Date: Sat, 30 Apr 2016 06:42:45 -0400
From: Kevin Gerace <suck4straight@gmail.com>
Subject: FROM THE CHRONICLES OF A SEXUAL OUTLAW (part 2)

SHAME, AROUSAL & DESIRE

In my own case, sexual desire came "attached" to shame -- almost as if they
were "hard wired" together from the start. When my dad would spank me, for
example, I was so scared and humiliated that I would get an erection
 -- and this was years before I could actually come. Other times, as a boy
when I was afraid (also unrelated to sexual stimulation) -- I would
sometimes get a hardon. I didn't know what it meant when my dick swelled
and got stiff, but I felt really ashamed of it happening and tried to cover
it up. So shame, sexual arousal and the fear of punishment began to form a
masochistic amalgamation in both my mind and in my body, just after the
onset of puberty.

I first started masturbating in the bathroom when I was eleven and I had my
first orgasm there. After that, I started to masturbate at least daily,
often two or even three times a day for a while. These were real quick,
purely physical jerk-offs. I didn't really have any fantasies at that time
-- just got off on the how my dick would look and feel when it got hard --
it made me feel like a real Big Man.

But every time I went to the bathroom for another session, I was afraid
that my dad would burst in and punish me for jerking off. I even imagined
him taking his belt off right there and strapping me, bare-assed in the
bathroom hollering and crying so loud that the whole neighborhood could
hear my whipping -- and I would be so ashamed of myself!

The tension I had worked up, the fear of being caught and punished as well
as the shame about doing it in the first place, made the release of the
resulting orgasm particularly intense. It is this thrill of sexual
intensity that is the basis of all sadomasochist desire, I believe. I
became addicted to this level of heightened stimulation in my orgasms
before I was twelve.

Later on, when I engaged in masturbation, it was in my own bedroom, so my
fears about being caught and punished were minimized (he never actually
caught me masturbating). But I missed the sense of danger that I had when
masturbating in the bathroom, the fear added to the excitement. I found
that sometimes I masturbated fantasizing that he had caught me and punished
me. These fantasies were based on real fears of the recent past that were
now called upon in memory and were indulged in because the element of
danger and the thrilling fear of reprisal, added an exciting dimension to
the sexual fantasy.

The fear and shame associated with the acts made the masturbatory
experience more tension-filled, thereby intensifying the orgasm. Years
later, when I was no longer ashamed of having sex and certainly not afraid
of being punished for it, I still was attracted to the simulation of these
emotions of shame and fear in the sex act, giving an unmistakable quality
of masochism to my sexual fantasy life.  __

HEARING THE NEIGHBOR BOYS "GETTING IT"

Becoming aroused by thoughts of getting a whipping go way back for me --
way before puberty, even. I was curious and excited hearing about how other
boys "got it" from their dads as a kid -- we used to swap stories. In the
1950s and 1960s, most working-class fathers still disciplined their sons
with spankings and whippings. My dad spanked us a few times, but it was
just a few swats on the seat of our pants -- more humiliating and
shame-inducing than really painful. Most boys in my neighborhood got
whipped with a belt on their bare ass. It was not uncommon to overhear
someone getting a belting when I was a kid (houses were very close to each
other) especially during the summer months, when everyone's windows were
open (nobody had air conditioning).

Across the alley from us, there was a "minister" of some fundamentalist
church, and he disciplined his boys out in his garage, so if you happened
to be outside playing in the back yard when one of his his boys were
"getting it" you could hear the whole thing. First there would be a lot of
yelling inside their house, then he would drag the kid by the scruff of his
shirt out to the garage, slamming the door shut behind them. The poor kid
was usually crying and begging for mercy -- sometimes loudly -- he know
that his father's strappings were serious and painful. Once they were
inside the garage, he'd yell at the kid some more, tell him to drop his
pants, and then you could hear him belting the errant son at least a good
dozen times before he was finished. The non-stop crying was punctuated by
little squeals every time the strap hit the boy's ass. I would get a hard
on listening to it -- even though I was only five to ten years old back
then -- like I said, well before puberty.

Nobody considered this child abuse -- it was just the way it was for
working class boys back then.  Maybe if I had actually been whipped by my
own dad, I wouldn't have eroticized it so much. The shame the kid must have
felt, knowing that not only his brothers, but the whole neighborhood could
hear.  ___

A RECKLESS ADOLESCENT ESCAPADE

When I was eighteen and had already had sex with girls, I still felt
unsatisfied in terms of the excitement aroused by my unfulfilled
sadomasochistic homosexual fantasies. This desperate level of
dissatisfaction was the driving force behind a reckless encounter I pursued
on a whim during the summer after my senior year in high school, while I
was still living at home with my parents.

I copied down a number that a guy left scrawled in a park toilet stall. He
said he wanted to whip a young guy's bare ass, the name he left was
"Butch." Reading his message gave me a hard-on. Memories of being punished
by my father had already entered into my masturbatory life but I had never
acted any of these fantasies out with anyone yet – this encounter might
create a situation for the realization of this dark fantasy and promised a
dangerous thrill.

I didn't want to have sex, however – just wanted (needed?) to be
whipped. I needed it BAD. Besides, I had been smoking marijuana (that's
what I was doing in the park), and my judgment was off; so, instead of
considering it carefully, I just rashly went to the pay phone near the
toilet and called the number, before I lost my nerve.

He realized from the moment I asked for "Butch" what the call was
about. Seizing the moment, he arranged to pick me up in his small
Volkswagen near that particular park toilet. Five minutes later he arrived
and brought me, not to his house, but to this light manufacturing company
in an industrial sector of town, which was nearby. Since it was Sunday, and
it wasn't a residential area, the whole neighborhood appeared to be
empty. I was afraid maybe he'd try to molest me, and I wasn't ready for my
first homosexual encounter at the same time as my first whipping.

So I told him that I wasn't interested in sex – that I just want to be
whipped. "You will be" he promised ominously. We turned in and parked at
the empty parking lot next to a large shed-type structure made of cinder
blocks and corrugated tin in this forsaken neighborhood.

He unlocked the door to this building and then pushed me roughly past the
main area to the small inside office, where he locked the door behind
him. and then ordered me to strip. He never removed any of his clothing,
but just sat there, watching me clumsily, self consciously undress. Then I
just stood there, naked, shivering, embarrassed.

After circling around me, looking me over hungrily while I just stood there
-- he easily talked me into letting him tie me up to a small cot in the
corner. After he had tied me hand and foot to the cot, he balled up one of
my dirty socks and stuck it in my mouth. From that moment on, he was a
different man.

All of a sudden, he violently dragged the cot to the center of the room and
then took off his belt and, going into the role, started pacing around the
cot, telling me what a fuck up I had been, how I was a poor excuse for a
man. By now I was terrified, because I didn't understand the role playing
he had slipped into.

He gave me six strokes across my ass cheeks and thighs real hard and fast,
right off the bat. I howled, but my cries were muted by the sock – he
had already turned up the radio to cover the crying, and no one was around
in this part of town on a Sunday afternoon anyway. He said he'd let me go
after two dozen (and he did).

But he did each stroke very slowly, pausing between each hit, really
savoring each reaction to the pain, each little squeal he was eliciting. By
the time he got to a dozen I was crying nonstop like a little boy and
begging him to stop. Looking back at it now, the whipping was actually
quite skillful in that he knew how to lay on hard, even strokes in new
places each time, making the welts evenly distributed all over my whole
backside from my shoulders to the back of my thighs without any overlapping
welts. Judging from his performance, he must have had lots of practice. I
wondered how many other young men he had lured here to this dirty little
office.

Afterward he untied me, let me dress and then brought me back to the park
toilet and dropped me off there. Nothing was said during the ride back. He
gave me his number on an old supermarket receipt before I got out of the
car.

I never told anyone about it until I was in my thirties. I just felt
afterward that I was lucky he didn't kill me. I was deeply ashamed of being
so stupid in allowing myself to be tied up and abused this way and the
whole humiliating experience kept me from approaching another masochistic
scene for quite a while (and I've never let anyone tie me up since).

Yet, I must admit that I used the degrading memories of the whipping –
his power and my helplessness for example – as the basis of jerkoff
fantasies later. I kept his number for a long time, thinking about calling
him back, from time to time, but I never did.  ___

A FEW OBSERVATIONS

We have two basic, instinctual drives: sex and aggression; sadomasochism
combines them—that's what gives it such extraordinary power. By means of
very gross, primitive expressions of aggression (pulling by the hair,
hitting, spitting at, urinating upon, etc.) a greatly heightened tension is
created in the unfolding of the sex scene—through elaborate acting out
of the dominant and subordinate roles in extended foreplay resembling
theater—all in order to increase the magnitude of the eventual climax
and release in orgasm—the combination is explosive.

But our drives are different from animal instincts in that we have
non-specific objects of desire, they are labile—so we can displace our
aggression onto other objects; besides S&M sex, sublimated aggression could
assume the form of working out with a punching bag, rough sports
(esp. contact sports), vigorously playing the piano, expressive dance,
etc. Only S&M, however, combines the strong instinctive aggressive power
lust and will to domination with the excitement of sexual stimulation.

In these kinds of scenes or enactments, aggression is the primary
thing—sex is secondary; sex is merely the vehicle, the means, for the
expression of aggression. Sex is like the shot glass, aggression is the
whiskey that fills the glass; as liquid is poured into the glass it assumes
the form of the glass, so the aggression is "poured" into and takes the
shape of sexual "acting out" (the scenario); sometimes referred to as sex
"games." (Despite its superficial resemblance to coercion and abuse, it is,
in actuality, a form of play, freely indulged in.)

In other words, raw aggression is funneled into and assumes the form of
sexual play through a process of the sublimation of aggressive desire from
its original object (i.e. your unreasonable boss, a family member with whom
you are irritated, etc.) to the subordinate sexual partner in the S&M
scenario. It is all very straightforward.

The subordinate partner has a different but related "economy" of relief
from stress, he is the recipient of the aggression; by willful submission
to the other guy's more powerful, dominant ego, by "emptying" himself out,
by accepting shame, ridiculed cruelly for being such a "fag,"--for not
being more of a "man"-- he subversively "pirates" the "Real Man's"
hypermasculinity, along with his domineering sense of mastery. In this way,
the subordinate partner "imports" his manhood from a superior male. This
element of stealth and transgression relates to the "outlaw" status of a
masochistic male in our society, where willful submission to another man is
anathema, and may even seem to be sick, criminal or depraved. (There is
nothing immoral in any of this, as long as everything remains mutually
consensual).

We move into highly immoral ground, however, when, angry at the boss, we go
home and look for an excuse to slap around our spouse or abuse our kids, or
we get drunk and beat up a fag or a Jew or a "nigger," etc. We get in
trouble when we try to rationalize our aggression (i.e. they deserve it),
then we have convinced ourselves that we have moral justification for
immoral acts of violence perpetrated upon unwilling victims.

We are deeply instinctual creatures, and modern life is extremely stressful
and frustrating, but if we can sublimate some of our pent-up anger and
aggression harmlessly into the enactment of a prearranged,
mutually-consensual, no-holds-barred, role-playing scenario, it can act as
a periodic, healthy, therapeutic displacement of forbidden, aggressive
desire into a powerful and mutually-satisfying, cathartic experience.