Date: Sat, 21 Oct 2006 19:48:58 EDT
From: Suck4Straight@aol.com
Subject: masochistic encounters and their meaning

October 18:
On my way back from my morning workout at the gym, I stopped by the porno
place. Since it was so early in the morning almost no one was there, but
a light was lit over one of the booths that I knew had a hole in the
wall.  I went into the one next to it. The guy was already jerking
himself.  Of course I couldn't see him fully, but I noticed a flashlight
hanging from his belt and that he was wearing work boots, and I guessed
that he was a construction worker stopping off for some relief before
reporting to the construction site (there is a building being erected
nearby).  He almost immediately stuck it through and I sucked him good.
It didn't take him long to come--it was a fast but intense encounter. I
guessed he maybe had to get to work and didn't have a lot of time.  When
he was through, he just zipped up and left quickly.

Part of what made it so exciting for me was that he was a construction
worker--a very macho profession--almost an icon of manliness, in my
mind.  Of course I wasn't sure he was a construction worker, but even if
he wasn't, the fantasy was there all the same and gave the experience an
exciting edge.

I realized today how important the fantasy element is in this kind of
sex--the guy I suck off through the hole is of course actually there, but
for me he is at the same time largely imaginary--that is, he is
essentially to me a representation in my mind of an idealized,
hyper-masculine avatar to whom I surrender myself subimissively, almost
abjectly, in order to capture and import his masculinity (an avatar is an
incarnation of a god in Hinduism).  This imaginary dimesion of the
experience is facilitated, not hindered, by the fact that I am unable to
see actually see him (i.e. all I saw was a dick poking through the wall).

I find it intoxcating to surrender myself to this masculine other.  The
fantasy dimension of "the man" is paradoxilly enhanced by his very
unavailability.  During the suck off itself, he becomes almost a "myth"
of manhood for me.  To service him to orgasm gives me a thrilling rush of
energy that feels like I had injected a powerful drug.  At the same time
I feel as if I had subversively "stolen" a bit of his strength and
virility under the guise of my submission, which I then use to enhance my
own sense of power and mastery.
________________________

October 20:
Just got back from another hot suckoff. I stopped in the bookstore after
work.  It was a little after three, there were a few guys milling around
so I just went right for a booth I knew had a hole in it and waited.  I
didn't wait long. Within a few minutes a black guy came in. He knew the
game, and within thirty seconds I was down on my knees.  He snaked a
long, thick, partially-hard cock through the hole, which I sucked up
eagerly.

I told him I was a cocksucker. I told him that he was the man and I was
the fag. Picking up on this he called me "faggot," "queer," "bitch," and
basically really got off on putting me down. It seemed to really make him
feel like a big man. I sucked him for a long time--maybe twenty minutes,
while he sputtered off abusive verbiage.  At one point he withdrew his
cock and made me beg for him to stick it back through the hole. He put
his balls through the hole and had me worship them--kissing them all
over, sniffing them out, licking them, putting them in my mouth,
one-by-one. I told him I wished we were somewhere where he could piss all
over me, that got a rise out of him.

Eventually, I ran out of dollars, and I had been sucking him for quite
some time, so I decided that I was going to come (I had been masturbating
myself throughout).  He was pissed that I came before him and he
expressed genuine disgust for my orgasm. I realized the guy was actually
repulsed by me.

He insisted that he leave first, as he was pulling up his pants and
zipping up.  I said I ran out of dollars, and he gave me a dollar so I
could stay a few minutes longer.  I waited, as he requested.  On the way
out, he was there, pretending to look at a magazine. I recognized him by
his pants and shoes. Our eyes met briefly. It was as if he wanted to see
what this kind of sick, masochistically submissive pervert looked like.
__________________________________________________

Later:
This seemingly shameful capitulation to the base needs of another man, to
which I am so compellingly drawn, is, I now realize, to a large extent
compensory for masculine identification never fully achieved during my
childhood--that is, when my father failed to live up to expectations, I
transferred the idealization I would have normally had for him to
others.  At puberty, this unfinished business became sexualized. By the
time I was nineteen, I was having sex with other men.

I found out quite early in the game, however, that gay men were generally
unsatifying both emotionally and sexually for me.  My experiments with
gay men, however, exposed me to a whole world of anonymous sexual
encounters.  Although gay bars left me cold, at the park or the dirty
movies I found what I thought were "real" men and sucked them off.

Disappointed at the prospect of sex with gays, I found I could
actually have sex with primarily heterosexual men, but only under the
guise of anonymity and only if I was the cocksucker--and I adapted myself
to the situation.  I found these "straight" guys in parks, bathhouses and
dirty movies, but eventually came to prefer the "glory holes" in the
small movie booths at pornographic bookstores.

Although at first I found the lack of reciprocity disturbing, I
discovered later that I actually liked it better if my sex partners
didn't reciprocate.  The one-sided quality of the scenario facilitated my
surrender to and merger with the virile other that was necessitated by
the unfinished business of masculine identification for me, and so the
sex act itself became, to a greater or lesser degree, masochistic,
depending on the nature of that particular encounter (i.e. the black guy
suckoff was more masochistic than the earlier one with the construction
worker).

In these kinds of anonymous sexual encounters, the sexual act becomes, to
the degree that it is debasing (or simulates shame), a symbolic
embodiment of this 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, anonympus 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").  This is why the blow job is as much or
more about the display of power as it is about sex.  In the case of the
"top," this power play is direct--for the "bottom," it is inverted--they
are essentially different sides to the same coin.  In either case, I
believe that it is to a large degree a compensation for nacissistic
injury suffered in boyhood.