Tuning Out, Turning On, and Ditching the Screenplay
This weekend is the 9th Annual Portland Masturbate-a-Thon. Raise your hand if you plan to attend? Yes, I saw the delay in your typing and, yes, PF and I plan on being there.
This year, Darklady is putting on a circus motif. You come in costume, bring some canned green beans, and you're in the door for half price - what a deal. Masturbation as this event is loosely defined, of course: pretty much any sexual act that could be conceived of between you and anyone else except fucking... well, until midnight, then the safety-fairies leave and then you can do whatever you damn well please, so long as it's safe, consensual, and sane, which are - again - loosely defined.
Last year there were stage shows, kink play areas, sybians, mattresses for the willing, and - as Austin Powers would say - "senszual ma-ssahge" stations, yeah, baby, yeah.
There were plenty of people who got into the event in a very carnal way and PF and I were naturally one of the first couples to hit the mattresses. PF enjoys public play and I enjoy showing her off as she has several natural "wow" factors associated with her sexuality - she's a squirter, and if angled just right, there's a certain "Stargate" effect that can be seen from clear-across the room. Well, as the Gunnery Boy, it's really just an exercise in physics: ballistics, pressure, angle, paths of least resistance... I gotta say that it's pretty cool to pull the big "O" on a gal then have the 30-or-so guys watching suddenly go "WOOOHHHH" like I was making a free-throw from center court. Ooo Do the wave! And later, a some guys would come up to us and say, "God - I saw you from across the room and I wondered if I was really gay!"
Ahhh Good times, good times... I couldn't have done it without her and I'm looking forward to the weekend. Mentally, though, there's some prep-work to be had to an event like this, or even stepping out to a swinger's club for the evening. As you're having dinner, sharing pleasant conversation over some bread and cheese, chances are, in the next couple of hours, you're going to have to watch this person that you dearly care about touch, lick, suck, spit, moan, jerk-off, cum, fuck, and kiss a lot of people who ain't you, and she's really, really going to enjoy it, like, as if she were with you kind of enjoy it. And not only will you and she be participating in this parade of lust, but maybe 30-50 spectators will also be participating (in their own, private, very personally-satisfying little way).
Yikes! Now we guys may play coy at this. Oh no, this doesn't affect us, not in the least. Sex, spectator's sport - surely, no problems. We can even take the multiple parties getting of on this girl. We can so take it. We've emotions like steel. We're wrought iron-solid in our sexuality.
And it'd all be a lie.
Really, inside, as the date gets closer, there's this little tiny voice talking to you (and my tiny little voice is actually Scottish), saying things like, "Oi! Heey youuhh! You are so _not_ the man! You barely are able to make her happy, laddy, she has so many other options. Youh are just a temporary pass-time; you might as well find a new hobby like golf, or, like badminton. You're not big enough. You're not long enough. You're just a wee little man with big ambitions. You're just a squirly tyke, a loooosseeer!"
No, seriously, there's this voice inside of every guy's head and it gets louder and louder as the event draws closer. Of course, you're putting on this very manly outward persona that refuses to give any hint of your fear. You're wearing the Stud Mask, and it says, "I can handle this. I am so the Adonis of Masculinity", yet on the inside, that little voice is screetching, "Nooo, ya looozer - you are so the hairy, dwarfen Leprechaun of Sexual Comedy, that's whatchyou are, yeah!"
No, seriously: every guy has to reconcile with that little voice and get over their own inward bout of conspicuous insecurity before diving headlong into public play. If they're unable or incapable of wrestling that little Scottish bastard to the ground, then they become one of those guys on the sidelines eating popcorn and sharpening their pencil. Myself, I've found that public play is a commitment of the mind - you have to convince yourself that all of your flaws, all of your insecurities, and all of your self-perceptions are totally irrelevant at this moment. It's learning to divorce yourself from watching the porn to being the porn, and I have to admit that it's not the easiest trick. That little Scottish dude is always back there, waiting to seize upon that moment and remind me of how ridiculous that I look, or act, or seem.
A large part of it is just letting go of the mental porn screenplay in favor of just being in that moment; you gotta ditch the script and just enjoy the moment. Actually, the Scottish thing is a trick - if I can convert my subconscious ridicule to something that sounds like a bad riff from "Braveheart", then I'm able to chuckle a bit while I'm watching my girlfriend going down on someone and remind myself, "Hey, I'm okay, she's okay, nothing's changed, she's a gorgeous sexual creature and I can be, too." And BANG! - You stop worrying and get back out there to play!
Looking forward to the weekend - cheers.