by Marco Vassi
I was beyond all emotions such as self-pity or even despair. There was simply emptiness and I knew fully that no one could fill the void in myself but myself. I realized now that all my contacts with people in the past had had a sexual undertone to them, that no matter whether I was on the make or not, the thing that brought people alive was the sexual energy which ran through them. It didn't matter whether they were young or old, thin or fat. They had potential for ecstasy, and it was to that potential that I addressed myself. In my less ego-infested moments, I seemed to be able to bring out the sexiness in everyone, and so brighten the lives of people who had forgotten what profundity lay very close to them, right between their own legs. When I was on ego trips, of course, I played sexual guru, a role I blushed to think about now that I had seen a real guru in action.
I wondered whether I should ever find the spark again, and even in the wondering, I realized that at that moment I didn't care. I was beaten to the core.
Finally I dragged myself off the bed and stumbled to my room. I went to the bathroom and took a long look at myself in the mirror. The face that stared back seemed scarred and devoid of life. For a long time I peered at myself, and decided that I had come to the end of the road. I shook myself to break the spell, and began the painful business of peeling the bandages off. I looked down and examined my body, covered with caked urine and scarred by Sylvia's whip. I couldn't believe that this was the same person who, just two weeks ago, had bounded into the brownstone with such arrogance and optimism.
I showered, flinching as the soap bit into the cuts, shampooed my hair, and shaved. There was something marvellously therapeutic in washing off the day's accumulation, as though I were ridding myself of all the harm that had collected during the experience. Clean, I rubbed oil over my entire body, and when it had been absorbed by my skin, I put on a pair of clean pajamas, and dove between the sheets of the soft double bed to sink immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.
For a week I kept pretty much to myself. It was out of no special motivation, just that I had no real interest in saying anything. My mind was beautifully clear of thoughts, and the weather and the scenery combined to restore a certain glow of health. If nothing else, I needed to come down from the heavy drug scene that had been part of the sex encounters. I walked in the woods, carefully staying away from the stream, and spent hours watching clouds sail by. In a very passive way, I was not unhappy.
But, by the middle of the second week, I felt a change. It was, at first, no more than a quickening, a gathering of pulse. I noticed that I looked at things more sharply, and I didn't avoid other people as much. And when, after dinner one night, I caught myself looking at Joan's ass as she walked past, I realized that the sexual juices were running again. The fact brought a quiet joy and a sense of panic. For I couldn't begin to even think about fucking someone without the whole scene of that afternoon spilling into my head.
That night I lay in bed with sleep far away. I was staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows thrown by the candle next to my bed. Absent-mindedly, I reached down and put my fingers around my cock. There was nothing immediately erotic about it, just the general kind of playing around that men do, which has been referred to on occasion as "pocket billiards". One of the things I had always liked about the gay world, was that with the sexual tension gone, I had no need to feel embarrassed about tooling around in the presence of others. The action seemed to be basically a kind of self-reassurance, a putting of one's hand on one's manhood.
This time, as I fingered and stretched my cock, the mildly pleasant sensation very slowly began to change itself into an actual tingling, and for the first time in ten days, I felt the first faint sexual stirrings in my loins. It might have been a cause for rejoicing and getting up to find someone to play with, but a heavy lethargy overcame me, and it was far more enjoyable to just lie there and feel myself.
My cock stirred and then began to swell. I felt its hardening, but as though from afar, and when I grasped it full in my hand there was no conscious intent to do anything.
Gently I began pulling the skin back and forth, and my cock now swelled quickly and in a moment lay fully hard in my hand. I massaged it and rubbed back and forth, feeling the hardness grow even more firm, until it stood like an iron rod filled with juice sensate, and throbbing gently. I moved my hand up and lightly rubbed the head. Pinpoints of flashing sensation ran through it, and I began stroking the entire length of the cock, from base to tip, in easy rhythmic motion. The head grew violet in color and the warm pleasure eddies began to extend into my thighs and belly. I moved my hand faster and then, with a start, realized that I was highly aroused.
I raised up on one elbow and looked down. I saw the fully erect cock twitching with readiness. And yet I had no desire to fuck or be even vaguely involved with anyone else right then. I stared at the member with fresh eyes, as though I had never seen it before. It was a beautiful thing, majestically tapered, veined with blue lines running its entire length, jutting up from a tangle of curly black pubic hair and sloped up to the head, which flared out in a serrated rim, now darkly purple. The head itself, soft and velvety, was superb in its curve and texture, and led to the slightly open mouth of the cock where, miraculously, both sperm and urine flowed. The old Latin phrase came to mind, that we are born between shit and piss, and I wondered at nature's aims in putting the source of our life and the pipeline of elimination in a single functioning member.
It seemed that I had never understood things so clearly, and then I realized that there was not a single fantasy in my head, not one concept or theory to muddle me. There was simply the fact of the thing itself. How many hundreds of times had I stuck that cock into assholes and cunts and mouths, and never really sensed the richness and fullness of the action? Because I had never really seen my cock so simply before.
Suddenly the separation ended, the viewpoint which had me thinking in terms of "me" and "my cock." Me was everything about me, my body, my talk, my thoughts, my emotions, my ideas. The cock was not a separate entity, to live its own life irrespective of what the rest of me needed and wanted. And yet, for so many years, it was the cock that, like a divining rod, led me to dig into things that I might not have otherwise bothered with. It was both a curse and a blessing, for it simultaneously opened worlds that no other part of me could get into, and for that very reason closed off worlds that other parts of me were starved for.
I lay back again and went inside my body; that is, I felt myself as a single organism, an entity, a unit. And I felt not with just my mind, but with each bit of me, that every part was totally related to every other part, and that as I stroked myself now, it was not my hands doing something to my cock, but hands and cock in a relationship together. And what hands and cock did affected everything else, the rate of my heartbeat and the speed of the blood in my veins and the thoughts in my head and the way my skin felt. I was an entire orchestra, and I had to play in harmony or lose the chance to be a total human being.
I let myself slide into the awareness of my body as my hands and cock continued their dance. The fingers stroked lightly along the bottom of the shaft and twirled around the head. I drew my knees up and felt my head begin to roll from side to side. As the stroking continued, more of me went into motion. My pelvis began a slow undulating beat, thrusting up and back. I felt my face flush and my ears grow hot. I ran my other hand down and it began massaging my stomach, poking into the navel, coming up to pinch the nipples, and then running down again to cup the cheeks of my ass, and finally to run one finger into the asshole.
Now I was moving quickly. Ripples of pleasure sent my legs to trembling, and I felt my spine begin to shoot energy from the coccyx to my neck and back down again. I heard sounds and then realized that it was myself moaning. I began to go into a tailspin, when all the lessons I had learned so far asserted themselves, and I let the growing concentration disperse, in order to allow myself to stay in a state of pure attention, so that I remained conscious of everything el
se; of where I was, and the shadows on the ceiling, and the fact of Being. At all levels of consciousness, I was awake. And in that state I could see the structure of my mind in perfect clarity, where the fantasies come from, how the thoughts are formed. And seeing all that, I was instantaneously free of it.
Now there was only the act, and without a flicker of tension, without a distortion of intellect, without a cramping of the feelings in my emotional center, I let my body ride its ride. My legs braced against the bed, my pelvis gyrating in its own rhythm, my hand curled around my cock and stroking up and down, my chest rising and falling with sharp breaths, my mouth slack and emitting sounds, my head thrown back, and unifying it all, my cock in growing heat and excitement.
Then I felt a turmoil in my bowels, and all of a sudden it felt like the bottom fell out. My asshole opened and the walls inside rippled to discharge my finger. The heat tingled and began to rise as wave after wave of sheer energy rolled through me. It was immense and went far beyond pain and pleasure. It was the actual energy of the universe shooting through me.
My body grew huge with the charge that was building, and I felt a great reservoir of force building in my belly. It grew greater and greater, until no more could be contained, and then a long, slow, mighty eruption began. It flowed from every cell of my body, from every pore. It rushed through my entire frame, moving in gathering speed and intensity toward a single spot. It came together in the pit of me, somewhere just below the navel and deep inside, and then spun around on itself and plunged into my balls, which churned and then released all the sperm accumulated there. It boiled up my cock in scalding layers, and as my entire body rolled in spasms my pelvis broke into easy undulating thrusts, and the sperm spurted out in jet after jet for a long, long time, until it was all spent and lay in drops and rivulets across my chest and stomach.
For a long time I hovered in that space, and then sank back with a large sigh, a deep peace already beginning to pervade my body. Although I was already lying full on the mattress, the feeling of sinking into it continued, and I closed my eyes and seemed to be falling a great distance, falling and floating through space. I let myself go and plunged into myself, finding a great void, a featureless universe of movement with objects, of law without manifestation, of feeling without person. And for a brief instant, the single absolute true understanding of the condition of existence flashed in my mind, and I lost consciousness.
That night no one in the entire world could have slept more perfectly than I. But when I woke up in the morning, a profound sense of depression had already seized me.
THIRTEEN
AS THE DAY progressed, my mood grew worse. However, there was a difference from depressions I had suffered in the past. This time, I was strangely content within it. There was no sense of conflict, no feeling that I ought to be feeling something else. In my acceptance of how I was, I found a peace that was astonishing. I simply let myself go with the emotions and thoughts and sensations, not judging them, or condemning them, or making plans on the basis of them. I felt not a little like a character in a play whose script called for depression at this particular time in the action. And so the heaviness became no more or less important than the sunshine streaming in through the windows.
I lay in bed for a long while, and then, with no purpose in mind, got up and dressed and went out for a walk. It was a clear Spring day, trees very green and vibrant and the constant dance of birds winging through the air. Without changing, my mood lightened, and although I felt totally friendless, without any understanding of myself or my problems, and with no one to turn to, I felt a release in the very fact of my poverty. I stood in the middle of a small grove and came to terms with the universe. Deeply and suddenly I ceased struggling. Everything was clear, and in a flash I realized that there would always be ugliness and pain, as there would always be truth and joy; there would always be the moment of total communion between one human being and another, and there would always be times of betrayal. And yet, somehow, if I simply stopped attempting to figure it out, trying to change it, but accepted the gift of my life with all its hardship and confusion as well as its beauty and elation, then never again need I feel that terrible sense of having been cheated, of wanting more, of insisting that things must be other than they are. And in that realization, everything was better, without having become at all different.
My reflex was immediately to do something with this new understanding, but there was nothing to do. I realized that I had lost that urgency, that sense of quest. I was myself, totally and inexorably. No Tocco or sexual institute could change me because . . . and the insight came with the strength of thunder . . . because the change had already occurred. Somewhere, somehow, a mutation had gone on inside me, and although not a whit of my entire personality was different, I was utterly transformed.
It was at this point that I heard a noise, or felt a presence, and looked up to see Tocco standing by my side. He was barefoot and wore only a great white loincloth. His body gleamed with oil. And on his face was an expression of total openness and warmth. It seemed that I was seeing him for the first time, not as a guru or an insane fat man, but simply as a human being, filled with beauty and love, with great sorrow, and heavy with the understanding in his heart. I felt myself grow warm, and pure simple love poured out of me and washed over him. He smiled and his eyes shone, and for a long moment we remained like that.
I started to speak, but Tocco held up one hand. "The details of what you are feeling are unimportant, Michael. I know where you are, and it's good to be here with you."
I wanted to respond but no words came. He saw my impulse, reached down one hand, and helped me to my feet. We stood there, and he said, "Now, there's something I want to show you. And there is only one thing I want to say about what you are feeling, just some words to plant in your awareness and let them grow." He paused and turned as if to indicate the fact of our being there and said, "It is obvious."
I waited a long moment for him to continue, and then gradually realized that that was the entire message. I looked back at him but he just smiled a kind of cat-who-ate-the canary grin and said, "Come, let's take a little tour."
We went back into the house and into Tocco's study. We walked straight through to a door which he opened to reveal an elevator. We entered, and then began to descend for a space I couldn't calculate, and stepped out into a hallway which ran in three directions from where we stood. On the right was a sign which said: "Vuvu"; to the right another sign read "Exit"; and the center sign had written on it "Corridor of Ultimate Experiences." Tocco set out straight ahead and said, "We go this way."
The hallway was longer than I could see to the end of, and on each side were a series of doors. We went past the first of them, and each had a placard on it which read, "Ultimate Experience: Fetichism", or, "Ultimate Experience: Transvestism." I soon saw that behind these doors was a representation of each of the so-called perversions of mankind. Tocco began speaking. "In this hall are the people who have gone through all the preliminary adjustments to their understanding of sex, and are now single-heartedly exploring the variations within individual forms. Once one understands fully that there is no such thing as an unnatural act, then any act can become an area of study, and through understanding it, one understands all."
"How do they come to choose their . . . uh, specialty?" I asked.
"It's a matter of temperament mostly. Of course, there are interdisciplinary seminars, and the work-day is limited. After-hours even the researchers like to go blow off steam." He paused and turned to me. "Where would you like to begin?"
I looked at the nearest door on my right and saw the sign, "Exhibitionist-Voyeurist." "That looks a good a place as any," I said.
We entered the room and an astonishing sight met my eyes. Scores of men and women lay and stood and knelt around in odd poses, some alone, some fucking in groups, while others peered from behind chairs or through tiny binoculars. Although there were the usual sexual sounds, the room held an unus
ual silence reminding me, incongruously, of a library.
I scanned the room and my eyes fell on a young woman who couldn't have been more than twenty. She had long silky blonde hair, and wore an open blouse and slacks, which she would pull slowly down past her waist and over her buttocks as though she were undressing. But when she had pulled her pants down to her knees and bent over to accentuate a full, lush-lobed ass, she pulled them up again. I watched her for a minute, and when she caught my eye she repeated her act while staring unblinkingly at me. She looked down and I followed her line of sight to those inviting sweet buttocks, and then looked back at her to see her mouth the words, "Don't I have a beautiful ass?" I shuddered and felt a thrill of excitement go through me.
Tocco whispered in my ear, "She wouldn't let you fuck her, but if you wanted to, she would let you worship her, or, more precisely, her ass. You would have to learn to navigate the waters of her narcissism, to kneel to her ass, to lick it, to murmur into it." But I was already doing something else, a kind of long-distance Tantric yoga, my body moving in almost imperceptible gestures to complement her dance. She picked up on it and for a while we just kind of leaned into one another with subtle vibrations, and without touching her, I was able to fuck her in the ass in a dozen different ways, knowing that she felt it, and was playing back with complementary movements.
Then a flicker caught my eye, and I wheeled around to see a giant video screen come alive with a picture of a cunt which formed the total image. It stood twelve feet high by eight feet wide, and must have been shot with a close-up lens, because every fold, every hair, every glisten of secretion stood out in giant relief. Then fingers came into view, and slowly, very slowly, pulled the lips apart, and layer after layer of cunt opened endlessly, until the very bud center lay exposed, pink, and pulsating slightly. One finger went to the heart of it and inserted itself, no more than an eight of an inch. But with such magnification, it was possible to see the core of the cunt opening and sucking at the finger like a child's mouth at a nipple filled with milk. The finger tip went back and forth in the tiniest of movements, and rolled gently around, slightly expanding the grasping cunt hole.