ACCEPTING HUMILIATION (Part 1)

I turned 45 years old yesterday. Everyone in my family and friends know I'm gay, I've had a boyfriend for 8 years, and I'm generally perceived as a serious, responsible, respectable, dignified, masculine, educated man. My boyfriend knows that I'm not always respectful, dignified, or masculine.

When I think of my father and what he has always wanted and imagined of me, I feel an uncontrollable desire to be the complete opposite. If my father wants and imagines me speaking to a group of people with dignity, I desire to be on the floor being humiliated by men. If my father wants and imagines me giving a speech to share my knowledge, I desire to be unable to speak because I have a dick in my mouth and someone saying "shut up, sissy" or any of those phrases that have been ingrained in my brain for decades. Phrases always uttered by sexually aroused men, exuding testosterone, feeling the need to ejaculate after feeling like macho men, superior, strong, after being served; phrases that fit into my psyche like puzzle pieces. In fact, depending on the strength and virility of the messages, my mind's reception is shaped, and the stronger and more dominant the man appears, the weaker my brain adapts to be to receive the information, to accept being humiliated and belittled for everything that my family and some friends know about me. In the presence of a man who knows he is superior, none of the valuable aspects of myself stand out; instead, there is a desire to serve, to surrender, to focus my mind and body on the pleasure of the other.

There was a time when interacting with gay men, I always sought and demanded respect, consideration, and friendly treatment, insisting that my dignity be recognized. I would often meet men through social media and go on normal dates, sometimes ending with sex but always leaving a lingering dissatisfaction, never feeling fully satisfied intellectually and sexually, even if the conversations were interesting and the sex pleasurable. I always felt like something was missing, like something was lacking.

One day, I was supposed to meet a man at a bar downtown but he never showed up, so I waited for half an hour. As I was leaving the bar, I saw a small pamphlet, among others, all kept in a wooden box with a sign that read, "Free. Take 1." So, I picked one up and put it in my pants pocket. I thought about going home after the failed date, but instead, I bought a black coffee from the street and sat on a bench. When I sat down, the pamphlet crumpled in my pocket, so I took it out and started flipping through it. It was advertising for different places for homosexuals, many clearly focused on sexual encounters. I was aware of the existence of these places, saunas, internet cabins with glory holes, porn theaters, shared porn video rooms, but I had never been interested in exploring them; I always thought that to have a sexual encounter, you must first feel a certain empathy towards the person, and that can only be achieved through conversation and getting to know them. I had never been interested in those places, but the advertisement for a porn theater located a few blocks away caught my attention. The ad showed a naked man on his knees, dirty from what seemed to be automotive grease, with his face smeared with what seemed to be semen, and around him were the legs of at least 6 men. The entire scene, consciously in my brain, was despicable, a man allowing others to humiliate and degrade him in that way was repulsive to me, yet at the same time, my penis started to fill with blood, and I suddenly felt curious about that place. Without much thought, I noted the address and headed there. Initially, I wasn't thinking about anything, but as I was one block away, I started to feel nervous, which I considered completely normal for a first time visiting a place for sexual encounters. As I approached the entrance door, I began to get more and more excited and nervous, but I kept walking. I remembered the image of that dirty man, covered in semen, lying on the floor, and I got very excited thinking about what he must have been feeling at the moment of receiving all that male sperm, and above all, what must have been going through his mind. Suddenly, I got even more excited by a thought that came unexpectedly but absolutely forcefully. He must have been feeling happy for having served all those men around him; he must have thought that he was of great use to those men around him, he must have felt satisfied especially because he satisfied all of them before himself. I thought, and I don't know where this thought came from, but thinking it excited me like never before, and I had to adjust my growing penis in my pants and felt a shiver run through my whole body, making my neck bones crack and stretching my arms as one does when waking up; I thought that the man must have been feeling happy and satisfied because he was at the service of those men, because the reason for his existence is to sexually serve men for their pleasure, theirs, always, mainly their pleasure, and that only by concentrating and focusing on the pleasure of those using him could he attain his own, meaning that his true pleasure wasn't possible unless he had been used before, his own pleasure was not possible if he wasn't humiliated for the enjoyment of others, his pleasure was not possible unless his dignity was mocked and denied by others. And then, I rang the bell.