The Erotic Drum Circle
At the Wet Spot in Seattle
At the Wet Spot, a kind of sex co-op in Seattle, somebody once decided to hold an ‘erotic drum circle’. I lived on Vashon Island. That was a 15-minute ferry ride, plus getting to the ferry terminal in West Seattle, and time spent waiting. On a Sunday night, due to an oddity in the way the schedule was printed, it was easy to miss the last boat going back.
This fellow Paul had reserved the club on an off-night, a winter Sunday at about 7 pm, got his event onto the calendar, and when the time came, he backed up his van to the entrance and unloaded a bunch of different kinds of hand drums and other percussion instruments. The event was set in a room off to the side of the main areas of the club, which seemed eerily deserted.
Paul only planned for the drumming part; there were no plans for the erotic part, but since it was going to be at the Wet Spot, I assumed he figured that something could manifest on its own. And that’s basically what happened.
Seats were pulled into a circle. Drums were passed around, and the rhythm began.
I started by joining the group drumming. So far there was no ‘erotic’ part of the event. This was the mystery that everyone was wondering about. What was going to happen? Then a few minutes later, I recognized that I had my chance to fulfill a fantasy of doing myself surrounded by drummers.
So, I left the circle for a little while, and went to one of the sex rooms. This particular room had about five double beds where, on other nights, people would have couple-sex in one another’s presence. It was like being in my parents’ bedroom because usually single people were not allowed into this space. I had seen it once when all the beds, only about 24 inches apart, were filled with people having sex but who were not supposed to pay attention to one another. (The place had some strange rules.)
There, with the drum rhythms entering the room and calling me back out, I stripped down to my long undies, a bandanna tied over my hair, and some light colored sunglasses. Fro my bag I got a little bowl of lube and a certain penetration toy that I use; and from the supply area in the sex room, a large white towel. I came back, spread the towel in the middle of the circle, and sat down among everyone.
I knew what I wanted to do; what opportunity I had: to seduce myself and masturbate explicitly in the midst of perhaps 15 drummers, men and women who were weaving a pattern of rhythms. I suspected I would be the only one to undress. I knew something sexual was the purpose of the gathering, and I let this be about me.
So I went one step at a time. I removed my bottoms and experienced being seen. Then I coated my penetration toy with lube, I slowly massaged some into my ass, making sure it was really obvious what I was doing.
I penetrated my ass.
Bu what I really wanted was to drink my cum in front of them all. Penetration draws me deeper into myself and makes the notion of drinking my semen more urgent and more beautiful. I connect with my desire to drink myself in an honest way, coexisting with the shame of doing so — the shame of self-emasculation, which I don’t know if anyone can understand this. I drink my semen, but I think more than I like it, I want to be known in the space of needing to do so — right there, not as an abstract concept but as reality. What my heart craves is to put my self thirst on display.
As the rhythm picks up, I am more turned on. I am massaging my prostate with my selfucking, reaching into my deep interior female. I ring with the spheres of my future orgasm and relax toward gradual surrender, showing everyone what I do.
I fucked my ass a lot in that evening; and I showed people, openly and vividly. I did it laying on my back as the drumming intensified. The more concentrated the rhythm, the more bold I became. I knelt up with my erection clearly visible, massaging my cock, and when I got really brave and fucked myself standing up as the drums played. I turned faced different people and made eye contact with them.
There were men and women. They ranged from a seductive young lady in her mid-20s, from Germany — a sexy creature with short blonde hair; to an older man of about 60 whom I took especial pleasure in revealing my pleasure. There was an older woman with magnificent, long gray hair. There were a few young men, drumming with hot rhythms. I made eye contact with everyone and let myself melt into each.
I surrendered to being seen and moreover known, it felt so good. I moved to pleasuring my cock. I was hard and long and I even moaned as I stroked myself, daring even to moan while making eye contact at the same time.
It was one of those situations where I thought, well, I am here; I am going to go for it. I removed my bandanna and glasses to be more open, and then my shirt, and I was completely naked among all those dozen people watching.
Here, I experienced some of my most exquisite pleasure, psychic and physical. This went on for an hour. Then the drumming started to wind down.
Then there was a halftime break, featuring Coke and Doritos, during which I disappeared into a different room, another room designed for sexual encounters, and there was a very wide, floor-length mirror. I sat in front of it and, looking at my face, exploring the feelings of my body and soul. The doorway was near the bathroom, so people could come by and…
I cannot tell you how good it felt to just sit there and masturbate into my face absolutely out in the open. People could watch, they could ignore me, I could just make myself feel good and have the emotional satisfaction of doing so.
The circle began to reform. The rhythm began again. Then I walked, with my hard-on sticking out, back to the inside of the group, where I sat down in front of the woman with long gray hair and asked her if I could talk to her for a while. She said yes. Symbolically I could feel where this was a ritual of masturbating in front of my mother. She sat next to an older man, and he gave the sensation of masturbating in front of my father.
The drumming picked up in intensity.
I asked her about what she was experiencing and she asked me the same thing and then I was masturbating to her, sitting at her feet, looking into her eyes. Such compassionate eyes. I have long yearned for that depth of contact, that look in her eyes. I rode the edge of climax in a death defying way. I moaned and moaned directly into her face. She reflected me with what felt like pure empathy and resonance.
I turned toward everyone and faced them, one at a time as they drummed, and made love to myself openly. It felt different with everyone…as I experienced a different facet of myself. I know I was avoiding the two younger men sitting side by side…and at the same time I was drawn to reveal myself…
As the second part went forward, I began to think about the ways I might want to climax. I fucked my hand and fucked my ass with the other hand, sometimes looking into the sweet, fresh face of a young blonde girl whose blouse draped over her breasts. There was a man I was sure was straight to whom I revealed my pleasure intimately, probing myself and moaning into his eyes.
I thought of the possibilities. Here is the climax I wanted. I would kneel up, fucked, and stroke my cock that reached in front of me. And then, I would orgasm looking into the face of the person I chose. The German girl was a given, if she would look at me, though she had a way of avoiding my eyes. Then I would cum into my hand, in full view, and approach someone and kneel in front of them and raise my semen to my nose and smell it slowly.
I would take in the scent and essence of my semen in front of them.I would do this before each in turn, looking into their eyes and saying, “I love you Eric” to myself by name. I would not only admit but demonstrate this most delicate act of smelling my semen openly. Then in the moment that felt appropriate I would lick my palm. I would choose him or her to face that moment and look deeply into human eyes releasing me, pumping the small ocean I embody, wetting my face with what was left in my hands, and facing them.
I laid down in the center of the circle with my head toward the feet of some unknown souls. I was flat on the floor, eyes closed, penetrated, hands at my side, taking a moment’s rest — and then unexpectedly the ripples of energy started. A feeling I’d never had before. In a flash I recognized the sweet waves and pulses as kundilini and then submitted myself to them, floating still and tossed freely.
When I came to consciousness the room was still and silent. I was covered with cooling-off semen that I didn’t even feel myself express.
They saw me lay there and ripple and spurt on myself. I was now in a space of gentle calm, not the heightened frenzy as when I was kneeing in front of them.
I knelt up gently and scooped my semen off of my belly and licked my fingers. I could barely stand that I was doing this, but I had to; I wanted to; and I did everything I could to keep my eyes open but I could not look at anyone directly. And with this group observing attentively, kneeling naked in the midst of a bunch of dressed adults, I delicately took my cum back into my body, one little scoop at a time.
This was not in the explicit, sudden and dramatic way I had envisioned, but slowly and delicately. Every moment suspended. Nobody moved; nobody said a word. They held space for my self-communion with calm respect. Finally I wiped the residue of my semen onto my face and felt it cooling and drying off.
In the next scene, I’m in the sex room with all the beds, alone in the dark, putting myself back together. I slipped into leggings and a tee shirt and went to be with the group, who were back to Doritos and Coke. I slipped into the snack area and sat down at the table. This was if nothing had happened, but we knew something had.
There was something perfectly, delightfully uncomfortable or was sit vulnerable about doing this, though everyone was gentle and helped me feel at ease.
A few people whispered words of appreciation.
By now it was getting late. Ferry time was approaching. I got back into my outer clothes, dressed warmly for the winter night, and headed out alone for the trip across the deep, dark waters of Puget Sound.
