Me, my penis, and a little marginal privacy at the office. Also sperm.
My masturbation is an exercise in release. I’m not referring here to orgasm and ejaculation, but releasing the ever-present control of civilized daily life and routine desexualization we all practice so constantly we can’t even see it anymore.
I get up in the morning and get ready to go to the gym, a very “straight” gym where all the social rules of no-eye-contact and sublimated sexuality are in full force. While I’m getting my gym gear ready, the only one awake in our house, I’m acutely aware of the available option of masturbating and my penis seems to be happily poised for pleasure. My testosterone is at its daily peak and the choice of either masturbating or going to the gym is right before me.
I am in the groove with my fitness program these days, so I opt for channelling that energy into my warmup and my workout. I head out to the gym and push that mojo through the iron, privately inspired by the other men around me, getting pumped and sweaty before heading back home to shower (this gym’s shower has next to no appeal for me) and get ready for work.
Sometimes, when I am on the way home and really need to pee, I feel that I will “just make it,” but once my home is in sight I can feel myself starting to lose bladder control, suddenly, urgently needing to get to the toilet before I wet myself. It’s a little like that when I’m horny and nearing my house after a workout… My cock starts swelling just at the prospect of being back home during the “just me” hours, having finished my workout and having, possibly, a little time to pull out my penis and fully engage with it.
Not always, but maybe a third of the time I do just that. I walk in the door and immediately strip off my gym shorts and jock and feel the heaviness of my swelling cock and balls swinging between my legs as I head straight to my office, snap on my computer, fire up my favorite porn (a couple of hot glory hole videos are my favorite bate fuel these days) and joyfully grant my cock my full attention.
The house is empty but for me and the dog, resting quietly in his crate, so I can get fully into my bate, talk to my penis in full voice, babble about masturbation, penis, sperm, fucking, cumming… I can explore my butthole, caress and stroke my chest, my butt, my thighs, my arms, my nipples, my crotch, and always back to my pleasure-vibrant penis.
I breathe deeply, moan and dance up to and back from the edge of ejaculation, switching hands, cadence, pressure and rhythms, denying specific penis zones while stimulating others, making love with myself like I’m worth it. I smile and sometimes laugh when I cum, simultaneously grateful and generous within myself and I let myself relax and caress myself as my body unwinds after the sperm has squirted and splashed on my chest, my stomach, my legs, my floor…
I release all the control that I maintain all day, every day—acting like the good co-worker, the loyal employee, the fair boss, the responsible team player, the strong but friendly buddy at the gym, the brother, the uncle, the breadwinner—gratefully freeing myself of the identities I wear so constantly and effortlessly I can forget that I am a profoundly sexual being. I become that profoundly, powerfully sexual animal I love within myself and I let it out to play.
Masturbation is more than physical, seminal release for me. I committed long ago to never just masturbate to relieve sexual pressure. I deny myself utilitarian orgasms. I find them miserable. That is not the sexual man I wish to be so I simply abstain from that minimizing, dishonoring practice of brief, routine jacking off.
Masturbation can be, and for me truly is, self-love.
And it has energized and continues to feed all my sexual interactions. Sex is, more than anything else, connection. When I release my sexual energy with others, I am connecting with them, experiencing and digging deep into our humanity together. I connect no less deeply, no less humanly, no less vitally with myself when I masturbate.