The gallery was a single large room with wood floors and high ceilings. At the entrance stood a placard that read La Ventana al Alma. I had purposely made an early arrival. Standing in a darkened alcove with Marco, a light drapery, a sheer really, allowed us to remain unseen as we watched the women milling about.
Marco had begun to hyperventilate as soon as he realized the nature of the exhibition. Mounted on the walls, among many smaller pieces of art, were larger-than-life reproductions of the sequences I had created earlier in the year. Images of Marco nude, aroused, and in some cased blatantly engaged in autoeroticism. Most were simply photos, others were studies in perspective, some were around image manipulation. Several were presented as diptychs that played off a "windows" theme.
The women inside moved from one display to the next. Some were focused on the smaller pieces, but most were clustered around the large reproductions. This was a special showing and all the guests were friends or students of mine that Marco had met at one time or another. Some were blushing; others openly giggled, pointed, and laughed. A few just stared, flushed and glassy-eyed.
One friend of ours was reading the essay I wrote to accompany the art. Her eyes were wide, a hand covering her mouth. The text discussed the concept behind the art and the very specific evolution of the exhibition.
As Marco stood gaping at the display, I snaked my hand through the seam I had opened in the back of his trousers, anticipating this evening. Pleasantly surprised, he widened his stance. With his balls now resting in my palm, my other hand pointed to the lectern holding the essay.
"Would you like to know what it is that has her so interested?"
I did not wait for an answer, but gestured broadly around the room.
"It is this. A narrative description of the journey. I started with your predilection for nudity. How you would ask me for permission to strip naked whenever you came over. How that progressed to your request that I keep your clothes, so your nudity would always be at my whim. How, eventually, you began asking me for permission to masturbate...then wanting me to set the pace for your masturbation...decide when you were allowed to stop...control when you were permitted to climax. Every bit of it...all the stories you sent me, telling me your fantasies, all the different ways you wanted me to expose you..."The Game" as you titled it...is all there for everyone to read."
"Of course, there is much more. My commentary on your stories is quite extensive. I wrote about how those stories, at first, made me so embarrassed for you. My struggle to understand your need to share them with me. Then ultimately, the recognition of the bravery inherent in that sharing. How I could not help but be humbled and touched by the extraordinary level of trust that you placed in me."
"That revelation was the conceptual birth of this exhibition, which is essentially the exploration of that trust, the depth of it. So those stories you wrote...they gave me an insight that would have otherwise been impossible to achieve. Insight that I have never had with another. That is why I was willing to permit your nudity, control your masturbation. Always giving you a pace to keep, rarely letting you climax, always having you ask for permission to stop."
Marco was stunned. "All those stories I wrote? They're all in there?"
I smiled. "Oh yes. All of them. All of the stories, all of the requests. For instance, how you fantasize that I leave you blindfolded, nude and masturbating while I entertained company in another room. Never knowing who, if anyone, I might have watching you. And how that too would be a manifestation of trust."
"I wrote my thoughts on each of your fantasies. What they meant, not just for you, but from the standpoint of relationships in our society. The common theme in your stories is me leaving you naked, or naked and masturbating, in a situation with a strong possibility of discovery. More importantly, with me having the decision-making power over both the risk level and whether or not you would actually be exposed. In each case you resolve to endure the embarrassment in order to demonstrate your commitment to me. Interesting, though, that with only one notable exception all your stories end with you not being exposed. That, of course, reveals much more than you intended, but only to me."
Marco stood there, transfixed, probably mortified, clearly thinking back to stories he sent me. Recognizing that not only was his nudity blatantly displayed on the walls, but the drivers for his sexuality were literally an open book for everyone to read.
"I think my favorite story is the one where I actually do expose you. You know, where you pose for my drawing seminar. Surely you remember...the one where I have you naked and masturbating in front of everyone."
I knew that was one of his favorites. Whenever I had him masturbate for me, he always had to tell me the fantasy that was driving him. This was the one he revisited most frequently.
I pulled down on his balls. "I think that you do remember. Tell me."
Marco was blushing furiously. "I do remember. The fantasy was about you having me model for the life drawing class you teach. I get an erection while posing and you have your students draw me like that. When I start to lose my erection, you use that as the reason to have me masturbate in front of everyone. You leave me like that for the entire hour, naked and masturbating for the whole class. Not everyone finishes their drawings, so you photograph me and promise to send everyone the images so they can complete the project. I begin to object, and that sparks a discussion about who should own or control the art, including the images used in its creation."
I nodded. "Yes, I particularly liked that you included an intellectual aspect to your story. And you conclude a consensus that the entire body of work, the final piece and everything leading up to its culmination, is owned by, and is the responsibility of, the artist."
"Yes, but I didn't think..."
I cut him off. "What, did you think that I would not display all this? That I was doing this just for fun? No. This is social and interpersonal commentary that will open the eyes of every woman here. This all leads somewhere, perhaps even to an epiphany for you."
I had laid the groundwork, but now I had to start him down the path.
"But tell me. At first blush, and I use the term in the truest sense, how does this make you feel? I mean, now that I have displayed these photos of you...naked, masturbating...to so many people. My students, our friends, all these women, seeing you like this. That I have revealed to them all of your fantasies...made them aware of your desire to be seen like this. Are you just embarrassed, or is there something more?"
Marco was quiet and with each passing moment of silence I closed my hand more tightly around his balls. He needed a little more guidance.
"I can see that you are conflicted. Of course you are embarrassed, but even more so, you are excited. And I think perhaps it is not the exhibitionism that gives you the thrill. Your nudity... your masturbation...they are just vehicles. Could it be the embarrassment itself that so excites you?"
I could see Marco's mind racing. He had always liked the risk of being caught masturbating. And he liked it even more when I acquiesced to his photo requests. I remember my Canada project...to entice him to join me I offered to photograph him naked all across the drive. His immediate question was if he could also be masturbating for me.
Although he may not have recognized the motivation, I did. It was the vulnerability. Embarrassment was just another aspect of vulnerability, and in order for it to be meaningful to him, I had to control it. That is why he wanted me to have the photos. His embarrassment was in my hands. Would I keep them secret? Would I show them to anyone? Of course, the answer was now revealed on the gallery walls.
I decided to ramp it up.
"I certainly understand why you would be embarrassed." I made a point of looking around the room. "How could you not be? I mean, just imagine what all these women must be thinking! I am sure that they are judging you on many levels. They cannot help it. It is human nature. The shallow ones will simply look at your penis, perhaps making a judgment about whether you are big or small."
He suddenly looked concerned and I laughed. "You have nothing to worry about! And most women do not really focus on that sort of thing anyway. More of them, once they read the essay, will be judging your motivations, not your, how do you say...bundle? The questions will be around why you wanted me take these photos, and who made the decision to display them."
