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.