Sunrise
It is sunrise. It’s your last morning here and I wake up knowing what to do. My morning dream voice has said softly, masturbate vocally. I slip out of bed and strip. I undress and sit at the edge my bed, facing into the mirror on the back of my bedroom door; the door is partly open.
You are in my guest room, which is also my ritual room. Vocally means means embrace shamelessness, which means gradually guiding myself through embarrassment each time I touch sound. It’s always there, at least a little, and I indulge it consciously and remind myself what you may be feeling. I am summoning you so I allow myself to feel and smell each wisp of sublime emotion.
You’ve been staying in the ritual room for a few days and I suspect you’re figuring out who you are. In the corner facing the bed is the True Mirror. It’s both inviting and terrifying and you have, I suspect, glanced in it briefly. It vibrates with delicate self-honesty that I know evokes your vulnerability.
On top of the mirror is another mirror, a real curiosity. You’ve read many of my stories and you know what this is about, though now you can feel it in a different way. The essence of the mirror is deeply erotic disgust. In Japanese tantra, this is considered an essential emotion, described as Yorokobi ken’o, or delight-disgust. Another is Kaihō o motarasu ken’o-kan, liberating disgust.
It’s not the mirror but the fact that it’s left where anyone can see it, complete with its ejaculatory spurts and tongue streaks and collections of dried semen, in layers and crusts, dusty, repulsive, enticing in a way that you don’t understand. Semen belongs in your body. You have taken on quarts of the stuff over the decades.
This is an odd inversion, a cum platter that you know I’ve licked myself from hundreds of times.
You recognize it from photos of my Brussels studio, where it’s appeared in photos of Iris, the celibacy goddess. The feeling that suddenly soaks through you as you experience the sight of it, laying from your bed, is how it represents my nearly 20 year journey of surrendering yoni. How did I feel at the beginning, photographing Iris, slowly accepting and understanding what she represents? How does it feel today, as I have allowed myself to stretch and embrace myself within my own inner cosmos?
Half in a dream, gazing up into the corner of the room, you allow yourself to wonder how this must feel to me when you hear me grunt, and then moan. You know I’m mirror masturbating and you know you’re being summoned to finally have the experience of direct witness or Mokugeki-sha. This is your option, your choice, your necessity to honor. You know I understand that I offer my pleasure to the dissolution of your shame, your reticence, your struggle to accept yourself. I’m going to show you what it’s like, as so many women have done for me.
It takes all of your courage to get you out of bed and walking toward the origin of the sound and the feeling. Fortunately, you feel compelled, in away, attracted too powerfully to resist; and you know this might be your only opportunity. You glance up at the celbiacy mirror one lat time, moved by the courage that it must take to leave this for anyone to see and consider.
When I hear you outside my door, I say come in. You do; I ask you to close the door so that I’m facing into the full length mirror. On the wall is Iris, gazing over the scene, presiding over my self-celibacy for nearly two decades.
My penis is half-erect, half-limp, twitching a little. I have next to me a seashell that you know has become my cum mirror. The first thing I do in your presence is pick it up and smell my dried semen looking into my eyes. I cover my mouth and nose with the dried shell. You’ve seen this object on my night desk, where I sometimes leave it. It’s crusted with millimeters thick accumulation of semen. Another astonishing object to allow another human being to see.
Today I am doing my self-celibate ritual for you; to help you melt past your inner resistance to your self-acceptance. You know that in the past, you’ve used your desirability as a kind of ruse for your affirmation. As long as someone wants you, you’re potentially beautiful and maybe interesting. Now, you don’t know. That is the source of your anger. I am here to offer the mirrorlike wisdom that transmutes rage. Its color is blue, its nature is water…
It helps to have motivation to get past your resistance. What I know to embody for you is my unquenchable self thirst — Jiko no katsubō. Emerging from my dream, I felt in my flesh that this would be the primary feeling to embody: to sow how I accept myself in a state of Jiko no katsubō.
I know to be explicit. I milk my semisoft penis from base to tip several times, collecting thin, clear liquid on my fingers. I study the clear drop, I smell myself for an unbearably long time, and then…I taste. With that gesture, I know I want to reveal to you the emotional truth of my desperation and my thirst for yoni water. I’m going to allow you to see and feel how I accept myself in a state of deep need and craving for what I know I cannot have.
I squeeze out another drop of my clear liquid. I must take this slowly, so you have time to experience your feelings. I also know that you will be carrying this scene with you in your imagination, and so I know to make myself explicit. On the floor is a black dildo and a little silver cup. I get them. I want to fuck myself but more, I want you to see me want to do so, and to accept myself as I do. Selfthirst is self love,
I lube the dildo and soak my ass in oil and then holding the dildo on the edge of the bed, I sit down on it. I want to show you my face as I am stretched from inside, and I do, and release a deep groan looking into my eyes. With this, I burst sublimely into a state of androgyny.
Seitekina koto e no shinji gata-sa
I sit down firmly into myself, and wiggle on my self penetration, my inner cosmos opening. I am going to milk myself more…to stretch this part out…milk out a drop, sniff the drop slowly, taste a drop of myself. I see you glance up at Iris and I feel you now understand why she is here; what she facilitates.
I pick up my cumshell again and now I scrape its interior with my teeth. This is almost more than you can stand, but I do it. I’m giving myself a little chunk of my ancient dry cum to suck on. Seieki no katamari. I drop into total bliss being witnessed doing this. You start to feel your part in enhancing my pleasure, which becomes your pleasure. I am here to melt into myself for you, and you may facilitate that. Sōgo yūkai — mutual melting. Only I really know what I’m feeling, though I can convey that sensation through my aura, my face, my breath and my voice.
Finally I speak to myself, uttering the truest words I can reach: I’m a mirror masturbator.
I milk my semi-flaccid penis yet again. Then I feel and enter my embarrassment: after years without yoni, smelling or licking or soaking, this is hard as my penis gets. I say out loud,
I’m a mirror masturbator,
Here is what I’m feeling without saying:
My penis no longer gets fully erect when I think of or desire women. As much as I delight in the feminine and I so so so do. My penis gets fully erect to the sound of male orgasm, to the thought and desire of drinking their semen, or allowing them to witness my release. My body understands what is happening better than I do. This is death. This is rebirth. I understand that I must sacrifice the deep fulfillment of drinking my own semen and allow other men to fulfill their thirst upon me. I accept that they control when my thirst is fulfilled.
My cock is now hard and horny.
I point to a mirror, another one spattered and smeared — even the handle — and ask you to hold it to my face. You pick it up and kneel down in front of me and show my my cum streaks and my facial expression.
We’re going to enter this now; you are coming with me as the Thresholder, as the facilitator of my self-acceptance and my arrival somewhere I did not expect to go. I say it out loud to myself, into the mirror that you’re holding for me.
I am thirsting for the semen of other men.
“Do it.”
My cock is stiff and aching. This is my true admission. I pick up my shell and smell my mix of fresh and ancient cum, delighting in the space beyond shameless. In desperation for the semen of other men, I scape more dry cum out of my shell and suck it slowly into my body as it melts, swallowing consciously. I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling but I know it’s a lot and you’re not resisting.
Right now I’m a mirror celibate self semen drinker.
“Yes you are.”
Then it’s all happening, I have nothing in myself to cling to. My body melts into one purpose, which is to pulse in the rhythm of the universe. I throb out my deep private orgasm into the nearest object, which is my left hand, glancing at my face in the mirror you’re holding faithfully…daring just a look as I grunt and moanout, I glimpse into my own eyes and then I can’t stand it…with each throb of my body my voice calls out…as a large gob of my semen pools.
Then I am suddenly disgusted, which slows me down. I muster the courage to smell myself. I am feeling no thirst whatsoever…I am repulsed…my sent is fresh and grassy like a forest. I find my thirst in my disgust. I find my self love in my self disgust. I kiss my palm and suck and fill my mouth to my amazement in front of you. I open my eyes and face the mirror and drop my tongue and see that it’s soaked in white milky cum. I hold my semen in my mouth before swallowing looking at my face.
I look at you. Your expression is so soft and accepting. We hold this space in the morning light and then the ritual dissipates. You put down my mirror and step into your room. I know you’re going to masturbate, maybe even into the mirror.
I go downstairs and make breakfast for us naked, not wanting you to ever see me dressed again.
