Opinion
3 min

A gay man’s search for the perfect masturbation buddy

An excerpt from Solosexual: Portrait of a Masturbator (Part 3)

In this week’s instalment of Solosexual, author Jason Armstrong looks for ways to share an act that is by definition solitary. Credit: N Maxwell Lander

I got a message from a bator named Steve who lives in my city. I told him that I had never bated with a bud (we’ve all masturbated during sex with others, but remember, I’m talking Bating with a capital B and all that that implies — edging, gooning, penis chanting, penis worship, a complete focus on masturbating with a buddy). Steve’s messages were revealing. He talked to me about the ways two buddies can get to that transcendent place together.

One way is by mirroring and echoing each other. This means that if we are crouched in front of each other, and he grunts, I grunt back. As he put it so well, if he fixates on my penis, worshipping it with his eyes, I do the same to him. If he spits in my beard, I spit right back. If he calls me a fuckin’ bator pig, I tell him he’s a fuckin’ bator pig. He was speaking to the idea that it’s difficult, if not embarrassing, to be headed deep into cock bliss if the other bator is not passing the ball back to you, so to speak. He suggested that two of the best ways to break down inhibitions were potentially to cam first, and when together, to quite simply have a drink or two to let our guards down.

As a solosexual himself, Steve explained that mutual gooning is something of a paradox. “Gooning (losing one’s self completely in the sensations of the penis) is achieved through hours of porn and masturbation, an act that is almost by definition solitary,” he says. “It is the domain of the solosexual. To share that experience with another seems almost a contradiction in terms. Almost — but not quite. The heightened masturbatory experiences that men have achieved as solosexuals are largely possible because of the strange combination of privacy and social interaction that the Internet permits. It is hard to imagine men masturbating daily for three, four or five hours at a stretch without online porn, cam and chat to fuel their descent into the batehole. Solosexuals rely on online sociality to enrich their self-pleasure, which is to say that in some way, the solosexual’s act of solitary self-pleasure is always already sociable. And because solosexuality is sociable even as it is solitary, it is possible to achieve and to share something like mutual gooning: a fully self-absorbed uninhibited bate state in the presence of another in the same state.” He ended his message with this final thought: “On a few occasions I think that I’ve gotten close to something like that with another. I can’t think of any more satisfying experience. Penetrative sex of course can be excruciatingly good, but at some level it is still always the performance of certain social roles: someone is penetrated or someone penetrates. But that state of pure pleasure face-to-face with another bate pig, sweating, grunting, huffing poppers and soaked in each other’s hot piss is a completely primal pleasure, the closest, I think, that two bodies can come to sharing the same pleasure.”

(N Maxwell Lander/DailyXtra)

Steve and I set up a time to meet. As the date approached, our messages to each other built to a crescendo. He matched me as a pig step for step. We had everything in common that I could have hoped to have for with a fellow bator pig. We wanted nothing less than to smell each other’s pits in our beards, to huff poppers and worship dick together for hours, tying our dicks together so that we could feel each other’s every throb and pulse. We wanted to bond as men, filling the air with our combined man scent, inhaling each other, marking each other’s territory with piss exchange. Chain smoking our way through it and swapping the smoke, spitting into each other’s mouths. Ending in a heap of sweat, spit, cum and piss on our matted, hairy bodies.

I wanted this so much. I was terrified of it. Craving it. Scared of it. Longing to swap the energy, letting it build exponentially, of two men who were proud bators, until we reached the level of gooning together, ape-bating with tongues hanging out, lost in each other’s testosterone. The day of our date arrived. An hour before, he texted me to say he’d been called into work, he had to cancel, he would touch base later. But he did not touch base afterwards as promised. It was over before it began.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but a whole year would have to pass until I met that elusive bate buddy.