The Historical Importance Of Anonymous Gay Sex

The Historical Importance Of Anonymous Gay Sex

I had sex last night with a stranger. I was falling asleep one moment and the next I was wiping my ass clean. I don’t know the man’s name nor do I know his age. It was just before daybreak. My timing was impeccable. I captured him as the panic of a night’s impending failure was kicking in. You see, the end of the night brings a rush driven by the need for companionship. With each bar, club, dance floor comes a promise; a promise of connection, love, passion… if only for a night.

It is easy to forget that we are born naked, void of the societal expectations we assume to be natural. Throughout our lives, social scripts are imprinted onto our bodies with the subtlety of the greatest of con-artists. The scripts become a part of our being, directing our behavior, mentalities, and actions. Gendered behavior is perhaps the most obvious manifestation of these codes. Indeed, this is what gender theorist Judith Butler calls, Gender Performativity. Gender is entirely socially constructed. To break free of our prescribed gender role is to disturb the social system; it shatters the performance. Just look at the rise of Second Wave Feminism in the 1960s. However, for the most part, we remain oblivious, believing that the behaviors in which we engage are self-determined; that they are naturally rooted in our core being.

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Random Moments – My First Orgasm

first timeLong before I knew what masturbation was – or sex, particularly how bodies operate and what goes inside what – I had already watched porn. I remember being four or five-years-old and going to a neighbor’s house because she had “the jiggly channel”…aka the Playboy channel. I’d come over to her house. A lot. A whole damn lot. Back then it had its own dedicated channel, not a shared channel that was only watchable after 10 p.m. My friend was another little girl, who probably didn’t have the same infatuation as I did in watching the jiggly channel. And I didn’t realized just how infatuated I was until one day she wasn’t home. I remember being really pissed, in the way a four-year-old can get pissed. I probably pulled the heads of my Barbies or threw my Dr. Seuss books on the ground. I mean, how else was I going to get my fix of seeing boobs and vaginas? Dicks not so much, gross. I wanted to see a vagina “in action.”

When I got older – maybe 10 or so – I got a TV in my room, and I discovered the long lost jiggly channel. Fuck yah. It was scrambled of course, but I had a great imagination. However, I was too scared to watch it because my parents’ room was right across from mine.

I had an issue of Cosmo and a Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog. I know! Next best thing, right?! If you don’t know Frederick’s of Hollywood, think Victoria’s Secret meets Spencer’s – raunchier, racier, and 1980s’er. In the back of the Cosmo were ads and lingerie you can order; and Frederick’s…well, that just goes without saying. Lots of nipples and chicks giving the “come hither” look. It wasn’t live action pussy-eating, but it would have to do. I flipped through Frederick’s and was instantly turned on by the lace-covered nipples. At that age, I wasn’t sure if I wanted have big tits or if I wanted to touch them. Probably the latter.

This was about the time I remember touching myself over my panties for the first time and it kind of feeling good. I remember circling my lips and finding a spot (my clitoris) that was super sensitive. I focused on this area and rubbed to the left, right, and around it. My body got warm and my heart rate increased. A slow and steady feeling began to swell in me and I didn’t know what was going on; all I knew is that it felt good and that I had to keep going and that it would get better. Finally, I felt the first twitch, like I was holding my pee, and it came in such a rapid succession that I couldn’t stop it if I could.

I was 11-years-old when I orgasmed for the first time. How do I remember this? Because I remember what was on my mind at the time of climax: a girl in my 7th grade English class. Did I fantasize about her, or kissing her, or wondering what she looked like under her shirt? Never. I can say without a doubt that when that first flood of twitching in my vagina first hit, I thought about her. What’s weird is that it wasn’t a sexual thought. It was more like, “I wonder if she did her homework last night?” It was probably a stream-of-consciousness thought that was more coincidence that fantasy. But the bottom line is: my only memory of my first orgasm was not the thought of bodies humping or two chicks eating each other out, but a girl who sat next to me in middle school.

I remember being very private about masturbation, never telling my friends, asking if they did it too. It just never came up. No one had ever seen me masturbate before until I met Ryan. I never felt close enough to anyone to let myself be seen that way. I felt I would be too embarrassed to be seen in such a vulnerable position. Even when Ryan and I masturbated mutually (not separately, but together) it was a new feeling to me. I had to get used to not feeling judged.  These days, I could pull up my skirt in the middle of a crowded theater and masturbate for Ryan if we wanted.  The comfort level and bubble has left me oblivious of my surroundings.  I also am not longer ashamed that I masturbate and enjoy cuddling with Ryan at night and still touching myself to relax and fall asleep.