(Another posting from my time in rehab in Palo Alto, this one originally written up on 12/2. As before, it’s very much a bare-bones posting — there’s a lot about posting to my blog that is still a cognitive mystery to me, thanks to alcohol poisoning.)
(In addition, this posting talks about sexual acts in very plain language and so is inappropriate for kids and the sexually modest.)
I used to be pee-shy; which is to say, I was once a paruretic (paruresis ‘the inability to urinate in the presence of others’). See the rambling hilarious depiction of paruresis in The Mezzanine (1986), the astonishing first novel by Nicholson Baker.
No longer. I can now use a urinal — the porcelain fixture or the portable item — in front of anyone, in any circumstances (including noisy rooms with people going in and out). I can lie in bed peeing into the portable object under the covers while carrying on a conversation with a visitor, then pull out the urinal for emptying by an aide.
I have lost all modesty. I don’t care who sees what, though I don’t actually display my privates. My penis has always been small and unthreatening, but now it’s a fat old man’s penis, of no consequence to anyone, indeed scarcely noticeable.
I still have a very high sex drive, though not as urgent as when I started masturbating, at the age of ten. But those are private pleasures, for me alone. Occasionally, though, I marvel: 70 years of jacking off — not to mention other forms of sexual release — and still going.
[Added notes 12/6. Jacking off has been my entire sex life for more than 15 years now, and when I am generally good physical shape (which is very much not the case right now) I expect to jack off about three times a day — mostly quickies, the sexual equivalent of fast food or snacks, but sometimes in delicious drawn-out dick play fueled by satisfying gay porn: using the porn to pull me slowly along just short of shooting my load, while dirty-talking out loud, then backing off and repeating the routine with a different scene from the porn, until I finally let myself come. I miss the quickies and I miss the tantalizing dick play as well. Something to look forward to when I get further out from under the fog of the alcohol.]
December 6, 2020 at 9:57 pm |
Ahem, 70 years of jacking off if my math is correct. That sure beats me. I didn’t even know what jacking off was until I was in 9th grade and accidentally came in the high school swimming pool while placed strategically (if accidentally) in front of the water outlet. After that I thought one only came by the force of water and would take the shower head off at home to force an ejaculation. It wasn’t long after that when I did learn other techniques from bull sessions with fellow students.
December 7, 2020 at 5:43 am |
Yes, 70 years, not 60 (and so it was in a first draft; don’t know what happened to it) — now corrected.
As for learning about jacking off, I had the advantage of having read the 1948 Kinsey report (the male volume) as a child (purest accident that it was available to me at the Reading (PA) Public Library then), so that when erections arrived, I knew just what I could do with them. And did. It was essentially a seamless transition. No surprises. (Well, not many. I wasn’t really prepared for the ecstatic moaning, which happened involuntarily and had to be suppressed to keep my sexual practices private from the rest of the household.)
I realize that this is a distinctly odd sexual history.
December 7, 2020 at 5:55 am |
Ask and it shall be given to you. No sooner had I written about missing the pleasures of jacking off than, in dropping off to sleep yesterday, I got an urgent hard-on and had an immensely satisfying end-of-the-day quickie. I’m out from under the fog of the alcohol! Huge cheers for creature pleasures. (Yesterday was a banner day for creature pleasures all around.)