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How masturbation takes one gay man to new sexual heights

An excerpt from Solosexual: Portrait of a Masturbator (Part 1)

It was the spring of 2013 and the Black Eagle was hosting the event Trade in Toronto. The bar’s backroom was being renovated and so ownership got special permission from the city to allow for sex to happen any and everywhere in the bar.

I went up the steps to the second floor, turned into the entrance and the first thing I saw was a buddy of mine giving head to a happy customer, right there, next to the lineup of men waiting to be served drinks from the hirsute bartender. Later, when my friend was freed of the cock-sucking task, I went over and gave him a big bear hug and a kiss on the lips.

“Damn, I can taste cock on your lips!” I told him, to which he whooped “Right on!” and we hugged again.

I was to meet another buddy there that night, Ken, and he showed up shortly after I did. The bar and its adjacent patio were packed to the rafters. In the dark space, men danced, even though there was no dancefloor, and released their cocks from their pants. At one point, while chatting with Ken, a handsome stranger undid my fly and kindly blew me for a bit while I chugged my pint. It was a heady mix of sexually potent stimulation — the loud music, the smell of sweat and leather, the laughter, the cigarette smoke on the patio.

I was horny, slightly overwhelmed (so many men, so little time!) and getting buzzed from my beer.

But I stayed for only an hour and a half and then went home. I felt bad leaving so early as Ken must have felt he’d been ditched. Or maybe not — he had arrived with another friend in tow and knew half the room. But I had to go home. I had to be alone. To masturbate.

This book is about one gay man’s journey into the world of solosexuality (a term you will soon come to be well acquainted with). It is a treatise on the art of masturbation.

It reflects the feeling that masturbation is an end in and of itself and not just a substitute for the “real thing.”

Taken further: Masturbation as a way of life and the conduit through which you connect to you inner divinity and your inner pig. Or shared, mutual masturbation as a way of connecting to others and their essence, their most private moments, their raunch, their transcendence.

The transcendence through masturbation speaks to the life force that springs from our sexuality, that puts us in touch with ourselves and with deeper, sometimes remote parts of our psyche. Think of it as the key that unlocks the door to self-acceptance and self-love.

Think of a masturbation session as your opportunity to shut out the noise of the world, switch gears and enter different planes of existence by tapping into the unique wellspring of your sexuality, desires and fantasies.

At a certain point in my sexual development, I found that long, deep, intense masturbation sessions had become integral to my mental health, to the point that it very nearly usurped my need for all other types of sexual play.

As it became my preferred mode of sexual expression, I came to the realization that sometimes, during typical penetrative-style sex with a partner, I was left wanting and feeling as if something was missing. Often I would long for the so-called “regular” sex to finish and my partner to leave so that I could complete the experience alone, jacking to the memory of what had just occurred.

Masturbation would take me to sexual heights beyond those I experienced during that partnered, penetrative sex.

I can out-masturbate anyone, anytime, anywhere. My jack-off sessions are so fulfilling that I often joke that another person in the room would just be in my way.

And I need minimum three hours or else I won’t bother. During sex with myself, I have no inhibitions and no qualms about what someone will think of me. I can be a total freak and completely unselfconscious. I can dance in the mirror for hours with my hands down my pants. I can stare at myself, in one hand a Jack and Coke, the other a cigarette, and call myself a fuckin’ cum-lickin’ whore.

There is a narcissistic element to this kind of self-love, but it makes up for all the times I doubted myself or felt inferior (or . . . does it stem from that?).

And it’s not a substitute for the “real thing.” This is real and always feels like the first time. It’s a date with myself, so I turn on the music, dim the lighting, and set up any sex toys I might want to play with. To me, it’s as valid as any other date I’ve ever been on — except I never get stood up this way.

> Next: In next week’s excerpt, Jason Armstrong looks at how the internet has been a game changer for men who love to masturbate for hours at a stretch. Learn more about his book, Solosexual: Portrait of a Masturbator, at solosexbook.com.