bed because it made him want to beat off, which made me really want to see him do it. As we talked about it, he got more agitated and started to “see demons” in the room. I wanted so badly to see him masturbate right there. I don’t remember if I eluded, however obliquely, to such a possibility, but sadly, it did not happen. He was too busy freaking out about the demons, praying wildly and invoking the blood of Jesus to drive away the demons… Fun times…

Ah, good old demon of masturbation… He’s what ultimately saved me from Christianity and another reason to be a high school pariah. Essentially, if I could not be a Christian and also keep masturbating… well… fuck being a Christian! Bye-bye, Jesus. Hello, penis!

(to be continued…)

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