A
GAY MAN'S GUIDE
to 'SOFT-WILLY SEX'
destiny and destination
soft penis, soft dick, soft cock, soft prick
wiener, schlong, dong, tool, wang, prick, pecker, knob, boner, pork-poker, thingummy, Peter, Percy, John-Thomas
"Speaking for the [heterosexual] men of this world, we want to own the beauty of the woman we're fucking. We want to grasp that beauty tightly in our greedy little fingers, to well and truly possess it, to make it ours."
-
Andrew Davidson in
THE GARGOYLE
Can't homosexual love at least aim to be a little less possessive than this ?
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How
sad are the men who take Viagra - and worse - to make their
cocks hard! Sex is just a suite of rooms in the Grand Hotel of Sensuality. "Foreplay" can be a whole banquet, not just an apéritif or the warm-up to a game, the brief means to an end. Two men who are attracted to each other can have marvellous shared hours and sensations without even touching cocks. Opening your heart and mind to sheer sensuality makes you aware of delicious and powerful subtleties within you that you never dreamed you had.
For simple sensuality adds nothing to the Gross National Product, employs nobody in factories, nor does it require the purchase of anything - except, perhaps, a little massage oil for the almost 3 square metres of skin (containing tens of thousands of nerve-endings) which cover us.
Head-massage
- from simple rubbing and scratching right through to mutual
hair-pulling. Face-massage, and rubbing faces together. This is especially delicious if the two faces are bearded. Mutual beard-pulling can also be delightful. Neck-massage
and gentle kneading. With or without oil. What almost every gay man is acutely aware of is, of course, his nipples. But there, too, an unfortunate masochistic machismo has desensitised many gay men, who need violence to be perpetrated on their little protuberances for them to feel anything at all. But, as in so many areas of sensibility, 'less is more', and the gentlest licking, tickling or tweaking of nipples can send an electric shock running down to the prostate, on to the balls and arse-hole, on down to the feet, up to the head and down to the nipples again: Kundalini! A bushy beard rubbed against nipples can induce similar sensations, as can a soft (or hard) willy (or balls) similarly applied. Any man who is not attracted to natural, undeodorised armpits need read no further. He has perverted his sense of smell to reject male pheromones, and will certainly not rejoice in the taste of sweaty underarms. And talking of sweat, a bit of erotic wrestling can add a great new flavour to the sensual banquet. It is really an extension of the hugging and squeezing which are at once exciting and deeply reassuring. Strangely enough, though the nipples are possibly the most poetically-sensitive part of the body, the area below - the belly - is probably the least sensitive. At least for me. But I am sure there are men and boys out there who have erogenous bellies or even belly-buttons.
Below the ball-sack are the inner thighs, which are extremely sensitive to touch and tongue. As are the feet, a much neglected part of our sensual equipment, except among sadly-exclusive foot-fetishists. Mutual foot-massage (especially Reflex Therapy) is thoroughly satisfying and life-enhancing. Mutual foot-kissing is a very special experience, almost religious in its effect.
Even more neglected in the patristic monogamous cultures are the hands. I have spent hours in exquisite mutual hand-tickling and finger-touching. I have mentioned only a few of the more obvious zones that can become erogenous with a sexy, sensual partner. There are, of course, the buttocks, the small of the back, the calves, the inner arms which is as sensitive as the inner thighs. And of course the anal sphincter, which does not need to be penetrated forcefully by a huge throbbing penis (or vibrating dildo) to receive pleasure like a flower receives a bee. But if you are attuned to pleasure from sheer sensuality, your cock will respond in kind. If it started out soft, it will go hard, and then maybe soft again. It will have its own rhythm, and it is important not to think that it has to be hard. Remember that many men can ejaculate withoute their cock being touched, and they are not just the foot-fetishists and the premature-ejaculators. This moves us to a new area of consideration. Attuned men can experience "internal", "cerebral" or "spiritual" orgasms, whether their cocks are hard or soft.
FOR ORGASM IS NOT THE SAME AS EJACULATION. Many ejaculations are far from orgasmic. And orgasm is not the expulsion of desire like a blockage from a pipe. It is a feeling of harmony, of your body being 'in tune' with itself and with the other body it is pleasuring and pleasured by. Making love is like a musical tone-poem, or even a raga. It helps, of course, if you have tried or even mastered some yogic techniques, whether 'ordinary' hatha yoga, or breath control. A simple breathing practice involves the mere attention to inhalation and exhalation, while you graduallyincrease the length of the pause between breaths. Eventually you can slow your breathing down until there is a very long gap between breaths. Advanced practitioners get into a state between living and dying (though of course they are living in a much more real way than the rest of us), and in this state it is possible for the body to seem to explode orgasmically, while the consciousness zooms off somewhere like a raven on a crag. Some have reported that they 'felt like a mushroom cloud above a nuclear blast' with the dust of their 'former consciousness' slowly raining down on on their transparent bodies 'in blissful droplets'. When this happens you enter a state of permanent prelude to orgasm, and it needs only a bit of imagination to practise other releasing 'tricks' such as very fast belly-breathing or 'yogic locks' which are the exercise and squeezing of muscles, especially those concentrated in the perineum, 'solar plexus' and feet - rather like the 'isometric' exercises which can tone any muscles of the body while you are sitting at a desk, or in a chair, or in a train. A specifically sexual practice is squatting so that your perineum presses down on your heel while you touch your nipples. When you get in touch with your body through these practices, your whole consciousness alters profoundly and often shockingly - but in a controllable way which is not possible when you take powerful psychoactive substances without similar training. Those open to sensual awakening will slide into Tantra like a snake through a hole in a cliff into a marvellous cave of stalagmites and stalactites. Your testicles will gently and continuously pulse, and an electric current will run from them through your prostate up to your nipples, round your head and down your back and through your anus down to your feet. You will also feel 'beautifully apart'.
You will then discover Tantric masturbation - which can be a marvellous two-day (or week-long) testosterone-conquering event, whose satisfying effects can last indefinitely. When masturbation is regarded not as a poor substitute, but an evolved and chosen alternative to mutual or group sensuality, the mind (mainly the left hemisphere) opens to the beauty of simplicity and the illusory nature of loneliness. If you can somehow meet another man with similar developed sexuality, you will be able to have amazing sex-without-sex, simply by gazing into each other's eyes and swimming in the flow between you both - a flow which will probably produce 'head-orgasms' which will beautifully balance the (non-ejaculatory) body-orgasms which will occur just by touching finger-tips. And if you 'go further', and start gently touching balls and nipples, feet and spine, you will experience incredible singing of the body electric. When I make love I always have music, and often that music will include a classical Indian râg, because this highest form of music is an expression of flow - and not, like so much Western and especially commercial music, gush. I also play electronic 'ambient' music (like that of David Parsons, Sergey Starostin, or Klaus Schulze; Jean-Michel Jarre's Oxygène, Terry Oldfield's Spirit of the Rain Forest, etc.); Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here and Meddle, Schubert's Trout Quintet, or the most erotic of Romantic music, Brahms' Double Concerto or First String Quintet, Franck's Piano Quintet... Then there is what I call Arab Fusion - the amazing music of (such as) the Trio Joubran, Abou Khalil and Anwar Brahem. Such music enhances the flow of sensual awareness, appreciation, complicity, of mutuality and exploration which is way beyond the mere functional physicality which is a cornerstone of Western culture: a kind of spirituality which the monotheisms condemn when they are even aware that they exist. (The exception being, perhaps, in the more advanced states of Sufism.) Sessions of sensuality can cater for all the senses. The wine (especially bubbly), the amuses-gueule or little delicacies, good-quality incense, appropriate lighting. For me, raised in and handicapped by a puritan and anti-touching, anti-hug, anti-kiss and sex-obsessed culture, some kind of disinhibiter - like champagne - is necessary. A couple of puffs of flowery cannabis can do wonders, as can half a dozen 'magic' mushrooms with the right partner, or a small quantity of 'designer' drugs known by a series of initials. But most men don't need such aids, and I, approaching senility, need them less and less. I can get drunk (and erect) just sniffing a friendly armpit, or by nuzzling an available furry perineum. Not to mention cherries recently on the tree, grapes from the vine, pistachio ice-cream... In winter there can be the amazing sensation of frozen medlars straight from the tree - with, if you are fortunate, the warm cream of seeding desire.
Many and delightful are the non-ejaculatory orgasms of men in tune with their bodies. And when the prostate is 'in tune', delicious mini-orgasms can occur when pissing! The Thousand Nights and a Night might be a Sufi allegory of everlasting and creative love-making without ejaculation. And beyond that, as I have indicated above, the 'ultimate' soft-willy sex can be enlighteningly performed with only two pairs of eyes - or by two one-eyed guys! 'Love' is a pathetic and mean word for celebratory respect! But
when the kiss-lick-and-cuddle-buddy is not available can be a marvellous two-day, testosterone-conquering event, whose satisfying effects might last a week or more. When masturbation is regarded not as a poor substitute, but an alternative to mutual or group sensuality, the mind (mainly the left hemisphere) opens to the beauty of simplicity and the illusory nature of loneliness. The primitive, unintelligent attitude of sexual enslavement to the paradigm of mere charge and discharge is what powers the driven evil of our species. Liberation must begin at the personal level, at the sexual level. Our species will have wrecked the planet and died out before even the slightest liberation occurs, because we are terrified of liberation, terrified of using our intelligence, terrified of changing our ways even slightly. It is this terror which fuels not just our crude and mechanistic attitude to sex, but its corollary: our mindless cruelty. The problem of mankind - and the planet - is Man's inability to cope with testosterone. Humans are evolved enough to remove all the checks and balances that limit the populations of other species, but not intelligent enough to replace them with anything other than the patently stupid moralisms based on the inanities, cruelties and lies of religions manufactured by men. Thus testosterone rules our lives, we are breeding ourselves to extinction, and - far, far worse, the planet to its sixth extinction.
Testosterone is also happy to sublimate/branch into other forms of desire - especially property and power, control and lordship. Human testosterone knows no bounds, because human beings are not intelligent enough to check or circumvent it, especially in civilised societies in which, inevitably, sexual activity assumes far too great an importance, because people don't know how to accord it the respect that would place it properly in the scheme of things. We in the mechanical, goal-driven, thing-oriented West have been stultified by the delusion that orgasm is only a bodily, mechanical product (of sexual capitalism). But 'sex' is largely a matter of mind, of expectation - and the narrow minds squeezed out by Abrahamic monotheisms and Confucian conformisms can only conceive of erotic sensuality as procreative (or recreational) function, rather than spiritual expansion and exploration of consciousness and essence. Because these dogmas and doctrines are anti-sensual, they are, like their logical end-point, Nazism, inevitably anti-spiritual and unimaginably destructive. The leaders, preachers, theologians and practitioners of these body-denying and death-defying religions have a strong interest in the micro-prevention of spiritual development - which would of course eventually reveal them to be redundant and grotesque. Non-penetrative, wholesome and therapeutic sexy sensuality is a religious act - whereas mere religious rituals - at best - involve sublimated sexuality.
If love is not celebratory, it is little more than an excuse for abuse. When love is proprietorial, highly rôle-dependent, and jealous, it is merely capitalism (that is to say grasping meanness) of the spirit.
At a busy and cruisy, mostly-subterranean gay bar called Le Piano Zinc on the rue des Blancs-Manteaux behind the Centre Pompidou in Paris, around 1984-5 a guy called Aléxandre often sang - rather well, I thought. Like the Bar Central nearby, Le Piano Zinc attracted a very mixed crowd, which included women queer or otherwise. I have never liked the slightly menacing machismo (or slightly-macho menace) of British pubs or Irish bars, but in the 1980s there were many pleasantly-exciting gay bars and café-bars all over Western Europe, even in the British Isles. There was even, for a few years, a "gay-friendly" bar attached to the Europa hotel in Belfast - until it was 'cleansed'. There I met a lovely man who used to cycle 40 miles to visit me for hugs and kisses, and with whom I once shared a magic-mushroom omelette cooked outside a tent we had pitched on a cliff on the north coast of county Donegal...while a full moon rose over the ocean below. I didn't find Aléxandre sexy until the moment we started kissing. Something electric passed between us. For a few weeks he would come to my "Paris Pad" off the ancient rue Saint-Denis, ever haunted by scant-clad whores, straight after work, and we would spend up to six hours kissing and playing and making dinner and drinking wine (sometimes champagne, after which we drank each other's piss) and smoking weed. He was wonderfully playful, and we would wrestle on the floor, chase each other around the tiny flat, play with each other's willy while cooking, while eating, while pissing. This ludic sensuality - rolling, dancing, laughing, snuffling - was like the play of puppies, and we both would come and (so rare for me) come again.
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