Masturbating in SF
By John Thursday • Jun 25th, 2009 • Category: Erotic Philosophy by John Thursday, FeaturesI had trouble masturbating last night. It’s funny how that happens.
A good session usually begins for me earlier in the day, often on the street. Not masturbating on the street mind you, as that would be vulgar. It’s also illegal; maybe not in San Francisco but in most other places.
What I meant to say was that a good masturbation session for me usually begins when I see something worth masturbating too. Most often it is a person though certain orchids, the right pair of shoes, or a naked mannequin can help me set sail.
Yes, a naked mannequin can arouse my senses. Perhaps it is because of a young Kim Cattrell coming to life in the movie “Mannequin” making a young, shy boy wish that he too would get trapped inside a department store at night and find love. Perhaps it is because I am an abstract thinker and so the mere suggestion of the female nude is enough.
In any event, even if I do see one of those sexed up mannequins it only serves to heighten my vigilance to seek out a live beautiful woman, the erotic in the everyday. Living in the Bay Area, this might be why I have trouble masturbating.
I grew up in New York City where the streets are awash in feminine beauty. I’d see a pair of sculpted calves rise out of sharp heels, an asymmetrical hem slicing the air with every step. That woman would follow me home in my fantasy; or the slinky purple off shoulder number at 9 a.m., or the Ibiza girls falling out of a car on their way into a club.
People in the Bay Area don’t place such a premium on physical beauty. In Berkeley a woman is more likely to brush her aura than her hair. In San Francisco a woman is more likely to work her freak factor as sexy than have stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Even the Heights social set looks like a casting call for New York castoffs.
Even the architecture in New York has a sex appeal. Who wouldn’t mind tapping the Guggenheim’s ass? But do you really want to do anything more than cuddle with a Victorian?
The advantage to the Bay Area is people are more likely to actually find out who you are – and care. They are more likely to be on a journey towards understanding and to want to talk about it. Sometimes they want to talk about it ad nauseum, but communicate they will.
In New York you are more likely to find attitude, a refusal to admit uncertainty or weakness of any kind. But wow will they be beautiful. Which brings me back to my trouble masturbating last night.
The Bay Area is not a particularly good place for generating masturbatory fantasies for heterosexuals. If you’re a hetero woman you had better love really soft men or the fantasy of being licked all over by a posse of gays. If you’re a hetero man, well, you had better really love off center women or the fantasy of being licked all over by a posse of gays.
For both sets of heteros there is the occasional yoga toned body strutting by. But then you’re dealing with New York attitude.
When I first arrived on these shores I notice that my masturbating was a less intense experience. It took me a while to realize that I was resorting to old fantasies. I was having trouble generating new fantasies. And fantasies are kind of like gravity, the further away they get the less powerful they become.
So there I was last night, in bed, shaft in hand and what a soft shaft it was. There was no lift off. But I really wanted it. The old fantasies just weren’t cutting it. I tried to remember someone I had seen on the street of late, but girl’s who use hemp deodorant don’t do it for me, girls with big glasses and bad jeans don’t do it for me, girls in nice shoes, nicer dresses and blank faces don’t do it for me. What was I to do?
Then I remembered going to the water park in Concord the other day. On the other side of the Oakland hills lies another world, a world where women paint themselves for men; a world where looking hot is a full time job. Things began to perk up. I guess sometimes it’s important to leave the Bay behind you for a little bit.
I’m not saying any of what happens in Concord is good for the liberation of women. But it can be good for a fantasy or two. It may not be right, but it is true.
John Thursday >> John Thursday was born and raised at Harbin Hot Springs, unaware there was such a thing as clothing until he was 15. He has since renounced all things Hippie. He earned a doctorate in Erotic Philosophy by defending Kant's lesser known The Critique of Pure Fellatio as a seminal work. he was hit on by Allen Ginsburg twice but not even once by Sami Beinstein, a non-hippie jewess. He currently beds a shiksa named Misty.
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Try drinkin’ some Shasta. works for me
You can find sexual and physical perfection anywhere you live. The right hips, the right breasts or lips or hands or teeth or tongue are enough to stimulate an innovative and unforgettable fantasy. Don’t get so tied up in clothing, makeup, the superficial and oh-so-easily accessible signs of wealth. This isn’t hippie, it’s anthropology — those responses are directly tied to primate evolutionary behavior — preening, competition, and explicit signs that a potential sexual partner, even one you’ve never spoken with, is expending extra effort and calories to attract you to them. This may matter for life partners, but it sure as hell makes no difference when you’re beating off.
The reality is that we all look roughly the same naked and freshly scrubbed.
That woman who won’t smile? She wants to fuck you in the ass with her strapon dildo that she hasn’t yet had the confidence to use. She wants to cheat on her husband with you. Just once.
The butch chef on the train who won’t give you the time of day? She’d love to make her regular lover watch and masturbate as you give her head.
Nothing is out of bounds or politically incorrect in a sexual fantasy. Use it and get past it.
That was silly. Although it is true that It never occurred to me to fantasize about sex while walking through the streets of SF. Perhaps the smell of fresh urine is too much of a turn off. Not to mention just thinking about my physical safety. Being solicited for money by homeless folks also tends to dull the libido. There is the not so sexy wave of sadness for those folks, mixed with a healthy dose of guilt and revulsion at just how dirty folks can get living on the street. When I have money to share, I always fold the bill carefully so I can hand it to them without being touched. Because while I might want to help, I really don’t want to touch them until they have had a good hot shower. That is why I find myself distracted from sex in SF. Maybe that doesn’t bother men too much? I suspect I would have the same problem in NYC?
It is true that I do not primp and preen myself hoping to be the object of some jizz shot across the sheets, or into a waiting sock or into tissue. There is little joy in it for me. In fact It is quite the opposite. I like having control over when desire is directed or as the case may be NOT directed at me. There is a great deal of power in choosing when and how and where you will turn someone on.
I was just wondering if in your fantasy the desire is returned or if you ever thought about it? Is it just about what you want the person to look like and do? I wonder if there is some gender specificity in this? It is true that the fictional objects of my fantasies desire me very much. Do men share this or do they just focus on what the person looks like and the sexual act.
Good night and happy wanking. I actually came to read he erotica in the magazine, but often get distracted by your articles. I guess I like to read other people’s fantasies some times, it is enlightening.