The taste of licking a breast, twirling your tongue around the areola, along the ridge of an erect nipple. The feel of a firm, meaty ass on the palms of your hands. Your tongue buried between thighs. Your mouth clamped around a pulsating cock. The feeling of fucking someone from behind. The feeling of being fucked from behind. Running your fingers the length of the body, caressing inch after inch from neck to stomach to thighs to toes. Leather restraints binding your wrists. A gag in your mouth.
But what about the eyes? And the ears? The sexual experience is a multi-sensual experience, one sense dependent on the other, each sense feeds on the next one. Seeing enhances the excitement – who doesn’t feel pulses of delicious sensation when your lover’s face is overwhelmed with ecstasy, mouth agape? And those sounds, the moans and cries and near-screams, the ultimate soundtrack, which in itself can push you over the orgasmic edge. Sometimes all we need are the eyes and the ears to receive pleasure.
When I was in my early twenties, a group of friends and acquaintances – there were a total of 12 of us I believe – rented a large house in Lake Tahoe for a three-day weekend of skiing. One of the mornings of our stay, I woke up at 4am and walked down the long hallway toward one of the bathrooms. As I got closer to the bathroom, I noticed one of the bedroom doors slightly ajar and I heard a man’s voice: “Oh yeah baby, that’s it, suck me good”. I stopped where I was, not wanting to be heard walking on the creaky wooden floor. At my angle, I was able to peek into the room just enough to see what was happening. One of the guests I had just met upon arrival, a stunning, voluptuous black woman named Jenna, was naked on her knees, giving a blowjob to Eric, another new person to me. Eric had a hand clamped to her skull, moving her head back and forth in a slow bobbing motion, using her mouth as a fuck toy. A few candles in the room provided the right amount of light for me to witness this hot action. In a barely audible whisper, Eric kept saying, “Oh yeah, that’s so good, you suck my cock so good, you take it so good”, his voice competing with Jenna’s own moaning and slurping, half-choking on Eric’s cock. Then I noticed something else – Jenna’s hands were tied behind her back. I realized I had to control my own breathing. I was scared I would get caught, but I was also excited: Seeing what I wasn’t supposed to see, a silent and invisible participant. Part of me was experiencing self-torture – I wanted to masturbate right then and there but knew it would be impossible to remain quiet. But of course I was compelled to keep on watching. Eric then bent Jenna over the bed and fucked her ever-so slowly and deeply in a doggy-style position. From my mind-reading perspective, he was trying to minimize any noise, but also wanted to prolong the pleasure. It was his own self-torture. After maybe seven or eight barley-noticeable hip thrusts Eric gasped and crumpled on top of Jenna.
If more of us were honest, with others and ourselves, we would admit that if we had absolutely no chance of getting caught, we would watch people having sex every chance we had. That’s one of the reasons, I believe, why pornography has always been so appealing. Pornography goes beyond being a more conduit for masturbation – the watching in itself is exciting, the associated taboo, the thrill of the dangerous, the buzz that comes with the risk of being caught. Think about it: there’s a reason why people are fascinated with criminals and outlaws – they live lives of danger. We, the everyday rule followers, get our excitement vicariously; we can venture outside of societal norms by following the exploits of those willing to take a chance on breaking moral codes, even breaking laws.
There’s another angle to the concept of watching: to be watched. I once had a client with a very specific request: I played the role of being his therapist. He would come to my “office”, where I’d sit on the couch wearing a mini-skirt and thigh-high boots, my hair in a bun, wearing my glasses. He would stand in front of me, a few feet away, unzip his pants and masturbate in front of me. “Is this okay Ms. Layne?”, he’d ask, stroking himself, shaking with what was seemingly a combination of overwhelming nervousness and sheer exhilaration. “Yes it is, Nick, you have permission”, I’d reply. “I know I’m not supposed to do this Ms. Layne”, Nick would say, “but I can’t help it.” Nick would jerk himself slow, then pick up the speed, and as I implored him to go on, to give him “permission”, he went into a frenzy, gripping his shaft and stroking faster until he came all over the bed. Apparently, Nick could only achieve sexual release via the forbidden. And masturbating in front of his “therapist”, for him, broke a double-taboo: Masturbation, in itself, is still frowned upon in our largely repressed society. But being watched as you masturbate? That magnifies the taboo, which in turn amplifies the sensation. When Nick regained his composure, he would tell me his orgasm was so electrifying, his brain literally vibrated.
Speaking of therapists: A good friend of mine happens to be a psychologist, and one time she mentioned to me that there’s actually a term in her field for those obsessed with being voyeurs. They have “Voyeuristic Disorder.” These are individuals “having recurrent, intense sexually arousing fantasies, sexual urges, or behaviors involving the act of observing an unsuspecting person who is naked, in the process of disrobing, or engaging in sexual activity.” But it’s more than seeing. Being a voyeur can mean overhearing a sexual act, or even having someone tell you about one of their sexual experiences (and I suppose by definition, having them tell you about how they were voyeurs to a sexual experience). Hearing unleashes the power of imagination –
without the use of our eyes, we can flavor the sounds (groans, bodies slamming into each other, etc.) with any lewd, vulgar, steamy or erotic seasonings that come to mind.
Once, when staying in a boutique hotel with thin walls, I overheard something in the adjoining room late at night. At first it was arguing – I heard a woman say, “Well, you fucked up again, you’re such a fucking loser. What is wrong with you! You’re pathetic!” A man’s voice replied, meek and apologetic.” I’m sorry honey, I was bad. I’m trying to do better.” Over the next ten minutes she yelled at him more, her voice getting louder, more agitated. I figured at some point the arguing would stop and I could get back to sleep.
But then my annoyance turned to intrigue. “Get on the bed”, the woman yelled. “You’re going to eat my pussy. You’re going to bury your mouth in my pussy.” Fifteen minutes earlier all I wanted was a good night’s sleep, but now I was rapt with attention. “Yes dear”, he said. I heard the bed slightly knock against the wall while hearing the woman simultaneously say, “That’s it, taste me.” I could only picture the scene: In my mind she was a bossy-bitchy looking petite redhead, fair-skinned with freckles. He was pudgy and balding with hairy arms. “Now eat my pussy”, she yelled at him. “I’m going to keep smothering you until that tongue goes as deep in my pussy as it can go.” I had something tangible to counterbalance my free-flowing imagination: The bossy-bitchy redhead was sitting on the pudgy man’s face. I could hear his excitement, the sounds were a bit muffled, but his enthusiasm came through clearly. I imagined him so crazed with eating his woman’s pussy, he must have had to come up for breath every few moments. Without fully realizing, since I was so engrossed in what I was hearing, I had spread my legs and was playing with my clit.
“Oh fuck yes”, the woman now yelled louder. “I’m going to come all over your face. Oh fuck yes, oh fuck yes..yes!” Their bed hit our shared wall again, this time with more force than before, with the woman letting out a scream that I felt would signal a call to hotel security. I continued masturbating, playing out the scene next door in my mind until I had my own forceful orgasm.
As humans, as the mortal beings we are, we only have so much time in this plane of existence. We have only so many days for sexual experiences, and even less time for varied sexual experiences. Watching (and listening) allows us to live out the sensual encounters out of our grasp, the fantasies that go unfilled as well as the fantasies that we’d actually prefer to imagine than participate in. Sometimes, all you need is your mind in order to get off.
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