10 January 2006 (2)

by mraversion

So, masturbation. No, I haven’t masturbated today. That’s not what this is about. This is a much larger fish. It’s all the masturbation. Sort of in line with the old confession thing I used to do. But there’s so much of it I couldn’t neatly begin & end.

I used to steal girlie magazines from the local café. This was in the old South Africa, during the 1980s. The girlie magazines had stars over the nipples & no bottomless shots. You used to get these digest-sized magazines filled with cartoons & jokes & also the nudie pics. Black & white, mainly, except inside the covers you’d get colour. I stole a few of those. Also there would be Bunny Girl & Scope. I think those were basically your options. I don’t think I ever stole those because they were too big. Those ones I’d buy. I even think I would trade in cold-drink bottles – you could get money back for cold-drink bottles – in order to buy girlie magazines. Later in life I’d trade cold-drink bottles & use the money to buy dope. Or cigarettes. Actually, I was probably already buying cigarettes at this stage. Anyway, the girlie mags obviously provided a source of raw material for masturbation, & I built up quite a stockpile of them over the years.

As time went by the stars fell away & you could have total topless shots, & then Hustler came along & started doing nudie material & that was the start of the real legal porn. Scope closed down when the real porn came, because it couldn’t, or wouldn’t, compete.

But this is not meant to be a history of girlie mags.

The point is that I used to masturbate a lot. I mean a lot. If I think back on it, I was pretty much obsessed with masturbating, as a teenager. I’d wank up to five times a day. Not every day, but it happened occasionally. And I’d masturbate in the weirdest places. I once – or maybe more than once – masturbated in a classroom at the after-school centre for gifted children. (I was a gifted child, apparently). I masturbated right into my school pants & just left it there until hours later when I could clean myself.

There was also a time when I used to go out walking at night in my bathrobe in order to expose my nakedness. Seriously. I used to love flashing. I was a fucking pervert!

Sometimes I’d get so caught up in my sexual fantasies I would wank right through the night until the sun came up, never reaching orgasm. When I finally came, it hurt like a motherfucker.

At the core of all this was porn. Not so much porn movies, although I did make use of them from time to time, but porn magazines. The problem with porn movies is they’re too blatant & you can’t fantasize using them. They are what they are. But a photo of a naked woman is the basis for infinite – and in my case probably psychotic – fantasy.

Commonly, these fantasies are structured & assisted by dice, so that masturbation actually becomes a game, an activity, a pastime, with rules & boundaries & an objective. And no, the obvious objective is not usually the objective. If I just wanted to have an orgasm, I’d sit on the toilet & jerk off. I can bring myself to orgasm in about two minutes. That’s not the point.

In a way, the point is to merge physical pleasure & east gratification with my creativity. In other words, it’s to fantasize about being creative without doing any of the hard work involved with being creative. It’s a surrogate for creativity. That’s the most pithy description.

What’s weird, and really probably part of the problem, is how resistant I am to going into this stuff in detail. I’m skirting all the issues here, which is self-defeating. The point is to get to the heart of things. But I can’t. It’s like I’m fighting my own hand it writes. Fucking bizarre!