Solstice Eve (a year and a day)
An Initiation and self-handfasting ceremony
“DOES ANYONE HAVE THE CUM CUP?” one of the mistresses asks.
“Ask Mistress Nina,” someone says, and she appears out of the shadows and declares, “We’re not having one tonight.” Then she explains, “We usually have one cup for all the semen, but not tonight.”
“What if I want to smell it?” I ask timidly. Nina does not hear me.
Another woman does. “Someone wants to smell fresh semen, not his own?” she says audibly to everyone.
“Then we’ll do it,” says Nina authoritatively.
“Oh, whatever, not tonight,” and that’s the end of the matter. With no idea why she changed her mind, I imagine how I would feel smelling a cup of cum in front of the men who had just produced it.
The setting is The Great Stage. Not Radio City but a converted office space on the fourth floor above a Dunkin’ Donuts and a burger joint called “Brgr” in Chelsea on Manhattan’s west side. It’s a private swing club called Decadence. It’s mostly one large room, painted black, black rug, black curtains on windows that never see light. There are black couches that can be configured many ways. Okay, it’s more of a theater box, with the ability to have the set struck and recreated in a whole other mood on another night.
There are many kinds of parties and events held here. Tonight’s night is Fem Dom, or female dominant. It’s conducted in a CFNM space — clothed female, nude male.
I sit on my couch at the edge of the room, with a mirror in my lap spattered with my old cum — years of it, put on and licked back, leaving a foggy residue with tongue streaks. There are a few spatters and spurts of more recent experiences. The setting is a private New York City swing club.
The men are nude and the women are dressed impeccably, in high-fashion dominant wear, stunning heels, black leather or patent, hair and faces to match — all designed to make a man feel his need, his ache, his lust and yet feel unworthy of the attention of these women...yet there they are.
Various scenes unfold as I sit naked displaying my cum mirrors. Many are coupled off, with a dominant supervising each of the men. There are some small groups too. I’ve decided that in this space, I can just be free. I’m going to sit here with my mirror in my hands, licking, looking or displaying it, and if someone comes up to me, or says something to me, I will respond and answer any question.
My mind is unraveling into the possibilities. I am feeling deliciously vulnerable and wanting more. The scene is contained and dreamlike, we’re in the room behind the bookcase, melting at the edges with no reality outside. I know it’s safe to let myself out, to project my thoughts and energy into the room.
My plan is an initiation ritual — into a kind of self-handfasting for a year and a day. For the past 10 years or so, I’ve experimented with intentional celibacy, first for six-week intervals, then for a season, then for two seasons…and it was time to try a full year. And so I was here to create a ritual to establish this, on the eve of winter solstice.
THE WOMEN FLOATING AROUND the space are so beautiful it’s at once agonizing and delightful to be so naked in their presence. I am swimming in the sensation of nothing to hide. I look into the mirror, lick it sometimes, and acknowledge to myself what I’m doing.
Noticing, I moan more deeply into contact with the feeling of being invisible, inconsequential and ignored. I have no choice, and I relax into this. Every now and then one of the women strolls up to me, has a look at what I’m doing and walks off.
Then a woman walks up to me. She’s softer than the other women in the space, her face empathetic and gentle. She sits down beside me for the first of three conversations that we will have. I slowly open up to her about what I’m doing. Then I say I need to fuck myself. May I?
Her eyes open wide and she nods yes. I reach into my bag and produce a ling, slim dildo. I begin to lube it when she interrupts me.
“Are you sure you don’t want something larger?” she asks.
“This is good for now,” I say, lubing my ass, getting ready to straddle it.
“Do you need to look at your face as you do that?” she asks, as if she knows. What a delightful thing to intuit or understand.
“Yes, that’s one of my promises to myself, to always watch my face when I’m first penetrated.”
Accommodating, she holds up the mirror in front of my eyes so I can watch my response as I drop onto a large purple peg, the remnant of a long-gone strap-on set. I slip in and then press down into the couch, which is covered with a bright yellow Ikea towel I’ve brought with me. I press down and rock gently. My hands are coated with coconut oil that I’ve just applied to everything.
“Good. Now, make sure that towel stays in place,” she says. “Don’t make a mess.” She hands me back my mirror, smiles and walks to the next scene that gets her interest, her hips swaying and my mouth thirsty for her, craving a taste of her gentleness, a sip, a touch of her scent.
Our brief exchange has set me a little more free. I survey the room, and take in the goings-on. All the way across the room, a woman in a long black dress is seated on the couch next to a nude man. They speak gently as he masturbates himself. I gaze endlessly in their direction, melting into a deeper phase of my selflovemaking. It’s as if I’m peering into someone else’s dream unnoticed.
One of the dommes, seated a few meters across the room to my right, converses with a naked man. She’s tall and wearing high boots, sheer black stockings and a red bodice. Her straight black hair swings below her waist. I am crushed by her beauty, adoring, longing, unworthy. Naked, I masturbate to her explicitly.
Then she stands, and towers over him, and leans in, emphasizing her gorgeous hips and ass, which seem to thrust in my direction. He grasps her breasts and is allowed, for a moment, to caress them. As he does, his cock springs to attention. I am studying her ass, aching to smell her cunt from behind, masturbating with my legs splayed open and my mirrors on full display.
She sits back down. I watch as she massages his now stiff, long cock and a stream of bliss caresses his face. I consider her gesture of pleasuring him, so conscious of his exquisite feelings. She seems intent on bringing him to orgasm. I yearn for that contact, that attention, for what they are sharing. Then my throat opens to speak.
“I’m a mirror masturbator,” I moan into my reflection, and then lick the glass.
She hears me.
“You’re a pathetic mirror masturbator,” she says, turning toward me, seeing what I’m doing. I pause, terrified to respond. In this space, one must take such abuse; and humiliation is essential to the experience.
“I’m a pathetic mirror masturbator,” I say to her, surprised by the surge of unworldly bliss that vibrates my voice.
“Yes you are. Pathetic,” and she laughs as I lick my dry cum again.
“Keep to your mirror,” her naked male submissive orders, obviously irritated. I’m being put in my place — buy a sub. I take it.
“I lick my old semen off of my mirror,” I say, daring to peer at my own eyes for a moment doing so.
“Congratulations,” she says drawn out and dryly, her eyes gazing languidly from behind her swaying bangs.
I watch her clasp his cock and massage him, and I see her legs tucked under one another, and feeling the sweep of her hips I ache for her absolutely. I imagine her repulsion and know she would never fuck me. That recognition comes with a surge of longing, followed by hot, searing relief.
“Maybe the reason women don’t fuck me is I’m a mirror masturbator, and I lick my old cum.”
“Ya think?” she says.
I dive into being entirely unacceptable to her, or to anyone, and swim into the relaxed freedom of release. I arch my back and thrust in pulses against the dildo deep in me, feeling my interior relax and open up into the penetration and the emotional surrender of our conversation.
I have ached to be noticed and am now showing myself, and she’s disgusted. Or feigning disgust. Her erotic desire is male submission. She has me. Lacking her approval, I try to slip into the freedom of not needing approval, or pretending not to.
Even her disdain comes with acknowledgement and a warm hint of love and the necessity of my self-acceptance. Of knowing that I give my own approval and, left to the privacy of my inner space, I offer myself loving gratitude, vocalizing and so delighted to be on full display.
I PAUSE. I REST. I breathe deeply and draw my legs into half lotus and sit up and tip my head back and breathe. My mirrors are in my lap, stacked on one another, streaked and patterned with the past.
As I drop into myself, a voice above me says, “What are you doing? Tell me about this.”
I look up at a sweet face smiling at me. One of the dommes, though a touch hippyish and ever so sweet. I am with Earth Girl.
“I’m a mirror masturbator,” I say to her, soaking in the directness of the statement.
“I see,” she says politely, looking around at me and my accessories.
“Tell me more. What do you do, as in what’s your job?”
I was not expecting that question. It seemed out of place till I remember she’s a domme and can ask anything she wants.
“I’m an astrologer,” I say.
“It’s almost solstice,” she replies.
“I’m here for a ritual.”
“I see,” she says smiling. “Now’s a good time for that.”
I am overjoyed that she has some pagan sensibilities about her. Gazing into her face, she flashes into an earth-nymph, a touch elvish, curious, mischievous, and free.
I know she has asked me about my mirrors, in saying “tell me about this.” I decide to tell.
“Here’s the story of my mirrors,” I say to her face, and then look down. “I lick my cum off of these mirrors.” I pause to feel the words. “Sometimes I orgasm wanting to drink myself, and then I don’t want myself once I have my semen. I would leave it here on these mirrors until I’m horny again and then I lick. I began and it became a cycle.”
I’m panting the words, glancing at myself, and then at her, unable to keep eye contact for long. Her face is studying me sweetly.
“You don’t wash the mirrors.”
“Correct,” I say, “except with my tongue.” I feel shy for a moment and then say, “What goes onto the mirror comes back into my body.”
“You are the cycle of life,” she says to me, her voice pure love.
Then she gestures with her hand from my stretched-full cock, to the mirror’s surface, to my mouth and around again.
“Thank you,” and I say, and then, “I love you,” slips out of my mouth. She smiles, touches my cheek and says, “See you later. Have fun.”
She walks across the room to confer with a couple.
IN THE WAKE OF HER PRESENCE, I lick my mirror hungrily. To my right I notice a man sitting one couch away. He is looking straight ahead and barely moving. He’s not nude; he’s wearing just his unbuttoned shirt. His mute face morphs between agonized and expressionless, wishing he could participate in some way.
I speak up, moaning first. I love to be heard moaning.
“Look at what I’m doing. This is what I do,” I said in heavy breaths, almost singing my words out, delighting in my exposure. He looks at me uneasily, then looks ahead again, and says, “I see.”
Then I was looking at a familiar face.
“You’re still doing this?” It was Mistress Nina. “Come right now.” She was ordering me to ejaculate. I was not ready.
“Show me,” she demands, “do it.” She is obviously unaccustomed to being refused, and I assume most men could not.
“Please,” I plead with her. “I need to build my energy.”
“Do it now!” she says.
I just groan, begging for mercy. I know she cannot force me. I know I’m making my own choices. “Whatever,” she says, and walks away.
Suddenly I am thirsty. My mouth is parched. I need moisture. I want vulva water or a gulp of my semen though neither is available now. My mouth is dry from licking my dried cum. I am naked, and not allowed out into the area with the water cooler.
I get the attention of one of the dommes. I am reluctant to ask because we’re all their servants, but I speak up.
She then says, “Is there a slave available to get this person a drink of water?” A few moments later, someone hands me a cup and I drink in little sips, leaving some at the bottom of the cup. I set it on the floor next to me.
I lick my mirror again, and the moisture of my mouth is now enhancing my delight. Then I get the idea to spill water on my mirror, to dissolve smeared or crusted semen. I spill a little on and start mixing up the mud, and then eagerly dare to publicly slurp this mixture into my mouth, washing the glass with my tongue.
Mistress Nina strides by, leering down at me for a moment. “You are crazy,” she says. “But I love that about you.”
Then as I lick my mud, a scene manifests. Two women escort a man to the open space in front of my couch. He drops to his knees. Both women hold spatula-like devices, on long handles and with a rather small head made of leather — a tool used to smack the testicles.
I watch, as I masturbate, this dark young man kneeling in profile to me. He becomes more relaxed and pliable as they do this to him, as they smack his balls, taking turns, as he grunts. His cock is springing out and is being intentionally neglected.
One of the dommes who is supervising this, dark and with dreadlocks, asks him if he’s ready to masturbate. As I hear the words, it’s astonishing to experience the directness of this language and of the transaction.
He says yes, struggling to contain his emotion. I can tell he is desperate. The other madam drops to one knee and holds out a napkin for him, into which he masturbates unceremoniously, snickering in little gulps of pleasure as he expends his passion. I want to beg to smell his semen, and making a sound I am met with a hostile glance by the dark, dreaded woman. I am later punished for this transgression.
I CONSIDER FOR A MOMENT how I want to climax. Looking around at both men and women: maybe with only men, or one man, present. Ask the women to step out. They would understand. Then I ask my heart what in truth I want, and it’s a woman to hold my mirror. I want her there, in part, to long for if I need to, and because I crave her approval. In a sublime understanding with myself, I crave isolating myself from all female sexual attention, for some time. The thought terrifies me and is delightful at the same time.
I AM NOW SEATED, straddling a big black pillow with my ass fucked in the middle of the room, on the floor.
I’ve moved here in preparation for the forthcoming drama of my orgasm and self-acceptance ritual. I know I don’t want to hide this. I want to be where I will get attention.
The proceedings have settled down to couples on scattered couches. The room is quiet. I love to masturbate into the presence couples in any form. With their attention focused on one another, I delight at once in my solitude and their presence. They’re not noticing me or not acknowledging me, I got the feeling, they are not interested.
This reminds me that all the women I love who share themselves freely don’t need to notice me. Their love and passion don’t depend on me. When she’s in the depth of surrender with her lover, not a trace of me exists to her, or so I imagine. I relax into the understanding that I don’t need to be noticed. This helps me lavish attention onto myself. I have nothing to hide and nobody to hide from. It’s all just me and the sound of my voice and my mouth, pasty with old semen, my scent lingering in the air and in my senses.
I am now so delightfully ashamed of myself, swimming in embarrassment, so grateful to relax into my psyche.
Earth girl is seated on a couch as a man kneels in front of her. She glances in my direction, sees me splayed there, and smiles at me so warmly I feel her in my heart.
Then she turns her attention to the man she’s with. They are negotiating, out loud, whether and how he will masturbate onto her feet, which he’s been caressing and kissing for a while. Finally she gives him permission to orgasm and ejaculate onto her bare feet and legs. Sitting, she raises her feet to the level of his penis as he jacks himself, and he grunts and submits himself to her blessing and the pleasure of her presence.
After indulging in witnessing this, suppressing my moans so as not to distract them from one another, or subject myself to further punishment for interrupting, I fuck myself into my smeared and streaked reflection, watching my face as I bounce on my dildo and grunt.
I masturbate eagerly and explicitly and thank myself for giving myself this. I glance over and the man who had just spent himself onto Earth Girl’s feet, and he’s delicately wiping up his little mess with a handkerchief. When he’s done, she rises and walks over to another scene.
However, they don’t need her: they want to be one on one, and as she walks past me I ask if she’ll be with me for a moment. She turns attentively and says yes, kneeling beside me. I am seated, with my ass pressed into the floor, penetrated by a flat-bottom silicone cock.
“This is a self-marriage ritual,” I say to her, in our third conversation of the evening. “I am handfasting myself.”
“I see,” she says. “I think that’s beautiful.”
She knows from earlier that I’m here for a solstice ritual; now I give her the details. She also knows that I’ve been weaning myself off cunt for years with the use of my spattered mirrors, as I’m doing right now.
With that, she takes my larger oval mirror from my hand and holds it to my face. “This is the one you should make love to yourself into,” she says matter of factly.
Her expression is gentle and almost neutral; she’s listening — when I glance at her she’s making eye contact with me. I know that I need to take this moment to coax myself as deeply into the mirror as I can go. There will be no better time, and we are cloaked in the dark of solstice in the deep of night.
I DON’T DARE glance around the room. I know that Mistress Nina, who was ordering me to orgasm for her and whom I disobeyed, is sitting nearby. Now I’m going to do it, against her wishes, in my own time.
“Would you please say something to me?”
“Of course,” Earth Girl responds.
“Tell me, ‘you’re a mirror masturbator’.”
“Yes. I’m watching you right now. You are a mirror masturbator. That’s what you are.”
Indeed I am.
“I’m a mirror masturbator. I need to do this.”
“Yes you do. You need to do this, and you want to, and I’m here as your witness.”
As we speak the truth she holds my mirror to my face.
“Look, Eric.”
I say to me, “I love you for doing this.”
It’s obvious to anyone who sees it in this context that it’s a glass cum sock. In my hand is another one, smaller, rounder and very messy, which will be a cum platter in a few moments. I raise it to my mouth, and in the mirror she’s holding to me, view myself lick off more of my old semen, which is now melting rapidly and flavoring my soul with delight. I’m taking back many ejaculations in just an hour or two…and right now.
“I want to surrender cunt. I want to only mirror masturbate for some time, a year and a day.” I moan deeply and hear the love in my own voice. So does she.
“It’s time to ejaculate,” she says gently, loving in a way that is so delicately mother-sister. My heart is pacing thickly.
“Is it time?”
“Yes it is. You need to let go.”
I know she’s right. While I can, I state: “I thirst for my semen.”
And I pause and listen to myself and I breathe, listening for the echo.
“I thirst for myself, for my semen,” I say this time louder and more openly, wanting to be heard, wanting Mistress Nina to know my pent up secret. Wanting the men around me to know. Wanting everyone and their lover to.
Then with the feeling of these words, my chest vibrating with deep sound, I say, “My self thirst is my self love. My self thirst is my self love. I thirst for me. I love me.”
I glance at Earth Girl and see that she’s nodding with the hint of a smile in her eyes. I look back into my face and feel myself avoiding my own eyes. I want hers and I reach into mine, where I need to let go.
Now I bring it out.
“I want to get underneath my anger and my grief,” I say to myself as she hears me, needing her to be there. “Mirror celibacy will help. I’m a mirror masturbator.”
Then I hear her voice.
“Yes, you’re a mirror masturbator. This is your healing space. Let yourself heal.”
I am so naked. I am suddenly obsessed with the desire to smell her vulva. I say so, pleadingly.
“It’s time for you to give up the vagina for a while,” she says gently. “You’re ready.”
Our words linger in the utter silence of the space as I reach my inner region of imminence. I seem to sway here, delightingly extendedless freeform lingering at my delicate brink of climax. I am floating here weightless.
I can feel her sublime understanding infuse my psychic sphere as I relax into all existence, and my body and the room pulse, as I watch my ecstasy yawn across my face, in a wave and then another as I throb and throb glancing at my eyes pulse…
…as she kneels directly in front of me holding up my reflection.
Within myself, as I gaze, I hear the silent voice: You may smell cunt for one last season though it may be easier not to.
And then: It’s OK, you can relax.
Then I cry out as my whole being pumps light and sound and semen from my core. I want desperately to say my own name right then but cannot bring myself to. The gift to myself is granting my need to be seen here, to be seen offering myself this, again and forever. I want to be seen repulsed by myself. Then receive. That’s what I want to show.
With my orgasm pulsing out ripples from where it just was, I glance down at the pool of my semen on the smaller, round mirror between my knees. I know what I want. I raise my mirror up to my face and lean in and delight in openly smelling my fresh seed.
I wish I could do this longer but it’s so daring I lose my courage. But for a moment I show myself smelling my cum. The room is utterly silent and I am swirling at its center.
I dive in and drag my tongue across the pool of myself, and again and again, four deep licks and I’m all gathered in my mouth. Then I do something I’ve ached to do, which is to display my full mouth into my mirror as others witness. In this I am utterly alone with myself.
Some of my cum drools out of my mouth onto the mirror and in a single gesture of desire and disbelief, I lick my spilled semen back into my mouth. Easy, natural and then I display myself to myself again, I turn toward her and display my tongue to her delicate eyes, loving myself for doing so. I don’t deny myself this.
She nods and smiles…
Then I have to do this but do not know that I can. I summon my willingness and open my mouth and drop my tongue as I witness with my own eyes. I am now totally alone. I spill my cum onto my cunt mirror and lick myself back.
Then I look up at the glass she’s still holding, and lean in and watch my eyes and my mouth and my face swallow and gulp and I freely smile with my wet mouth and face. “I love you for doing this,” I say into my eyes.
I love you for doing this.
I love you for doing this.
I turn to her, “Thank you so much, so so good, ohhh…” and I moan.
She whispers, “Thank you.”
with acknowledgement and a warm hint of love