Date: Fri, 6 May 2016 13:48:20 -0400 From: Kevin Gerace Subject: CHRONICLES OF A SEXUAL OUTLAW (part 3) SEXUAL "PIRACY" Both sadism and masochism are techniques of foreplay used for heightening the sexual tension and the stress in the "scene," --slowly building up, through layers of shame and degradation and even pain, to a truly frenzied pitch of depravity -- through humiliation, verbal abuse, and grossly disrespectful, primitive, violent demonstration of superiority and manly dominance in various forms -- all of it done in order to enhance the subsequent release of stress in the orgasm when it finally comes at the end for both partners. In these kinds of sexual encounters, the sexual act becomes, to the degree that it is debasing (or simulates shame), a symbolic embodiment of an idealization of the longed-for masculine "Other." Here the identification is defensively split and acted out as the dominant/submissive sexual roles of the "man" and the "cocksucker." In the sadomasochistically-tinged blow job, a temporary, almost mystical merging is effected between the two roles, an "at-one-ment" between the sucker and the superior object of his submissive desire, a transitory enmeshing-together. By surrendering myself to him, by debasing myself shamelessly in the sexual act, I maintain the illusion that I am at one with him. His masculinity eclipses my own. This temporary overshadowing is therefore in some ways a form of "atonement" for my own masculine shortcomings (atonement and "at-one-ment"). Thus it could be said that I "pirate" the other guy's virility, "importing" my masculinity by stealth. This sexual banditry is more an instinctual game of submission and appeasement behavior on the one hand, and the display of power and dominance on the other; in some ways more like a sport than sex. The sadomasochism is not so much in any particular act in itself but rather, it is a psychological attitude on the part of both the "players." ___ The first straight guy I blew was when I was twenty and a freshman in college. He was a black guy, recently divorced, in his late thirties. He picked me up at a gay bar. Although I had slept with a few fags already, he was very different -- unlike most of the the homos at the bar, he was very self-assured and manly. He impressed me as a guy who knows what he wants and goes for it. He looked uncomfortable and out-of-place at the bar. He told me right off the bat that he wasn't gay but just did this kind of stuff occasionally, and strictly on the downlow; he wanted to make clear to me that he wasn't interested in "romance" --just sex. He was a real "cocksman," that is, he realized the power of wielding his big dick in front of a starry-eyed twenty year old queer (he could probably sense I was masochistic), and he liked to lord it over me with his prick once I got it hard -- wave it around, rub it in my face, smack me in the face with it, etc. And I let him do it. I liked it. Instead of doing it in bed, he liked to get sucked standing up with me kneeling before him. At the time, I liked to suck real gently and lovingly, but he liked it rough. Sometimes, he would aggressively thrust in and out, pushing it all the way to the back of my throat purposely making me gag -- I never had anyone do that to me before; gagging like that makes a guy salivate--soon I was a real wet, slobbering pussy for him, it made me feel like a hole he was just using, instead of a person he was making love to (a masochistic thrill for me). He was the first person to tell me exactly what he wanted me to do -- although I didn't think of it that way at the time, he was actually giving me orders, telling me how to suck him: to speed up, slow down, take it in deeper, grab it with my hand, etc. He never called me names or anything like that, but there was a very dominant tone to his whole attitude. Oddly enough, he also liked to get fucked. Interestingly, he was just as bossy when he was getting it up the ass, telling me just exactly how he wanted me to do it, so even when I was fucking him, he was completely in charge! This went on for an entire semester, but then, when I wanted to get closer, to have more of a real relationship, he reminded me that he was straight, and that if I wanted to continue having sex with him, I had to accept that -- so I quit seeing him. Real stupid of me! I see now that it was me being fucked up. I was becoming his regular suck bitch (I had only fucked him a few times--it didn't really work), and I wish I had "known my place" and stayed in my place. But then I wasn't fully masochistic yet. Interesting that he never ever sucked me or put my dick anywhere near his mouth. The first time I blew him, he jerked me off afterwards, but after that first time, he never did it again -- instead, he encouraged me to stroke myself while I sucked him. At first, because I wasn't used to it, I shot before I intended to, but later I learned how to control my self-stimulation so that I would ejaculate just moments after he shot his load in my mouth. It was a good skill to develop, because these guys who like to use cumdump cocksuckers like me didn't want to have to think about the fag's pleasure at all. I always swallowed his sperm. ___ THE SEX TENT The summer after my first year of college, I had a job at a kid's camp as the arts and crafts guy. Even though I was only nineteen, I was one of the senior counselors at the camp. I had an assistant who was a year younger than me (fresh out of high school), and she had a summer romance with one of the camp counselors, an Hispanic eighteen-year-old named Carlos -- he used to meet her after she was done at the arts and crafts cabin sometimes -- he was unusually amicable and friendly with me, very physically affectionate (albeit in a very manly way) -- I should have probably realized he was bisexual. Almost halfway through the summer, he asked me one night after supper in the dining hall, whether I smoked grass, and I said, yes. He didn't have to be back to work for a few hours and I was off for the night. He wanted to go someplace where the pot wouldn't be smelled and he said he had the perfect place. There was another campsite on the top of a hill at the camp, with wooden platforms and small, four-man canvas tents set up there throughout the summer -- there was usually an overnight up there twice a week (one for boys, the other for girls), but on the other nights, the tents were empty, and they were empty that evening. I didn't at all suspect he was going to come on to me (actually, he had thought it all through beforehand). We went inside one of the tents on the far end of the campsite and pulled down the flap. It was dark inside, but once the eyes adjusted you could see things from the light coming from between the seams in the canvas, making things dimly visible and setting a mood of the secretive and forbidden. The tent was held up by a central wooden post, and was just high enough to stand up near the pole. We sat down on the floor of the tent and when we lit up the joint, the lighter illuminated the tent for a few seconds. The pot was really strong, and as I was getting high, he started touching my thigh tentatively, as if he was not sure whether I would welcome his advances or push him away, and when I touched him back gently, he pounced, kissing me aggressively and he started clumsily to grab at my crotch. I got all excited -- within a minute I had unzipped his jeans and pulled his pants halfway down his hairy thighs. He was already hard and I started to suck him hungrily, while he propped himself up on his elbows -- but the tent floor was kind of dirty and so I suggested that he stand up while I knelt before him to suck him, which he did. Neither of us took off our pants or our shirts or our sneakers, because we wanted to be able to zip up quick if we heard someone coming -- just some clumsy, horny, slobbery, furtive, "pants down" adolescent sex (the danger and the secretiveness gave the scene a certain desperate "edge," that I think we both enjoyed). He had never been sucked by a guy before and really appreciated my technique -- even back then, I was pretty good, and could take his six-incher all the way down to the root without gagging -- he told me he had never experienced such a blowjob from any girl. I also introduced him to some serious ballwork -- he had a big hairy nutsack that really drooped in the hot weather -- I loved to get my nose down under there and lick behind his balls for him. He was shocked when I first sniffed him out -- it's such queer shit to do for another guy -- but it really made his dick swell -- such subservience made him feel real "big," I think. "You sure know how to make a guy feel good," he told me, genuinely impressed -- after he had shot off his gooey load in my mouth and I had swallowed it all. After that, once or twice a week we would go back up the hill to the "sex tent" for another suckoff session. It was always the same routine: first a little smoking and drinking, then him up and me down -- sometimes I sucked him off twice. Gradually over the course of the summer it became more of a dom/sub thing (he never reciprocated). For example, sometimes, he would light up a cigarette while I was sucking him, and then continue to smoke while I worked on his dick -- which I interpreted as him indicating to me that there's absolutely nothing romantic in this arrangement whatsoever -- sometimes he would take swigs from the bottle as I was servicing him, also indicating a certain level of disrespect for me I think -- as if I was in the same category of cheap accessories like booze and cigarettes, to be used for his very basest animal pleasures (I bet he wasn't taking swigs from a bottle while he made love to my assistant). We never spent the night together because he had to sleep in the cabins with the kids (besides, it would be too "gay" to sleep with the sucker afterwards -- he was very straight-identified) and I had another staff person as a roommate. I was usually wearing shorts for our trips to the sex tent, and afterwards my knees were all dirty from where I had knelt down, and so I always had to wash them off before returning to the main part of the camp. He joked once about making me return to camp with him that way, so everybody would know from seeing my dirty knees what we had been doing up there together (a real exhibitionist "shame" fantasy, the thought of which aroused me -- even though he was just joking). *** All this time, Carlos was also screwing my assistant, dividing his nights off between the two of us --I'm sure he felt like real hot shit, in that inflated, narcissistic adolescent way. His affair with my assistant was more-or-less public knowledge, but our early evening rendezvous at the sex tent were not -- and the secretiveness added to the erotic sense of the shameful and the transgressive. We tried to be discreet but my assistant gradually became suspicious, and during the last week at camp, it was pretty uncomfortable working with her, because she knew (however, we never discussed it openly -- adding to the stress and the tension, but also adding to the magnitude of the forbidden release in the suckoff when it finally came). He also suspected that she knew what was going on, because we discussed it once, but, while it worried me, he thought that it was great -- In his mind he was a real stud that both women and also men were "queer" for. When the summer was over, he was going to start college at the U in Duluth while I returned to the Twin Cities, and even though I invited him to visit me sometime during the following school year, but we never did -- it was just too gay. ___ MASOCHISTIC XMAS The following winter, I went home with a guy who I had met in the porno video arcade on Christmas Eve. Unlike most encounters in these kinds of places, he wanted me to come home with him, where I promised that I'd suck him for an hour. (He seemed really uncomfortable and paranoid in the arcade.) We were both in our twenties, although he was straight- identified and was a few years older than me. He lived with two other guys and he didn't want them to know that he had brought home a fag, so we had to be discreet. We sneaked in through the kitchen directly to his bedroom, and so avoided the guys watching TV in the living room. He sat down in a big overstuffed chair in his room while I knelt before him and took off his shoes and pants for him. He looked like a king in command--the chair his throne. He told me to go for it. I breathlessly confessed that I wasn't a man at all compared to him and this verbal self-denigration was a signal that I was a masochist. Then he whispered to me how queer I was for doing all this shit for another guy. He told me lots of humiliating shit, like that fags are good for just one thing-- and I was doing it now. I was feeling up his hairy chest and sniffing out his sweaty nuts for him. I licked out his armpits. I kissed his feet. I did everything I could to make him feel like The Man. After about twenty minutes of this submissive foreplay, I blew him for nearly an hour. He was slow, like he was savoring every minute of it. He just sat back and I sucked it for him good. Eventually, he shot in my mouth. He had a really big load and I didn't want to swallow it, so I reached over and got the trash basket and spit his slimy jizz out in it. Seeing me spit out his sperm like that nauseated him and he dashed for the bathroom, where I could hear him gagging and puking. This was, strangely, a masochistic turn-on for me -- he was so repulsed by me and by the entire scene that he actually vomited. The humiliating fact that he puked made me jerk myself wildly and when I heard him flush the toilet, I shot my load big time, but concealed it from him because I knew it would disgust him (as it turned out, he was disgusted anyway). By this time, his roommates had all left for their Christmas with their families. Afterwards, when we were getting dressed I asked him if he would piss all over me and he snarled that I was a "sick motherfuck," and that just thinking about it made him nauseated. Then without much talk, we got in his car and he dropped me off at the nearest bus stop. It took me more than an hour to get home, where I jerked myself wildly reenacting the scene in my head more than once--maybe three or even four times.