HAVANA TIMES — Have any of you ever been addicted to anything? I have. One of my addictions, I confess, is masturbation. Though it’s a bit embarrassing to write about this, I’ll give it a shot. It will be my modest way of helping demystify this rather tenacious taboo.
I was something of a late bloomer in this department, a late but energetic bloomer, to be sure. I had the good fortune of finding magnificent teachers, of whom I’d become a very applied disciple. During my days in Cuba’s military service, another recruit, a friend who is no longer among the living, showed me the way from technique to art.
Listening to his colorful descriptions, I learned to maximize the pleasures and benefits that jerking off can afford one, if done right. The secret he taught me, basically, was to stroke the monkey with gentleness, to fantasize, dick in hand, without rushing the moment of ejaculation.
Thanks to Frank, I was able to say goodbye to the fast-and-furious technique of my teenage years. And what new thrills did I discover! Now, I could beat off for the entire duration of my shift, while on sentry duty, guarding munitions up on a hill. It was a great way of staying awake and keeping my spirits up, in spite of the exhaustion, the hunger, the mosquitos and the sheer exasperation over having to be there.
It would be years before I’d receive my second, great lesson in masturbation (which is, really, simply an extension of the first), afforded me by a number of mystics who are followers of Castaneda and the teachings of Don Juan.
These friends of mine, followers of Castaneda, practice an ancestral (or nearly ancestral) technique which consists in choking the bishop for an indefinite span of time. This way, they are able to remain in the divine psychic state which precedes ejaculation, without climaxing.
The aim is to achieve an elevated state of consciousness and garner wisdom, and, in the process, avoid the depletion of vital energy and the melancholy that often follows the emission of seminal fluid. Sounds like it’s worth a try, doesn’t it?
Well, I tried it again and again, suffering terrible pains in my balls, until I got the hang of it. Or was it the other way around?
I am still waiting to experience the elevated state of consciousness and flashes of wisdom, but that’s alright. With or without these things, the teachings of the mystics have proven very valuable and I am grateful to them.
Today, I can spend entire days pleasuring myself, an activity which, incidentally, is a formidable cardiovascular exercise and a way of managing one’s mood and state of mind without parallel.
Some people drink coffee, take Valium or chew on coca leaves. Flogging the log in the privacy of my own room, however, is all I need to obtain those and even better results.
The downside is that, what started out as a means to an end became an end in itself. That wouldn’t be half-bad, if you could manage to keep your precious vital energy from spilling out of the tip of your penis. Was it? Sometimes, I think it was.
The many times I tried to tame this beast, I ended up even more hooked than I was before. It was only in my thirties that I was able to shepherd the creature to calmer meadows, so to speak.
Not because my will is now stronger, no, but because, at the threshold of my forties, my hormones aren’t as vigorous as they once were – and thank God for that. One shouldn’t, however, give up the habit entirely, but rather prevent it from taking control of one’s life.
So, if you, my dear reader, have an addiction as exquisite as this one, enjoy it as long as your health allows.
I will write of my other addictions – those vices of which I am still a plaything – in upcoming posts, so don’t miss them.