Jack-off parties exist around the world, offering a safe, fun, and social outlet for the shared expression of self-love. Still, very few attempt diversity by gender or sexual orientation. Based on experiences and observations made at kink events, this narrative supposes a real event of this type and is as much a proposal as it is a story.
***
Ethan wedged his laptop open and felt his fingers fly across the keyboard, spitting out the name of his usual source of pornographic videos through pure muscle memory. His awareness of the thoughtless and habitual visit to the site, as a result of his spontaneous impulses, bore a fleeting discomfort in his mind. Masturbation sessions had sunk into such a routine that any excitement involved in them sometimes felt overshadowed by the ritualistic curing of a need just so that he could get through the day.
Ethan wanted something more; an outlet that was somehow more engaging -- and more real.
The tempting services that promised a human connection, virtual online interaction with "real girls," had massively failed to deliver on the expectations he had fantasized about. Instead, he found himself scrolling through an endless feed of blowjobs, sorority girls being hazed in the nude, POV sex with hairy virtual girlfriends, locker room voyeurism, and other standard fare until a video thumbnail caught his eye purely due to the distinct attractiveness of the woman it featured.
Ethan clicked the video and hit play, anxious to see what the young woman looked like unclothed. She was impossibly cute and a little shy, speaking to a faceless man behind the camera that Ethan imagined to be himself. Instantly hard, his blood pumping with pure anticipatory arousal, Ethan wrestled his boxers off, squirted some lube onto himself, and then sat on the bed, slowly stroking himself into a state of bliss.
After the girl was instructed to undress, she smiled nervously as she pulled the cups of her bra away from her body and bared her naked breasts. Ethan began to stroke faster as he watched her coyly bite her lip and slide off a pair of lace panties. He gazed in wonder at her beautiful naked pussy; she was a bit hairy, her body full of all the natural charms and naked expressiveness that sometimes seemed to be missing in overproduced pornography. This actress was presented as a "real girl" -- and he was buying it; sexy, charming, and as seemingly unsure about her own sexual potential as he was.
Once the video reached its first depiction of penetration, Ethan imagined that it was him thrusting inside that tight pink canal, detailed in closeup by a wandering camera that then traveled up to a jostling pair of breasts and then pulled away for a grand reveal of a young woman seemingly beside herself with pleasure. Still, Ethan felt the weight of the unreality of it all, even as he was swept up into the experience and began to feel the need for release. Worse, while he could easily imagine fucking her, he couldn't quite trick himself into imagining a connection with her as a real, thinking, feeling person -- and it was something that felt so absent.
Looking into the girl's eyes, Ethan saw her staring back at him in wonder but yet felt no alliance of any kind. The computer screen was a wall, her pleasure mere pixels; but what could make it real? Ethan had no girlfriend at the moment and his opportunities for sex came infrequently. He struggled to find a satisfying outlet where he could delve deeper into his sexual needs more regularly and reliably that didn't necessarily come with all the struggles of navigating the dating world and the very different, albeit connected, matter of finding love.
Moreover, Ethan felt that most people probably felt the same way he did, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, or any other classification. His sexual frustration seemed like a universal one, somehow easily treatable and yet starved for ideas and unable to compete with the seemingly haphazard classification of behaviors as taboo.
As the girl cried out in pleasure and began to suffer an orgasm, Ethan quickly snatched a tissue and stroked furiously in a frantic attempt to sync his climax with hers -- anything to feel that sense of human companionship. Just like that, it was over, the tissue soaked through and through. What had become an intense need for release quickly gave way to waning interest, the laptop closed, and Ethan wandered off to the bathroom to clean up.
This unsatisfying experience somehow lingered in his mind. It remained there through the day, infected his dreams overnight, and woke him up the following morning. Something strange bubbled up inside as he lay there in bed; a glimmer of motivation, a fragment of optimism that somehow felt like it was calling to him from some not-too-distant place where his condition was well-understood.
Ethan opened his laptop again and began searching. He didn't quite know what he was searching for; something local, something risky but not too risky, something that might open a door for him. He'd know it when he found it, even if he'd never encountered anything like it before. The instant recognition came after more than forty-five minutes of reading about kinky events that seemed far beyond anything he could imagine summoning the courage to attend.
There, with a simple mention buried in an online forum, was a link to Self Love Central's web site.
Billed as a "Jack- and Jill-off club," Self Love Central's site was filled with a fair bit of philosophizing about the concept of self-love and theories about erotic expression, all infused with a sense of deep spirituality. A page about the two hosts described them as certified sex therapists and coaches and went into great detail about their qualifications. This made the whole concept feel just legitimate enough for Ethan to read on.
The FAQ section blew Ethan's mind; "what we do" read like something out of his own erotic fantasies, providing a brief glimpse into a world of co-ed mutual masturbation in a "safe and supportive environment" that seemed too good to be true. Still, after scouring the site, reading, and rereading whole sections in an attempt to force himself to take it all seriously, he finally clicked the link to submit a request to take part in the next scheduled event.
As a first-timer, Ethan learned that he would have to attend an initial workshop. It was a guided program, designed to help potential new members of the club wade into the intimidating waters of such an experience gradually and with "compassionate assistance." Ethan nearly chickened out as he completed the request form but it was too late, he was too far committed. Aside from having to confirm that he understood the rules, that he would bring a towel, and agreed to other requirements, he had to answer embarrassing questions like "Are you the owner of a vagina or a penis?" which seemed like an odd way to assess his identity during the signup process.
When he finished, he could only think, "What did I just do? Can I really go through with this? Will it actually deliver on the fantasy I have in my mind?"
There was only one way to find out -- and Ethan wasn't sure how he would make it through the period of anticipation that lay between now and then.
***
The subway car rattled through the tunnels as it sped across a subterranean world beneath the borough of Brooklyn, then rose above ground and clattered onto the elevated rails. Ethan exited in Bushwick and made his way down the stairs to the street, surrounded by mom and pop restaurants with steaming food packed into the windows, wide basketball courts, and a grand tableau of colorful graffiti depicting a local community organizer. Walking along the bright blue row of Citi Bikes, he checked his phone to confirm the location he was headed to.
He came upon the building; a nondescript structure between a beauty salon and a Spanish deli. It appeared to be mixed-use and overtaken for various purposes by younger generations moving into the neighborhood in search of cheaper rent. On the second floor, he found the studio space marked with a large "SLC," prominently indicating the event inside, albeit with obvious discretion.
Ethan took a deep breath and tried the door, swinging it open to reveal a wonderland of yogic serenity that clashed with the working-class feel of the neighborhood that surrounded it. However, it was a welcoming environment, filled with fairy lights, plants, colorful tapestries, and some scented candles beside a little shrine whose decorated goddess remained an alluring mystery.
The moment he entered, a few sets of eyes quickly darted up and assessed his sudden presence. A thin young woman in a tie-dye t-shirt and spandex seemed to study him carefully. She looked like the type one would see at an event like that; a little spiritual tattoo gracing her arm and a shiny stud in one nostril. As nervous as she seemed, Ethan read in her eyes a pleasant, peaceful nature.
Two young men to the woman's left, both seated on cushions, seemed more out of place. One was dressed as if he'd just gotten out of work, despite it being a Saturday morning. The other seemed equally bewildered, occasionally wiping his sweaty palms on a faded pair of jeans. Truthfully, Ethan didn't quite know who to expect would show up at such an event and thought it quite possible that it would draw seekers from all walks of life.
A man and woman emerged from a side room holding two plastic bins. "Here we go," the woman said in a sing-songy voice. She placed the bin down as the man arrived to set his beside it. "Can you get this started? I'll start checking people in," she added.
"Yes, go ahead. I'll take care of it," the man said, his voice tinged with an indistinct European accent of some kind.
The woman waltzed over to the four attendees that had gathered as Ethan finished removing his shoes and leaving them in the small pile by the door. He understood that this was Harmony and that the man she had carried supplies with was Luca, her partner and co-host for the event.
"Hi, guys! We'll just need a few moments to finish setting up and then you can find a spot in the circle. In the meantime, I need to see a form of identification and I'll look you up on the RSVP list."
