World’s Greatest Naked Party
by Jeremy J. Watson
Your author attended the world’s greatest party, and it was probably nothing like what you may be thinking. There were no drugs, and no alcohol. It wasn’t an orgy. There was some music, but that wasn’t the focus. Instead, it was 120 people who got naked and masturbated together for charity.
How It All Started
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Once a year, the Center for Sex and Culture in San Francisco hosts a big party in which more than a hundred men and women, mostly strangers, of all ages and from all walks of life, come together and masturbate. One year, I attended. The sexual energy in the room was super-high, yet it was the safest group sex imaginable. It was without a doubt the best party I’ve ever attended. I’ll tell you all about it – the people who were there, what they said, what they did, even down to the ways they actually masturbated. Some were quite unique!
You might like to know how such a party came about. So, let’s start with the history of the Masturbate-A-Thon.
Back in 1994, U.S. Attorney General Dr. Joycelin Elders was asked at a United Nations conference on AIDS whether it would be appropriate to promote masturbation as a means of preventing young people from engaging in riskier forms of sexual activity. She said, “I think that it is part of human sexuality, and perhaps it should be taught.”
That’s all. Seeming innocuous, right? Well, many people got all in a twist about that, including President Clinton, who promptly fired her. To be fair, she had made other slightly controversial statements in the past. The administration must have felt that talking about masturbation in any way, shape or form made her a loose cannon.
So now, she’s a professor of pediatrics, and most of the modern world continues to teach only very limited abstinence-only sex education, never giving young people the whole picture. And that’s even in light of the many studies that have proven time and again that abstinence-only is not working.
People will be sexual in one form or another. Doesn’t it make sense then, to de-stigmatize masturbation? If people can be taught that it is OK, it would certainly cut down on riskier sexual behavior. Don’t you think?
Dr. Joycelin Elders
Meanwhile, Dr. Elders accepts occasional speaking engagements about how our country, in fact the whole world, needs more well-rounded sex education.
When you think about it, she’s right, isn’t she? Isn’t masturbation a pretty good solution to many problems?
First, if people could be allowed to feel that masturbation is OK, then they might be able to relieve their sexual tensions, resulting in everything from less awkward social conversations (because we all get weird when we’re too horny), to reduction of unwanted pregnancies and sexually transmitted diseases.
Fortunately, we are already in an age where masturbation has become a bit more mainstream. In the past, even though almost everyone engaged in it, we were all ashamed and quite often feeling guilty. To cover these emotions, many people would perpetuate the myth that masturbation is somehow a ‘bad’ thing.
For the longest time, if you were to ask practically anyone whether they engaged in masturbation, they’d universally answer “No!” even though they secretly masturbated all the time.
They punished their kids for masturbating, sometimes severely.
Some babies had their arms tied in cardboard carpet tubes so they wouldn’t touch their own genitals. You’ve probably heard that Kellog’s Corn Flakes was invented as a food that was supposed to reduce children’s interest in masturbation.
And yet, masturbation sessions eliminate social tension and unwanted pregnancies. Go figure! Furthermore, masturbation makes real sex, when it does occur, better. People know more about themselves. What feels good, what they want. And they learn to prevent premature ejaculation.
If that isn’t enough, a study done in 2003 indicates that men who masturbate several times a week have a lower incidence of prostate cancer.
Although your author can’t prove it, I believe masturbation also increases vitality and mental clarity.
But many people, maybe even most people, still feel guilty about it. Crazy stuff!
About a year after the US Surgeon General got canned, the the San Francisco-based nonprofit Center for Sex and Culture declared May as Masturbation Month, partly in response to what happened to Dr. Elders for speaking out about it.
Nothing much happened that year. A bit of publicity. A bit of smirking news coverage. But it set some quiet wheels in motion. In the next couple of years, the Center for Sex and Culture received more funding, and started having events – classes, workshops and parties celebrating positive sexuality. The primary goal: Let people get a balanced and educated knowledge of good sexuality, not the half-knowledge that exists in much of the world today.
Over the next few years, the Center’s range of activities grew. One year someone mentioned, “Wouldn’t it be something if there was a ‘masturbate-a-thon’ just like there are walk-a-thons?” The thread quickly became a major topic among some erudite individuals including Dr. Carol Queen, and Dr. Richard Lawrence. They are psychologists who specialize in sexual study and education.
Dr. Carol Queen
Photo credit: John L
We don’t know exactly how the idea evolved in the offices of the Center for Sex and Culture, but it probably went something like this:
“Just like a walk-a-thon, people could have their friends, family and co-workers sign pledge forms. Except, instead of paying a certain amount per mile, it could be per orgasm.”
“Or, per minute.”
“Oh, right, that would be much easier to monitor.”
“Or, they could just pledge a flat rate.”
“Sure, that could work, too.”
“Imagine the positive publicity.” In the process of getting people to pledge, our volunteers would be bringing the topic of masturbation out in the open. They’d be legitimizing something that has been badly and inappropriately stigmatized for so long.”
“Now, you’re preaching to the choir.”
“Yes, but you see what I mean, right? This would be an excellent grass roots way to spread the word. To start meaningful conversations about masturbation.”
“For sure.”
“So, how would this work, exactly?”
“Well, hmm. I suppose we could pick a date. Like May 25. Everyone gets pledges until that day. Then they go home, wank, tell their plegees what they accomplished (laughs), collect the money, and mail it to us.”
“Yah, like who’s going to do that? I mean, sure they may talk about it, the people may pledge, and the people will go home and masturbate, but then what? Do you think we’ll actually get some money?”
“Even if we didn’t get a penny, we’d be doing a lot to spread the message that masturbation isn’t a ‘bad’ thing, but actually a ‘good’ thing.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. We have this building, and for that matter, we can rent bigger buildings.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Right, we hold an actual public event. People could come to a party-like event on May 25th or whatever, and we all jerk off together. A bunch of strangers in the room, wanking. What publicity that would bring! And what a positive event for those who have always wanted to masturbate among others in a safe environment.”
“We could do that, but do we dare?”
“People are becoming more enlightened, but would the public be ready for this?”
“Well, I’m thinking that all of San Francisco wouldn’t participate, at least not the first year. But certainly some people would.”
“I’m thinking, what if we combine both ideas? Everyone can get pledges. Some can wank at home. That would be the people who are just to shy to jerk off in public. But those with more exhibitionist tendencies could come to our group meeting.”
“What about entertainment? Celebrities? I know Nina Hartley. She was a huge porn star about 20 years ago. Now she’s authoring sex-positive books. I’ll bet she’d come to this. Maybe even be a headliner. Maybe even help with promotion.”
Nina Hartley, photo credit: dirtybob@dirtybob.com
“Cool.”
“Maybe we could get some pole dancers.”
“And a live rock band or jazz band or two.”
“Geez, imagine the publicity we could get!”
“Hey, and we could hold competitions. Like who can last the longest.”
“And which man can shoot the farthest.”
“And who can have the most orgasms.”
“Don’t you think that the number of orgasms would hard to monitor?”
“Who cares? There would have to be parts of this whole thing in which we trust people. Especially whether the people who pledge would actually pay. So I say, let’s just trust people.”
“People will love a public space that validates masturbation.”
“What a way to de-stigmatize self-love!”
Well, as you can imagine, the conversation continued. The board of directors became emboldened, and finally, they unanimously voted to hold the first ever Masturbate-A-Thon on May 21, 2000.
A website announcing the event was created. Flyers were created and distributed in a few places. Local media were sent press releases.
And the Masturbate-A-Thon became real. It was to be, “a comfortable and good-humored event.” It did happen. And it went on every May for a few years and no doubt improved with age.
One day seven years after the original Masturbate-A-Thon, your author, who lived only 30 miles away at the time, saw a link to the Masturbate-A-Thon website from a San Francisco Weekly article that said, in part:
“The Masturbate-a-thon [is] a sort of utopia, in which the sexual energy in the room builds, and the different masturbators inspire and arouse each other, and nobody’s touching and yet everyone is there, together, surfing the orgasm wave.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was exactly in line with my vague dreams that people ought to be able to masturbate together if they want. And so on May 20, 2007, I went on down to San Francisco.
Getting Pledges
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Whoa, back up a second! The story starts a bit before May 20, 2007 for me. The day I found out, I downloaded and printed out a pledge form. Now, I didn’t have to get pledges, but I wanted to. You see, according to what I read at the website, I could have simply paid $40 as a flat pledge for myself at the door.
But that felt like cheating, and it sidestepped the purpose. Remember, the real purpose of the Masturbate-A-Thon was to bring public awareness of the positive aspects of masturbation. And by getting pledges, that’s exactly what would happen.
The first two pledges were easy. I signed up a guy who I had wanked with a time or two. I signed up a female co-worker with whom I had a very good conversational relationship. She and I had talked about masturbation in various contexts before. My guy friend was willing to pledge $0.05 per minute, and she came in with a whopping $0.10. It doesn’t sound like much, but I figured I might be able to jerk off non-stop for an hour or more. OK, so it still doesn’t sound like much, and it wasn’t.
Then it got a little harder. Imagine telling some of your more conservative friends that you’re going to go to a public venue, jerk off, and you want them to pay for it! To say I was nervous about bringing it up would be a big understatement. In fact, I delayed for a few days.
Then one evening, about six friends and I had been throwing a frisbee around in the park, and as darkness overtook us, we sat down on the lawn and started talking about various things, as we did every reasonably warm Wednesday evening. We were laughing, having a good time, and someone made a typical little joke about jerking off. Bang! That was my cue. I unfolded the pledge form from my pocket, and started my pitch.
“How much would someone have to pay you to masturbate in public?”
Dead silence.
“Really! Let me explain why I asked.”
At that point I explained the Masturbate-A-Thon, starting with the Center for Sex and Culture, and what they do for a positive sexual attitude. My little group agreed that was good. Then I just told them about the Masturbate-A-Thon, as if it would be something that some people would do (not me of course). But then I dropped the bomb. I simply said, “I’m going,” and passed around my pledge sheet.
Guess what? Every one of my six friends signed it. The somewhat wealthy fellow in the group offered $0.25 per minute.
The gathering of pledges had the desired side-effect. Franklin, a thin man with a British accent, and the most gregarious among us, admitted to masturbating frequently. He also volunteered that he is bisexual. That opened the discussion about masturbation, especially the benefits of masturbation, which carried on a good fifteen minutes.
Then, I offered to give some of them a ride to the Masturbate-A-Thon. We could carpool. That was my round-about way of trying to get some of them to come along. A couple of my friends said “no way” right away. The remaining four said they’d think about it. As May 21 approached, however, no one was willing to come along.
But I was 100% gung-ho. Couldn’t wait!
Arriving Early
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You might like to know a bit more about me. I don’t usually like parties. I’m not one for getting drunk, and trying to converse over loud music. No thank you. But this was a party I had to attend, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be a bunch of drunks talking too loud. In fact, alcohol wasn’t allowed.
Back in 2007, I was just a bit over 50 years old, maybe ten or twelve pounds overweight, but quite fit overall, medium height, male, white, bearded, and balding on top. Nothing much to look at, to be sure.
I’ve always liked to be on time or a little bit early for events. But this was a great big deal for me. Plus, it was an hour away, with traffic and all. For some reason, I couldn’t help myself. I arrived a full hour early. Got my car parked, and knocked on the door at the address provided. It was an unmarked warehouse. I wasn’t quite sure I had the right building. I was looking for a sign that said “Center for Sex and Culture,” or maybe at least a paper flyer announcing the Masturbate-A-Thon. But this was just a small gray metal door on a three-story dark brick building.
So I knocked, not knowing what would happen, especially with me being early. I heard someone running down stairs inside, and shortly, the door opened. I was greeted by a twenty-something thin woman with long frizzy black hair, dressed like a hippie from the summer of love in Haight-Asbury in 1967.
Being not quite sure I had the right address, I sheepishly asked whether this was the place for the Masturbate-A-Thon, while furiously trying to figure out how I would backpedal from that, if I did have the wrong address. But she said it was. Whew! She said, “But it doesn’t start until 4pm.”
“I know. I though maybe you could use a volunteer.”
“Hmm, let me check.”
She closed the door, and I stood there on the blazing hot sidewalk for probably three whole minutes until she returned. She said, “Welcome, come on up!”
I had absolutely no idea what to expect. She and I went through a brief industrial-like hallway with no decorations, and bland beige paint. We went up what seemed a rather long staircase. Maybe it was just seemed long because I was nervous. At the top was a typical converted warehouse. There were walls dividing some of the huge area into sections. Our stairs led us to a small foyer of sorts, containing a desk made out of a portable table and a few chairs. From there, led open doorways. Next to some of the doors were paper signs. One said “Masturbatorium.” Another said “Press Room.” Yet another said “Coat Check.” Most of the doorways didn’t have doors or the doors were propped fully open. The door to the coat check room was a Dutch door, with the bottom half closed. The top surface of the bottom half of the door had been made in to a narrow tabletop. I was to discover more about that soon enough.
No one was at the desk. In fact, no one was in the foyer except the dark-haired young woman, who saw me pause to look around. She beckoned me into the masturbatorium. That was a large room, perhaps 3,000 square feet, larger than a typical 7-11 convenience store. There were a couple of homemade walls partitioning off some small rooms in the corner. There was a wide variety of easy chairs, sofas, and large cushions on the floor, all of which looked like they were ‘rescues.’ None of them were torn or badly stained, but you could see they were old and well-used.
The room smelled like a typical old warehouse, vaguely reminiscent of sawdust. There was an assortment of lighting in the room, and I do mean ‘assortment.’ While the overall lighting was subdued, there was a wide variety of ceiling fixtures, floor lamps, and table lamps strewn about, plus some Christmas lights and reflector balls strung up here and there. There were a number of posters on the walls, most suggestively but not overtly sexual. I noticed that all the windows had been covered with cardboard or thin plywood or something, painted to match the gray walls on the inside.
It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the lower light, having come in from a rare sunny San Francisco afternoon. After my eyes adjusted to the lower light, and I noticed the furniture, next I noticed the people. There were about eight people in the room. One woman was scurrying across the large room with a handcart stacked with cases of soda. Another was pulling a hundred bed sheets out of a half-dozen big wicker baskets. A guy who looked sort of like me was running some sort of thing that looked like an oversized carpet sweeper across the wooden floor. When he came to the various shag and oval carpets strewn about, he just went right over them. Being one who is fascinated by mechanical things of all sorts, I’d have to check that machine out later. I’d never seen anything quite like it. But what really caught my eye was two guys with a ladder. The somewhat overweight youngish white fellow on the floor was wearing a toolbelt bristling with pliers, screwdrivers and such things over his bluejeans. He was handing the end of a wire up to the guy on the ladder. The guy on the ladder was quite black. I’d guess he had 100% African ancestry. He appeared to be about 40 years old, had short black hair and looked quite fit – like someone who really works for a living. Oh, and one other thing. He was not circumcised. How did I know that? Because he was stark naked, and sporting an erection!
I didn’t notice that a guy had come up behind me. He yelled, “Robert!” I jumped about six inches in the air!
Robert Lawrence came out of a side room. He was tall but not overly tall, appeared to be in his late 50s, had short hair and was wearing nothing but a bathrobe.
The volunteer next to me said, “Robert, we have a new volunteer. What would you like him to do?”
I introduced myself. Somehow, I felt like I was in the presence of a movie star. I had heard of Robert Lawrence, now here he was talking to me in the flesh. He was a bit brusque, or harried, or hurried. Of course, I could understand. It was less than an hour to ‘showtime.’ After a super-quick introduction, he called over the guy pushing the floor sweeper, and had me take over the task. I was actually delighted, since I kind of wanted to play with that machine. The volunteer explained that the floor had to be scrupulously clean, since a lot of barefoot people would be walking around shortly. So I started pushing the machine across the room. It had wheels that turned brushes in front and on the sides. Fun!
Upon completing that task, I was assigned to help out Keith. Keith was the guy who had been on the ladder. He was still on the ladder, but in a different location. He was stringing microphone cables for the video crew. His helper had left, so I was his new floor man. Keith introduced himself with a flourish. He was instantly likeable. We got done with a couple of cables, then he had to string some extension cords for lights.
I couldn’t just work with a fellow with a big erection without saying something, so I said, “Great erection!” He smiled. I was expecting some sort of explanation or dissembling or something, but got nothing. He just got off the ladder, and started walking toward a service elevator. He asked me to come along, as he had two boxes of extension cords to bring up. We went down in the elevator and out into the street! Wait a second. Keith was totally naked and still quite erect! But then I remembered, this was San Francisco, one of the few places where nudity is totally legal. (I think public nudity was changed back into a misdemeanor in 2012.) He walked the sidewalk to a parked van and extracted a box, asking me to grab the other box.
Back to the elevator, but we had to wait a bit, since someone else was using it. Keith started telling me his situation. He was from Los Angeles, California, and attends the Masturbate-A-Thon every year. He volunteered because he enjoys volunteering for things like this. He had been there since noon. Oddly, as we talked, his dick was staying hard. I liked seeing that. Like everyone, I’m on the bisexual scale. OK, some people are 99% hetro, and some 99% gay, but everyone is somewhere on that scale. I lean more toward women than men, but completely appreciate a male body, especially what I considered an exotic one, with a hardon.
We rode up in the elevator with an ordinary snack food delivery person with a handtruck of cartons. This guy was riding in a freight elevator with two men he’d never met, one of which was naked and erect. He handled it well. Never said a word, never seemed shocked.
After setting down the boxes of cords, Keith asked me to move the ladder. Robert was nearby and gave me a stern look, and said, rather gruffly, to not scratch the floor (the old, unpainted wooden, way-already-scratched-up floor). I was a bit embarrassed because I had dragged the ladder, but a bit upset about being ‘yelled at’ by Robert. I started to believe that Robert, although a nice guy, can be grouchy, especially just before an event is to start.
After a while, Keith had lost his spontaneous erection, and it didn’t seem to matter a bit to him whether he was hard or not. Oh, I wish I could be that free in my mind about such things!
I wasn’t quite sure what to do at this point. Being a bit of an exhibitionist, I wanted to join Keith in nudity, but on the other hand, none of the other volunteers were naked. Hmmm. Finally, I took all my clothes off, and draped them over the back of a sofa. No erection, but I still felt a bit weird, so a few minutes later, I put them back on.
Keith dispatched me to the library to get a box of lightbulbs. I found the little room and was quite impressed. There were perhaps a thousand books and DVDs in there, and you guessed it, every single one had something to do with sex. I couldn’t resist browsing a page or two.
Next, Robert had a Salamander. This is a big propane heater and fan on wheels. He wanted me to guide his extension cord so he could blow heat into all the corners of the room, and the little rooms on the side. He explained that people are more comfortable taking their clothes off when the room is warm. Of course! But, I wouldn’t have thought of that.
Most of the hour before 4pm was used up. I was asked to sign in so the volunteers manning the administration desk could get some practice. I presented my pledge sheet. It was photocopied, rubber stamped and given back to me. I presented ID, which was also photocopied. I was given a wrist band that said I was an official participant! Neat-o! I also signed an optional model release form. This was because they had set up a platform as a stage. If anyone wanted to appear in the live Internet feed, and subsequent videos that might be made, they had to sign the form. That earned me another wrist band of a different color. I didn’t really think I’d ever be brave enough to show up nude on an international video feed, but signing up for that was free, and it would be nice to be prepared, just in case.
Next was the coat check. Actually, clothing check. I was directed to the room with the half-closed dutch door, and given a paper bag with a number on it, and a corresponding number on yet another wrist tag. I was instructed to take off all my clothes except my shoes or socks if I preferred, and put them in the bag. I felt a little vulnerable being at such a weird event, and have all my clothes, wallet, keys and everything in the charge of someone else! But I felt I could trust the volunteers in the clothing check room. I also felt vulnerable because besides Keith, I was now the only one who was naked, among a group that had swelled to about 20 volunteers. I found out that many were psychology interns with an interest in sexology, and they were working off a few of their 2,500 required internship hours before they could practice as professional psychologists. At first I felt a bit strange about that. Like I was their lab rat. But, I soon forgot about that.
I was called to the refreshment tables, to help put pretzels, candies and such things in bowls, as the very first members of the general public start streaming into the foyer.
The Masturbate-A-Thon
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Sometimes volunteering can be a bad thing. Or more specifically, it can feel weird. Or at least it did in this case. I was one of only two naked people, and the other one, Keith, had disappeared into a back room on a last-minute errand with the video people. Now, fully-clothed people were coming in off the street. Oh, how I wished I hadn’t so cheerfully offered to be the first person registered!
I probably should have been proud of being naked and free. I could have been overjoyed to be so fully expressing my exhibitionist tendency. Or fantasy, really. But no, I have to admit I was a bit freaked out. It’s as if I had been caught in junior high school pulling a prank that went too far, and was about to go to the principal’s office. I thought about going back to the library to kind of hide. I even took a couple of footsteps in that direction. But no, that was chicken-shit. I had to stick it out. At least my penis wasn’t sticking out. It had shriveled to about the smallest it could be. Maybe if it had fluffed up a little, that would have been nice.
Fortunately, my concerned state didn’t last long. People were getting registered, and a few individuals already had their clothing check bags in hand. Some were undressing right away. Others were kind of hanging back, as if to check whether it was really OK to disrobe in public.
Nudity was starting to become normal in front of the clothing check door, and into the masturbatorium.
Did I mention that not only am I a bit of an exhibitionist, at least in my fantasies, but also a voyeur? You bet! And I was delighted to see who was coming in. A very fit white guy, about 32 years old, about 5′ 11″ or 6′ 0″ feet tall was now totally naked. A really cool fellow who looked to be Hispanic, quite thin, about 50 years old was next. Then we had a short 20-something white woman with very long dark hair and a plump butt was next. Oh, look at that, she’s totally shaved! Then a sixty-something, heavyset gentleman. And a tall woman, perhaps 45 years old. Slightly saggy but large breasts, but I’m not a judge. I just notice these things. Then a waif. That’s how I describe her. Wait, I recognized her. She was one of the volunteers. She was now totally disrobed. She was very thin, couldn’t have been even five feet tall, with long, straight blond hair, small breasts, and a confident smile. Nice! A couple of older gents, perhaps in their seventies. A redheaded couple. Could they be brother and sister? He appeared to be of average height, just a touch overweight, like myself. He had very red curly hair, a bit of rosacia (natural redness) in his face too, and wearing nothing but glasses. His sister was an absolute knock-out. She had the same curly red hair, on her vagina too. She was of medium build, curvy but not fat, excellent rounded breasts that almost looked air-filled, and had beautiful big blue eyes.
And they kept coming in. I believe all-in-all, around 120 people showed up. They started filling the masturbatorium.
Most of the people were going for time. Their pledges were about how many minutes they could masturbate. No one told us whether we should start, wait for a signal, or just how this works. I was a bit surprised to find out that the interns didn’t really know what was going on either. Robert and Carol were nowhere to be found. I believe they had been detained in the press room.
So, some people had staked out the best looking sofas and were lazily just stroking themselves a little bit. A few erections here and there. Many people were standing in groups talking. Some evidently knew each other. I suppose most of the ones who knew others, like the redheaded brother and sister, had arranged to come to this event together. But, I’ll bet some were shocked to see their friends and neighbors here! Imagine seeing your co-worker, for instance, someone you have ridden the bus with with every day, or faced across from your computer screen hour after hour, and suddenly they’re here and stark naked. And you’re naked! And you’re becoming erect. And her nipples are hard and pointed.
Keith was going to town. He had plopped himself in an old sheet-covered recliner. All of the furniture was covered in sheets and towels. He was there in his recliner with a great vantage point of the doorway from the foyer, so he could see people as they were coming in. And the first thing they probably saw was good-ole Keith, slowly stroking his penis, with a giant erection and a giant smile!
A few guys had sat cross-legged on cushions and were talking about motorcycles as some stroked themselves, and others just sat there, not touching themselves yet. Some were as soft as me, others were sporting erections. I joined this group, and as casually as if we were old friends, and as casually as if we were all clothed, we were talking about two-stroke versus four-stroke engines, and fuel injection, and well, motorcycle stuff. One fellow was really eye candy. He couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. He was slight of build, and had long blond hair, almost like a woman. He had shaved all his body hair, and had a thin but tall circumcized erection. He was idly squeezing the tip of his dick with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. After a moment, he switched to cupping and gently squeezing his balls with one hand. Shortly after that, he pulled fairly hard and held down the skin of his dick, causing the head to shine like a polished apple.
Now, about a hundred people had all gotten naked and found positions around the room. Most were fifty years old or more, but some were quite young, like 18 – 20 years old. Many were heavyset, and of course, there were also some thin people. As you might expect, it was about seventy percent male. I’m glad there were enough women there so that they’d be comfortable. If only one or two women were present, they might have been rather freaked out, just as if only two men had showed up around a hundred women.
There was one thing that skewed the statistic a bit. There was a small room set aside for women who wanted privacy. About six women took up residence in that room. Although the doorway was open and one could see inside, people were all polite enough to not jam into the doorway and stare. Personally, I would rather have had the six women in the general group.
Finally, Robert and Carol came into the room, and announced that those people who were going for time, should start now. They said we could have five minute bathroom and snack breaks every hour. They said there’d be contests for the farthest distance a man can shoot, and most number of women’s and men’s orgasms. Also, an award would be given to the person who masturbates the longest. To finish their announcement, they reminded us of the good work that the Center for Sex and Culture was doing, how the money the Masturbate-A-Thon would be used, and thanked us for our participation.
Someone asked about what “tag-team” meant. For those who were interested, couples or larger groups, could give each other handjobs. For instance, a husband and wife could rub each other, and go for the tag-team time or number of orgasms record.
Then Carol reminded those who were interested in recording number of orgasms to find an intern who would be their monitor. That sounds like fun, doesn’t it? To masturbate in front of a stranger who is intently watching you?
Carol and Robert went back to the press room, and a few clothed people with cameras and notebooks followed them. I was told later that the people with cameras were very specifically told not to record anyone who was not wearing the green wrist banding indicating they had signed a release form.
I turned my attention back to the motorcycle group. I was somewhat surprised that while I had been stroking myself like everyone else was now doing, I didn’t get erect. I mean, with all that charged energy in the room, you’d think I’d not only grow a giant boner, but I’d have cum by now. I wasn’t even close. Weird. I guess it is because all my life in locker rooms, at various nude beaches, and so on, I have taught myself not to become erect in public.
After a while, I drifted away from the group and visited Keith. He seemed blissed out on his recliner, but when I walked by he said, “Hi.” So, we started talking. It turns out he was a fighter pilot in the Vietnam war. (I had no idea he was that old, he looks much younger.) He had been shot. Flack came right through the fuselage and hit him in the buttock and thigh. He showed me the scars. I showed him my knee where I had been shot. So we had that in common. What we did not have in common is that he is a celebrity. I should have recognized him, but I guess all I really noticed was his big, shiny, black dick. He was just using the name “Keith” so people wouldn’t know who he was. When the occasional person came by and said, “Hey, are you…?” he’d say, “No, he just looks like me.” He asked me, and everyone else he spoke with at any length, not to reveal his identity, since if it became known that he was at the Masturbate-A-Thon, it might hurt his career. So, for this book, I’ll just keep calling him “Keith.”
The entertainment had started. There were some bands on the stage that I had not heard of. Mostly, they were good, although in some cases the sound wasn’t quite mixed to my satisfaction. Between bands, a couple of adult entertainers got on stage. One brash young man who I did not recognize, but who was probably somebody big in porn movies, got on stage and started dancing and waving his limp penis around. He tried to masturbate there on the stage, but no go, he couldn’t get hard. After seven or eight minutes of trying, he gave up.
One of our interns, the small, frizzy black haired girl came up. She opened her legs really wide, showing us her pussy and asshole in great detail, as if it was a show-and-tell demonstration. She then proceeded to stroke herself to a slow, but powerful orgasm, right there in front of everyone and the two video cameras. That got me. I was finally starting to develop a semi-erection.
More rock bands. Nina Hartley came on stage with a weird costume. She had short strips of black electrical tape making crosses across her nipples, her glasses, and some sort of girdle or neglege-like thing that had a big opening right over her pussy. All she did however, was talk for awhile about positive masturbation. No one was listening.
For a while, someone had been allowed to put a video camera in the women’s ‘private’ room, and one woman was rubbing herself and having orgasms like crazy. We could see it on a big screen erected over the stage.
At various times in the evening, videos were played on the screen, but they were mostly talking heads, music videos, or such mild pornography as to not be pornography at all.
Two hours in, and I was stroking away, yet I had never become fully hard. A few more stragglers had drifted in, but there were still only about a hundred people in the room. That’s because a few of the guys had ejaculated, lost their enthusiasm, and went home.
A guy got on stage with an upright piano and played beautiful honky-tonk music. That would have been worth the price of admission alone. He was all dressed in pinstripes, with suspenders and a bowler hat. I wonder if he wanted to be naked with all of us?
I only saw one couple tag-teaming. They were very involved with each other, and never really seemed to be in the room with the rest of us. In later years, the Masturbate-A-Thon eliminated tag-teaming. Handjobs aren’t fully qualified as masturbation, which by definition is ‘doing yourself.’
In the third hour, the redhead girl who had arrived with her brother took a spot on the floor, laying face down, with her legs spread wide. This was excellent! I could see her asshole very clearly, and I have a thing about assholes. Her butt was slim and tight. She was totally shaved, and her anus was small and had very little coloration. Just the way I like them. She had reached under her belly and was rubbing her clit. I didn’t know whether it was OK to stare as I wanked, so I got up the courage, walked around to the side she was facing, and asked her. She said, “Sure, knock yourself out.” In retrospect, I realize now that she was putting on a show. She wanted me to stare at her. So I kneeled down behind her where I could get a great view, as a few other guys piled in around me. That got me hard. Very hard. I almost came after a minute, Fortunately, I’m good at edging. I know when I’m getting close, so I backed off. After a while, she got up and walked back to join her brother. The two of them took chairs facing each other and rubbed themselves easily while staring into eath other’s eyes.
There were a few fully clothed reporters working the room. I was interviewed two times. I asked the reporters, one of which was a young female, whether they planed to join us in wanking. No, they decided to stay clothed. On principle, I guess. Then, I asked whether anyone else had asked the same thing. Yes, everyone kept asking them to join in the fun, that the only way to get the true story was to be one of us.
A heavyset woman of about 40 years and I got to talking. Her very young female Asian intern was right there watching and listening, because this woman was going for the record number of orgasms. She told me she had already had twelve, and was about to have another. Would I like to place my hand on her lower stomach and feel the contractions? You bet. So I did, and I felt her having an orgasm! The intern then reminded me that we aren’t really supposed to touch anyone else.
I had been reminded of that very thing a few minutes earlier. A nice older gentleman asked whether he could stroke my penis. I said, “Of course, I don’t see why not.” So he reached out, and very gently slid what’s left of my foreskin up and down. It felt very nice to be touched in that way by a stranger’s warm fingers. But after a half-minute or so, an intern came by, and said, “Sorry, no touching of others.”
In a way, that was a shame, but in another way, that was just right. This whole thing could have easily turned into an orgy if there had been no supervision. And that would generate bad publicity, not good publicity. Besides, wanking in the same room with others is absolutely awesome in its own right!
The Masturbate-A-Thon had what they called a ‘voyeurs’ area. People who just wanted to watch could pay $40 and sit on a set of bleachers behind a rope on one side of the room and watch. Personally, I don’t know how they could stand it. If I had been a voyeur, I would have marched back to the administration desk and said, “Let me in, I want to play!” But maybe the voyeurs are too shy, or for their own reasons, they don’t want, or don’t need to jerk off with us. At various times there were a dozen or twenty voyeurs.
There was a guy masturbating who I had seen on the Internet because he has attended other sex events xin the San Francisco Bay Area and is somewhat of a sexual celebrity. And, of course, after deciding to participate in this event, I looked up similar events on the web. I thought his name was Culo, or Cusco, or something like that, but because of a loud band playing in the background, I couldn’t quite tell when he introduced himself. He had a strong accent. I have since heard that he is Yuma, a software engineer who moved from Argentina. He appears to be in his early thirties. He has dark shiny smooth skin, and a very strong build. No doubt he is a bodybuilder. From what I had seen on the Internet, he likes to wear a cockring, and tonight was no exception. It was amazing to see him in person. He has a tall, confident, commanding presence. And his penis is very large! This guy is the ultimate exhibitionist. I’ve heard, in fact seen, video clips of him masturbating right out in the streets of San Francisco. He was on the floor on his hands and knees, facing away the voyeurs section so they had a clear view of his anus. And he was working a dildo in and out. Very, very sexual.
Five hours in, and I hadn’t cum yet! I was amazed and proud of myself. I had been erect for much of the past two hours. I had no idea that I might qualify for the record, which I had been told was around seven hours, but here I was already at five hours of wanking. So, now I was starting to think that I ought to earnestly pursue the record.
Another few grunts and a yell. A guy ejaculated. It was fun to watch a guy squirting cum only a few feet away from me. He got soft, and went home. This was becoming increasingly common.
I hadn’t seen Keith in a while. I guess he came once or twice, finally lost the spirit, and went home. It had already been a long day for him.
During a bathroom break, I had to walk out the masturbatorium doorway to the foyer area where the refreshments table and bathrooms were located. The doorway was rather clogged with mostly clothed people. These were people from the press, technical support people, such as the video personnel, people just arriving or leaving, and voyeurs. It was quite narrow, and the venue was loud. So there I was walking with a beautiful erection in front of everyone. It was heaven for the exhibitionist part of me! But I had to get through the crowd. I tried saying “excuse me” a couple of times, but no one could hear unless I shouted, and I didn’t think that would be quite right. So I just pressed in, and people slowly parted so I could get through. But not before I bumped my penis into a couple of clothed people. The feeling was indescribable. Oh, not the physical sensation. I barely felt anything with my penis. But the psychology. Oh the psychological effect! There I was bumping strangers with my proud erection, and it was OK. Kind of normal in a way. Fantastic!
I was still hard when I got to the bathroom. For some reason, the bathroom had only one urinal and one toilet. There must have been more bathrooms elsewhere, but I never did figure out where. Anyway, there was a bit of a line, and you could see the people in there doing their business. After a brief wait, I was able to approach the toilet. I found it a little hard to pee with an erection plus people not only staring at me, but wanting me to finish quickly so they could pee. So it took a moment, but finally, I did pee. And my hardon was starting to subside.
A quick visit to the snack table, and I was back in action in the masturbatorium again. Unfortunately, the doorway was not blocked this time. But then again, I wasn’t hard now, either.
Back in the masturbatorium, I had a nice visit with a lady who was probably well over 70 years old. She was overweight and hairy. Not much to look at, but a very sweet individual. She was sitting in a high-backed chair against a wall rubbing her clit.
It was approaching 10pm, and I noticed a late arrival for the first time. This was a very tall, thin, dark-skinned Asian woman, with perky breasts, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat. She strolled past, rubbing her black, hairy but trimmed vagina as she walked. I would have thought I’d died and gone to heaven if I could have just sat down and watched her while I wanked, but there were so many guys following her around, I gave up on the idea. It was enough just to see her in her entirety for a moment. I hope she was enjoying all the male attention. In fact, I’m rather certain she was very much enjoying the attention.
Now, Nina Hartley, the porn star from several years ago, was on the stage and giving a guy a nice handjob. I don’t quite understand how she could do that and not be breaking the rules, but then again, she was the star. And she still looked great. The guy ejaculated, and left the stage. She asked whether anyone else would like to visit her on the stage. My hormones ruled. I was up there in a heartbeat. Who would have figured? Me, a generally shy average-looking guy, stark naked on a stage, about to do something sexual with Nina Hartley!
She asked what I liked, and I told her. I tried to think of something she could do that wouldn’t cause me to ejaculate. At the time I was fascinated with testicle massage. She offered to do it right there and then, in front of the Internet feed going out to the whole world. Chances are, thousands of people were watching, because the event was well publicized online. I slouched in a chair with my legs wide apart as she Kneeled in front of me. Nina Hartley! A clothed camera guy got right up next to me for a close up, but I was completely fine with that. Proud in fact.
Nina’s touch was electrifying. She started out with a very soft tickle-light touching of my scrotum. My dick was sticking straight up, rock hard, and jerking back and forth occasionally. She was expert enough not to touch it. Because I would have squirted right away. Then she started in earnest. She really knew what I meant about testicle massage. I’ve had several men and women massage my balls, and they never seem to get it quite right. Most never get up the nerve to squeeze hard enough. They are afraid they’ll hurt, or even injure me. The few who do use enough pressure are not aware that there are sensitive spots on the top back sides of the balls where the cords attach. If those spots are squeezed, it is quite ouchy.
Oh, but Nina was an expert. She was squeezing and kneading my balls like her life depended on it. She was squeezing harder and harder until she saw me flinch a couple of times. Then she backed off just the right amount, and gave me a full five minutes of the best ball massage I’ve ever had in my life. I looked at a video monitor at one point, and there were my balls and dick, bigger than life, all over the Internet.
All good things must end, and Nina sent me on my way, and after rubbing herself on camera for a few minutes, she went on to make some other guy’s dream come true.
Days after the Masturbate-A-Thon, I scoured the Internet, hoping to find ‘my’ video, but I never did find it.
More wanking. Midnight had come and gone, and I was approaching eight hours of solid jerking off, except for bathroom breaks. I wasn’t sore, and I was loving every minute of it. But, of all damn things, I was getting sleepy.
The room was clearing out. There were only about thirty people left.
I was wondering just how important it was to me to break the record. There were only two competitors left. One regular-looking guy had spent almost the whole time in the one and only hammock in the room. I don’t even know if he took bathroom breaks.
The other was a fellow named Masanobu who had come all the way from Japan.
Here’s a YouTube video of Masanobu backgrounding his ‘work’ at the Masturbate-A-Thon. Just click the picture if your device supports web links, otherwise, you can go to youtube.com/watch?v=SNH5EUw7gxk next time you get a chance.
He was an official representative of a Fleshlight-like device. These are tubes with soft insides that you slip over your penis. They are supposed to feel much like a real vagina. He had been using his contraption the whole time, while other representatives of the company went around the room offering to let people try their fake vaginas. Earlier in the evening, I tried one, and liked it well enough, but liked my hand better.
Anyway, he had been practicing. It looked like he was going to go forever, so maybe it was becoming time for me think about heading home.
I had been wanking side by side with another guy approximately my age who kept telling me how great my dick looked. Everyone loves to to hear that, and I’m no exception. We were talking about porn websites we liked when he pointed out a group of three women across the room.
I walked over to watch. One of the three was was perhaps 18 or 20 years old, very small, thin, and had very short black hair. Almost a crew cut. Pretty obviously a lesbian costume or statement. She was laying on her back on a cushion on the floor, having such strong orgasms that she was convulsing. Her very small flat breasts were shaking along with her whole body. Her two friends were on either side of her, holding her shoulders and murmuring some soft somethings to her. I took one look at that, and suddenly I lost it, I ejaculated all over the floor.
After that, part of me wanted to stay, but the more practical part said it was late (for me), I was tired, and still had to drive 30 miles home. Besides, that, my penis was now obstinately soft and just a little bit sore. It wasn’t going to get back up any time soon. So it was time to visit the clothing check, get my stuff, jump in the car and head home.
What Happened Next
Table of Contents
As luck would have it, traffic was stopped at the bridge. Evidently a car had caught fire up ahead. It was a rare warm San Fracisco night, so I, and most of the other motorists stepped out of our cars to enjoy the refreshing air. Guess who popped out of the car next to me? Right, one of the Masturbate-A-Thon participants! We exchanged phone numbers and promised to get together for our own mini masturbate-a-thon, but we never did. Traffic cleared, and I headed home.
I had masturbated non-stop for 8 hours and 20 minutes, according to the stamps on my pledge sheet. The guy in the hammock must have quit just minutes after I did. I later found out that the Japanese guy won with a time of 8 hours and 40 minutes. If only I had known! But then again, he probably would have gone 20 hours if he had to, in order to win.
You’d think I’d be sore the next day. If not my penis, then perhaps my arm or wrist. But no, I was just fine and in fact jerked off a couple of times the next day while remembering the Masturbate-A-Thon.
What a glorious time I had telling all my pledgees about my experience at the Masturbate-A-Thon! I think after my telling of the story, they all wished they had had the gumption to go along with me.
No one, especially I, expected me to go eight hours and 20 minutes! Everyone paid up, including my benefactor who pledged $0.25 per minute. He had to pay $125. He grumbled a bit, but he wrote a check, which I forwarded along with the other payments to the Center for Sex and Culture.
In later years, there have been a few changes. For instance, the record times were getting so long, that they no longer hold in-house competitions for who can go the longest. They are more vigilant about people touching anyone other than themselves. The self-pledge price dropped from $40 to $30, making it easier for more people to attend.
Here are some records from more recent events:
Longest Time, set in 2012 by Sonny Nash: 10 hours and 10 minutes
Men’s Ejaculation Distance Record, set in 2014: 12 ft 10 in (3.9 m)
Female Most Orgasms, set at the Denmark Masturbate-A-Thon in 2009: 222
Male Most Orgasms, also Denmark 2009: 8
In the following years, I have twice more attended the Masturbate-A-Thon. Both times were as good as the first.
It turns out I still couldn’t get my friends, my pledgees from the first year to come along. Oh well, Their loss. My one and only complaint with the Masturbate-A-Thon in general is that it is under-publicized. I believe the people at the Center for Sex and Culture just don’t know how to publicize a local event in a big city like San Francisco. Because every year, only between a hundred and 250 people out of well over a million in the Bay Area show up. What’s up with that?
Can you imagine what it would like to have a convention of a thousand people wanking together?
Now, they do hold masturbate-a-thons in some other cities such as London, Portland, Philadelphia, even in Denmark. Perhaps you’d like to organize one where you live!
See also: The Masturbate-A-Thon, Another Perspective
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