"Masturbation at Nineteen"
by
Timothy Stillman
(this is dedicated to John, for whom I wrote it, with love)
When I was a freshman in college, at Christmas time, on break, I was at home and feeling especially horny one evening, and as usual, all alone..
In the living room was our Christmas Tree, fake, silver, I hated it, to the left of the full length mirror, hiding a part of the mirror. So then since there was only me and my shadow and my reflected image, I had an idea:
There were colored lights revolving around on the tree. I thought what would those colors look like revolving around on my naked body? And wasn't masturbating in front of that hated Christmas tree, how I wanted a real one, just something so vain and so naughty and nice?..as I stood at the mirror, looking at myself, pushing my long brown hair behind me and leaning my face into imagined December winds.
I put soft music on. I started to strip. Slowly. My tennis shoes. My socks. My bell bottom blue jeans. My paisley shirt. My silk scarf. In those lights, partially hidden by those silver branches. I teased myself as I did so. I made myself as best I could into those silhouette openings of the Bond movies. The wall heater made the room too hot and I was perspiring a bit. I touched my tongue tip to the edges of my lips. I stroked myself as I closed my eyes and raised my head, put my arms round my naked chest, pretended I was David Cassidy in the almost naked lay out in "Rolling Stone." With each piece of clothing, I stopped first, as with my shirt off, I rubbed my chest, felt my basket with my left hand, seeing the colors and experiencing the quality of sexuality I always felt when I saw boys with only jeans on, and how I wanted to take them off them, delicately, peeling a grape, loving.
Then now naked and beautifully vulnerable, a slight bending of my self backwards aiming my slowly growing six incher to the mirror and to the me in there and to David Cassidy in there too, as I was almost embarrassed., almost asking my reflection for forgiveness.
Part of me hidden by the Christmas tree branches. me hiding behind them, and then moving my head out from behind the branches, and smiling at my reflection, like a sprite, thin I was, and bony, and pretending I had pointy ears like a faun. I fondled myself. I played with my balls. I stroked myself. I felt that electric russsshhhhh through me. I was wearing my blue lensed sun glasses, mixing that with the color circles round and down and round on top again. I displayed myself. I turned left and right. Sleek. No body hair save the patch of black at my crotch. I strummed my nipples. They hardened. I imagined making love in the snow with a real person. With someone who could actually see me. Please.
I felt even more naked with my hair down to my shoulders, somehow, than I would have with it cut. I was taking two childhood rites--the celebration of Christmas and the celebration of masturbation and fantasy, and joining them together. I gave a side view of my image. First one. Then the other, with the lights on me blue and red and green and I started stroking my tight penis. I tickled my balls with the other hand. I arranged myself in such a way that I could see only a bit of my dark pubic patch. I rubbed my hard on. I moved it.. With my hands. And with its own free will. I tempted David and me in that lucky mirror. And the Bond girls enraptured.
I hid my penis between my legs. That's always been a sexy thing for me.
Till it hurt. My hard on caught between the inner thighs, pretending it was someone else there instead of mine, a girl perhaps, my sexuality has always been fluid. I pinched my titties, watched myself do it. I turned around and watched my naked back and hair over the shoulders, and the crease of my buttocks and the two little dimples above it. My spine curved and like little stepping stones as I knelt down into the flow of the colored lights like snow dreams, and I offered my buttocks to anyone who would take them. I squirmed my body. I traced my outline. I let the music and colors make me something alien and desired by everyone I desired. I felt happy. I stretched far up, exposing my arm pits, pretended someone, you as I write this?, for I am imagining doing this with you, was touching the brown hair there. I sat straight on, opened my legs, looked at myself shamelessly in the mirror, exposing my ass and its hole as I raised, and the colors moved like music on their own, over me, and the Christmas tree colors like those of another planet's sky, and I rubbed myself, and I pointed my erection straight at the mirror, I am imagining pointing it now straight at you, and i imagined being sucked off, for it was winter and Christmas up ahead and I was a man who still remembered being a boy. Me on the soft golden carpeting, as I touched my hips and my navel and my hard on was just straight upward, my balls were almost in pain they were so tight.
I was in control. I was getting revenge. At the same time I was being reverential.
I modeled.
As if on a turning pedestal. I imagined boys and men watching me. I imagined I was part of a stage show. I sang, very badly, some of my favorite love songs, soft and easy, love and pain and hope and cherishing someone I was to know in two years time but never to tell I loved him, and the lights went a soothing of magic transforming me, remaking me, compounding my flesh to look so important, so beautiful, and otherworldly and sure of itself for the first time, for reasons I can't explain. So round and round and I whirled my hand on my penis and I looked at me down there, the two brown rings round the middle of the shaft, and I tipped open the slit and breathed on it warmly,.the records had stopped now. Now there was only a Winter Silence. And cold winds outside the house. And please snow soon.
My whole body seemed electrified. I made it long and slow, and I stretched on my back and looked down at myself, as I crouched beneath the mirror, as I raised one arm to the mirror, and then moved upward to it like a merboy coming out of the sea, a melody like there had never been before, and the mirror my only friend, and my body began the push as I moved myself upward and close to the mirror, so I could see my cum clearly--red and blue and green and purple--like the LSD dreams I was always hearing about in college, and everything in me concentrated as I masturbated, fast and hard and with desperation, when I came I shot half way cross the room. I lay on my back. I breathed hard. I laughed. I was filled with sweat. And exhaustion. For the first time, I really felt my entire body bear down and charge with electricity and come full and true and to the ultimate of my limit.
My hair was wringing. I put my head down and I watched my penis detumesce. and remembered. Christmas/childhood/adulthood/the season of love/ and magic. It all seemed to flow together then for me. It was not the last time, my sexual show only to myself and my mirror in various guises. Semen like a multi hued track of a comet in a sky too dark and too cold, save for my shy scared radiance. I watched the lights dance music, all the lights in the house off, and some of my cream got on my stomach. I lay there for a long time, rubbing it in and wishing I could have been the object of the eyes of love then. As in telling you this, I hope I am, or at least the memory I've told you about, is the object of at least a kind of love now.
Feeling my naked body. The muscles of groin. My penis so warm and friendly in my hand. My balls still pulsing. And then of course I did what I almost always do after masturbating. I wept.
Timothy Stillman comewinter@earthlink.net