If by “jack off” you mean masturbate solo to orgasm, about once a day. If I have sex with someone else—and I include mutual masturbation as sex—I may skip masturbating for a day beforehand to boost my libido and cum more, but I also masturbate twice on many days, more than compensating for the occasional day of abstinence.

It’s clear that I like images of hairy, macho guys. White guys with muscles and body hair and stiff, cut penises and I like to see them spend time masturbating, displaying their pleasure, getting lost and losing concern for how they sound or where the cum flies when they orgasm.

But all of my life, when encountering them out in the world, I’ve considered men like this to be absolute dicks. I would never give them the time of day or want to spend any time with them. I don’t even like having sex with them IRL. Yes, I experience a few moments of initial interest and flattery that they’re into me but it never takes long for me to lose interest. I don’t cum when I have sex with macho men.

In real life, where flesh meets flesh, I’m into variety and presence and energy above all. In real life, I like men who aren’t white. In real life, what matters to me is mutual engagement and a sense of joyful, shameless heat.

The only things that are consistent between my spank bank and real life is I need my penises erect and I’m not into fucking. If a guy can’t achieve an erection, I can’t sustain interest and will only continue out of generosity and for his pleasure, not mine. I will not cum with a guy who doesn’t get hard. I require that evidence of his pleasure to experience my own.

When a man has to fuck or more commonly, be fucked, I’m just not down for it. I’ve accommodated some guys but maybe once in a year or two will I achieve an orgasm this way and once I’m fucking a guy, it’s pretty much a guarantee I will not cum with him.

I like to touch and taste men. I like to use my hands and my mouth and be treated in kind. Yes, my hole loves to be touched but a finger is all I need and that only rarely. The thought of fucking is way more interesting to me than the reality.

And I’m also intensely attracted to fem guys who are totally who they are. If a man is hairy and sexually connected and also obviously, outwardly “gay” seeming, that’s a huge plus for me. I want to suck his cock and I want his mouth on mine.

Imagination is so exciting but once you get out of your head and into the real world of bodies and sensations and smells, it’s interesting how what works IRL can diverge from what we masturbate over in front of our computers. If you have a similar experience, consider that the next time you’re flipping through Scruff profiles.

healthyfriction:

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Hey Cowboy,

When I first started Rain City Jacks, I got a big suite in a local, mid-level hotel. I specified top floor and a corner room to maximize privacy. I organized the event through the Yahoo Group I set up to start the Jacks and I simply asked everyone to not be loud in the room. 

The first time I hosted in a hotel room, I operated on the honor system, communicating the room number privately just before the event start and just asking for a $10 donation to help defray the cost of the room. I ended up shelling out for the room from my own pocket and most of the guys flaked out, leaving a room big enough for 20 guys with only seven. The next time, I used PayPal to pre-reserve, require pre-payment and no refunds. If you wanted to come, you had to invest $20. I instantly saw the flakes virtually disappear and had an almost-full house. The money collected paid for the room, Albolene, paper towels, refreshments and my rides to and from the hotel.

I hosted about five events at that hotel before I located a long-term location. During that time, I also found volunteers who really wanted to help keep it going. Turned out that the pre-pay option led to attendees who were far more invested in the experience than just men who wanted to get off and didn’t care whether they showed up or not. I discovered how the fees charged represented value to members, mostly, how much they valued the experience.

I never asked permission. I paid for the room and invited visitors to join me there, just as many people do. I just had more than most. Yes, there may have been some violation of rules, but what were were doing was and is, technically, legal. As each guy arrived, he had to sign an agreement stating that he was there voluntarily of their own volition, accepted his responsibility to follow the rules and waived liability for damages.

Regardless of the venue, it’s always good for JO clubs to be good neighbors and renters. Pretty much across the board, I’ve found that every JO club I’ve researched has great relationships with their landlords, added to by the perception of “safe sex,” the lack of alcohol and drugs, and a propensity to just clean up after ourselves. That’s one reason why JO clubs tend to last.

Location is the single biggest hurdle to operating a jack-off club or just hosting one party. Hotels have served for this purpose for a very, very long time. This is nothing new. As long as you practice good judgement and be a good neighbor to the other folks staying in the hotel, you’re probably not going to have any problems.

I think we all deal with reticence about sex, at least in Western civilizations. In the original meaning of the word “reticence,” we’re reluctant to even speak about it, much less experience it with untainted joy. Today is the first day of Masturbation Month and my thoughts after I masturbated this morning were about how we learn to hide it when we’re kids. While I masturbated, I was doing a lot of very basic positive self-talk about simply loving my penis and loving how good masturbating feels. It always feels like self-care to affirm the fundamental goodness of my body and my sexual expression, specifically because I share the same early negative conditioning.

I think it’s always worth expressing love, not just for others but for ourselves, which seems to be the harder thing for most of us.

Any questions? Ideas? Requests?

I need some writing prompts. How about helping a buddy out! Use the “Ask me anything” link and engage with me right out here where everyone can see.

Thank you, friends.

Paul

When I was a gay college boy in the midcentury midwest, I treasured a tiny collection of gay porn. I poured hours of my post-adolescence into it, kneeling too close to the family TV and masturbating again and again, focused intently on Al Parker’s penis and everything he did. It was magical, naughty and absolutely me time. 

Porn was then about scarcity and precious secrets. It lived in material things—video cassettes and books and magazines—things that could be hidden and treasured and infused with the danger of discovery.

In high school, I had erotic literature or “dirty books” as they were commonly known. Well-worn paperbacks with dog-eared pages of my favorite passages. Reading was where I developed my sexual imagination and began to discover what I was really into beyond just being attracted to guys.

In college through the late ‘70s, VHS invaded the culture and being a tech geek, I had to have a video deck and the porn industry was demonstrating that it was going to forever be the vanguard of new media by providing their product to the masses in the way the masses were going to be consuming. The porn industry has always been the sector that best embodied Steve Jobs’ ideal of “skating to where the puck is going.” 

I loved receiving those plain envelopes offering brochures full of explicit photos from Colt, Falcon and Maverick Studios to market their products. The brochures alone inspired countless orgasms but I scraped up the money I needed to get a couple of the most promising tapes to play for myself in private and in full motion and living color. I loved my porn even as I was finding real sex with real men in the real world. From age 19 through my twenties I had semen to spare both for the holes of the willing and my own two hands.

Through the years, erotica has remained part of my life in varying degrees and in evolving forms but there has been one massive shift in its universe for all of us: the ability for me and you and everyone to make our own porn. We ourselves have become the source of the most authentic erotica available and the professional industry has struggled to compete with us. 

What has evolved at this moment of erotic history is what I call people-powered porn. The range of variation is as broad as the populations of people with smartphones. From selfies have come dick pics (and yes, I am a dick-centric homo so that’s my focus, but I know perfectly well that women are making selfie porn too) and all manner of artful to artless erotica that we can and do make with the production tools now in our hands.

I am a fan of “amateur” porn, the views inside erotic reality that people are making and sharing out of pure passion rather than profit. Inside that world is the spark of creativity and originality that has created new, artful-while-still-wildly-hot erotic filmmaking of Noel Alejandro and Antonio da Silva, as well as the pro-amateur efforts of Proud Bator (sadly, now retired) and countless others.

Now, as I near 60, I have found my taste, my preference in erotica and it is the non-professional exposure of genuine male sexuality I see on Tumblr and BateWorld. I no longer want to see shaved bodies, six-pack abs and porn professionals. I see them as artificial, staged and insincere. The mere fact of classic, idealized physical beauty (according to the popular esthetic of any particular time) isn’t enough for me. If I’m not actually touching and being touched by a genuine man IRL, I want him evoked in my erotica. I want to see imperfect men displaying frank, sexual joy in the actually awkward way that real men do. I want to see men who embrace their everyday magic and expose that to the world.

And when I record video of myself making love with myself, I’m doing my best to not act for you, but to expose my reality, just as I am now. What I make is what I want to see.

This is one of the aspects of living in this moment of time that gives me gratitude and optimism. We can actually create and share intimate sexual chronicles of our moments and lives and expose ourselves to the whole world. Yes, we still have a long way to go before our idea of sex is foundationally about joy rather than shame, sin, weakness, crime and danger—a very, very long way to go—but putting our bodies and faces out there and exposing our joy is a critical step forward.

Seize your power to spread the plainest human truth: Be authentically sexual and joyful, make a photographic and video record of that truth and expose it. This is another example of being the change you wish to see in the world.

Yesterday was for me a rare Saturday alone. It’s usually “Our Day,” the one, weekly, designated day that my husband and I put everything else on hold and spend all our waking hours together, brunching, chatting, seeing films, napping, talking, making out and anything else that we want to do. We’ve considered it a sacred part of our relationship since we began shaping it back in late 1991.

You may have noticed a missing item on the “Our Day” menu: Sex. We haven’t had sex for quite a while. It’s definitely a concern for both of us, although we continue to adore each other and cohabitate with rare ease for any couple. We both miss our naked boner-time and we’re working on it… but that’s not what this entry’s about. It’s about my solo day.

He took the dog with him so I didn’t even have to deal with letting Jake out or playing tug-of-war. It was just me in the empty house and nothing planned. As you might guess, I recognized an opportunity…

Marty is my go-to bate buddy. He’s truly got all the features I love in a bator. He’s a furry cub with a light, easy attitude and he really values masturbation, loves his penis and understands edging. I’ve had lots of amazing sessions with him and while a penis might go occasionally into a mouth or hole, we’re both very aligned on spending the great majority of our time together stroking our own and each other’s penis. We always ejaculate together and that always happens with hands on penises.

I texted Marty early and it was a little while before he replied and we set it up. It was determined that I would go to the gym and check that off my list before heading over to his place. Without asking, I didn’t shower after my workout, just cleaned a few key areas before gearing up for the gym. I was going to have some scent on me when I arrived and if he preferred me freshly showered, I could take care of that there.

It was moments after I arrived that we were touching each other, easily rubbing bulging crotches and feeling rigid dicks. There was no hurry. There’s never a hurry when I’m with Marty.

We chatted, stroked ourselves and each other, gradually undressed and alternated touching and sucking each other, simply being with the fact of our easy connection and arousal. His penis responded without hesitation to my fingers, hands, mouth and mine was similarly engaged. 

Over the next two hours, we stimulated each other and repeatedly edged skillfully and naturally. There was no question that we were going to just ride the curve of the edge with an occasional crest, and put off full ejaculation until we felt like wrapping our lazy afternoon up.

Over two hours after I arrived, I chose to cum and we rode up the ramp together, locked together in a pretzel of presence, fully able to take in each other’s penis, scrotum, assholes, faces, breath and the totality of energy that is sex. We rode up and over the crest and I shot hard all over his penis, stomach, thighs and one foot. He followed me only a moment later, ejaculating his seed all over himself to mingle with mine, moaning and breathing together.

We lay still, relaxing into the oxytocin fog, both dozing off briefly before rousing and standing up from the couch to lazily wipe up the coconut oil and cum. Happy apes after beautiful, bonding sex. We looked at each other and smiled, appreciating our unique friendship and hugged warmly and long before dressing and parting ways.

This basically is our relationship. We are passionate bator buddies. We speak easily about whatever we like, there is seemingly no romantic interpretation of our affection or desire for it. We just fit well around this intense, human experience.

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I go home, smelling of the gym and coconut and pheromones, and ready myself for an evening out with my husband, who I am to meet up with briefly later. I go in the back door, strip and turn on the shower, glancing behind me at the image of my naked body reflected in the big mirror… and I pause. 

Here is my 59 year-old flesh. Here is the over-generous waist, the aging skin, the still-swollen shoulder and arm muscles. Here is my somehow still shapely butt. Running my hands down my ass cheeks and thighs, I marvel at the silky smoothness of the naturally hairless expanse, remembering that while I am most turned on by the sensation of body hair, this is my own body and it is good too. I think, “This is me,” and I’m alive and still loving my life and I am so fucking grateful for all the sexual joy in it. It’s wonderful and I want to cry from the gratitude.

Instead, I twist my body a little and look at the reflection of my resting penis. It is small and spent and beautiful. I reach down with my left hand and cradle my penis and balls in the cup of palm and fingers, just feeling the weight and warmth of the gift between my legs. It starts to swell and I watch as it thickens a little and extends itself forward.

Licking my palm, I wet my penis and begin masturbating it, smiling at the delicious pleasure growing again with my full erection. It has been a long time since I was ready so soon after an orgasm and taking a big breath, I stroke myself with full abandon and just feel my body spring back to life.

The shower continues running and I have no goal here. I’m just pausing to love myself with my hands, running one hand over my pecs and stomach as the other masturbates the happy penis. I feel so good and I’m barely thinking of anything but my body responding and breathing into that moment and in minutes, with no edging or hurry, I am ejaculating a massive, spraying gush of semen into the air and onto the floor and my stomach. Slowing my cadence, I continue stroking up and down the full length of my penis and tight scrotum, sperm and saliva mingling and slick on my skin. 

For the second time today, I clean up my cummy body, step into the shower and prepare for the evening. This is the sex I have today. It is mine and it is nothing short of glorious.