a thoughtful essay by a chronic nonpussyfucking masturbator

I wonder if we are the modern day eunuchs, or more properly spadone, those who are impotent by nature rather than castration. Under Roman law, spadone could marry women and have households.

Society today would not support eunuchs, and there is too much sex around for us not to succumb to desires of the penis. Nevertheless, we often occupy a place with women similar to our predecessors–trusted, loyal and safe confidants to women who find their real sexual fulfillment with ‘real men’. We receive their intimate stories and secrets, and become confessors to them, of their desires and adventures.

It was not uncommon for wives to sleep with recently castrated men, in order to enjoy sex without the consequences of children. The men were cast our when their condition persisted into complete impotence, or the women grew desirous of more manly fulfillment.  (I have had several girlfriends who left me after being fucked by the man they eventually married;sex with me had stimulated, but not fulfilled, their womanhood).

And many of us perform servile functions for superior men, whether as men ourselves or sissies, the Western heirs of the hijra of India, often for married men.

Although I pretended to be a pussy fucker for a long time, my real passion has always been masturbation. Rather than wanting to fuck women, I’ve been driven to want to be close to women as confidants, and especially to be told their intimate stories of being with “real men”, to be close to them, smell them, relish in their sexual beauty and power. Rather than stirring the need to mount them, I prefer them as objects of secret masturbatory desires, the inspiration for erotic masturbation.

This makes us attractive to women, as we are safe and loyal and appreciate them sexually at the same time. Their pity and disregard of us as potential or suitable pussyfuckers confirms our status as masturbators, which increases our passion for our natural desire for masturbatory eroticism.

We can speculate on our role in society as perverts and voyeurs as one of collecting and then releasing the bottled up sexuality and perversions of society.  Perhaps that is too lofty a role for a simple jerk-off, but I wonder…when I go to the coffee shop on a Sunday morning, and mingle with the post-coital couples there for brunch, and and masturbate under the table until my underpants are soaked with cum, am I merely a pervert, or am I responding to the sexual energy of this little collection of modern humanity. Surely, when I masturbate thinking of a MILF I saw in the grocery, I am touching her sexuality in a way that her husband may not.

And when I’m flushed and embarrassed talking to women–a bank teller, a co-worker for coffee, a friend or a relative–women who sense that I’m not a ‘real man’, then perhaps my auto-eroticism provides some energy that is needed.  Surely for some, who let slip subtle gestures of humiliation, our outright ridicule, we are a safe outlet for their hidden female superiority.

This has grown much larger and more abstract that I imagined. Let me just say that Richard’s words strike home–”some of us just aren’t meant to be pussyfuckers”–and stir me to masturbatory bliss as I write.