Exhibitionism and voyeurism have been part of my sexual identity as far back as I can remember. Even as a boy, I added excitement to my relentless masturbation sessions by doing it in situations where I might be found out: standing in front of my bedroom window with the curtains open, or in the living room where I might be seen from the street, and so on. As young as ten years old, I often fantasized as I masturbated about doing it in unlikely or impossible places: flagrant public masturbation, with lookers-on enjoying the show. The mirror above my dresser pivoted up and down, and many times I tipped it forward and sat in my desk chair watching myself cum.
When I was about twelve or so, we temporarily acquired a video recording outfit—I can’t recall exactly why my folks had borrowed it now, but it sat in the living room for a few weeks. This was not the relatively compact consumer devices to come in later decades: this was a bulky tape machine and camera, with cables and wires everywhere. But it was simple enough to operate, and my perverted little mind turned to using it for my own dirty ends.
As much fun as it was to watch myself in a mirror sometimes, it was still my reflection looking back at me. With the camera connected to the TV, I could watch myself in a voyeur’s-eye-view instead. The idea of simultaneously being the watcher and the watched excited me sexually, and I masturbated to the scenario again and again even before I had a chance to make it a reality.
One day I had the house to myself for long enough to try it. First, I went to my room and stripped naked (being nude and far from my clothes has always been a turn-on). I had learned how to connect the camera via the tape deck to the TV; as the gear warmed up, I dragged the camera on its tripod into position and trained it on the lounger to one side of the sofa. I hopped on and pushed it into its reclining position.
Directly in front of me the TV screen showed a picture of The Young Boy with His Boner, a perfect side view of masturbating youth. I stroked my hard dick as watched myself from the vantage of a secret onlooker, simultaneously the spy and the spied-upon. Have you ever seen yourself on a TV at, say, an electronics store? There’s that jolt of recognition, the realization that you are seeing yourself in a way, from a point-of-view, you never normally do. I felt that fascination as I watched myself on TV, jacking away in masturbatory ecstasy. On TV I saw myself as a voyeur (or, more to the point, voyeuse) would see me; I put on a little show for myself, getting up from the recliner and fucking my hand with standing hip thrusts, fucking the couch cushions, giving myself a going over before I finally came.
I had a few more chances to amuse myself in this manner before the equipment returned to whence it came, but the memories of seeing myself naked and masturbating fueled many fantasies in my constant whacking sessions. I found a pivoting make-up mirror gathering dust in the garage and started using it, along with the mirror above my dresser—using one mirror to look into the other, I could achieve the sidelong voyeur view as a masturbated in my room.
In my high school years, I had more opportunities to indulge my desire to see myself. One semester I had a photography class, which included full darkroom privileges. Borrowing my mother’s 35mm SLR for the class, I also used it to shoot a roll of self-shot stills of a certain masturbator with a show-offy streak. With the help of the ten-second shutter delay, I got 36 black & white pictures of myself masturbating: some in my bedroom and some in the back yard in broad daylight. I fantasized that I was posing for a nude photo shoot. Girlie photographer Suze Randall had published a spread of self-shot nudes in Playboy around that time, and the thought of her filming me jacking off was hot stuff indeed.
At school I brought in the roll of wanking shots, as well as another with more innocuous pictures. I developed the negatives and then printed contact sheets in the darkroom. Developing the contact sheet was the most fraught part of the process, as the 8×10 paper sat in the developer, then the stop bath and then the chemical fixer for several minutes each. I used the innocent sheet to conceal the naughty one in the chemical trays, and then rather than hanging it to dry in the darkroom, I hid it in my locker until the end of the school day.
At home that night, I examined the contact sheet with a magnifier. Again, I saw myself as another would see me, the merry masturbating teen putting on his show for, say, a lucky young lass with an eye for the erotic. One frame in particular got first prize: in a million-to-one chance, I had captured a blast of semen in mid-flight as it arced away from my slippery dick. One streak of jizz already lay across my body and the second bolt was frozen in its trajectory, headed for my chest. I jacked off and came to that picture right there, hunched over my desk, looking through the magnifying loupe at the tiny image. (Narcissist much?). I yearned to see those tiny frames printed in full size, but it would have been virtually impossible in the school darkroom without being discovered.
When I got a Super 8mm movie camera for my sixteenth birthday, my first idea was to make a movie about male masturbation starring a particular male. Before long I had two film cartridges featuring yours truly getting off in living color: as with the stills, one in my bedroom, standing in front of an open window, and another in the back yard. Those film canisters had to be sent away to a processing lab, where the technicians would see the content on the film; the idea of that gave me pause. While I often fantasized watching those films, I never quite got up the nerve to send them in for processing, and so they sat in a drawer for years until I lost track of them completely.
Years later I acquired a video camera and like any true masturbationist, my very first thought was to tape a whacking session. The very night after I bought it, I filmed a solo sex tape of myself jacking off to a female masturbation video. The next day I masturbated to the video of me masturbating. The male form doesn’t hold much erotic potential for me, but seeing myself, cock in hand and shooting my load was a turn on: that spy’s-eye-view again, being both the exhibitionist and the voyeur in one orgasmic synthesis. Around that time, I had a girlfriend who was as much a jack-off freak as I; one night I jacked off to the sight of her jacking off to a video of me jacking off—what a rush, a perfect masturbation moment!
I taped myself in a few other scenarios back then. By far, the most memorable episode was a videotaped masturbation session on the bank of a creek in a national forest. Laying in dappled sunlight, I brought myself off and then lay in orgasmic contentment. Moments later, a pair of hikers—a man and a woman about my age—appeared along the opposite bank (I hadn’t realized a trail passed so close to my spot; I had thought myself well secluded). Not sure how to react, I just lay still, as if asleep, peeking from barely opened eyelids.
I had placed the camera behind some ferns, shooting through the foliage to create a voyeuristic feel to the video, and so it was not really in view, along with my clothes. To the hikers, all they saw was a nude man with his hand on his cock and cum on his body. I heard their voices grow fainter as they moved along the trail, and as the immediate surprise wore off, I felt my dick hardening. It never fails—being found out as a masturbator arouses an urgent need to masturbate! So rather than flee the area, knowing I was beside a hiking trail, I jacked off again in the same spot, this time more energetically than the slow buildup of the prior session. After my orgasm, I packed up my gear and went back to my car.
That night, I watched the video and I could hear the female hiker exclaim, “Oh my god!” at the sudden vision of shameless autoeroticism before her. Otherwise, the sound of the stream masked their voices into indistinct murmurs. Viewing my second session, I noticed something I hadn’t realized at the time: I masturbated with my eyes open and watching the trail across the creek, as if waiting to be discovered again. Ever the exhibitionist, wanting the world to know how much I love to masturbate…
A part of me wishes I could see those pictures from my youth again (though it’s probably for the best that they’re gone, since they would be child porn under the law, even though I had taken them myself). But it would be interesting to see myself as I was back then, the innocent youth already an enthusiastic masturbationist.
Anyone else have an adventure documenting their masturbation escapades?
Source: (11) Filming/Photgraphing Your Masturbation – Onania Masturbator Forum