Posted by Ryan on September 6, 2005, 9:13 am, in reply to "Part 9: Right in front of the police—and their police didn't even care" One sunny morning I woke up, and since I had the day off, I slept in, then slowly got up, moseying around the place. I ate breakfast, and then, feeling the energy to go out for a nice long walk, I set off, not having anything in particular in mind that I was going to be doing that day. It is to be expected when you follow a Sexaholics Anonymous regimen, that sometime or another you might find yourself going through the day obsessed by sexual thoughts. It happens. Well, it was happening to me that day. As I was walking along in the bright sunlight, I found myself getting an erection for no apparent reason. Mmm, it felt good. But I was keeping in mind, ‘That’s the limit to it. If it gets hard, it’s all right, but... nothing else. No funny business now....’ I was feeling energetic, and I continued walking for quite a ways, on and on through the miles and miles of impoverished neighborhoods. I came to one where I had walked before; not a shantytown, but a lowerclass quarter. One area where I had observed that there seemed to be a large amount of public urinating that went on. I was still shaking my head about it sometimes. I was thinking to myself, ‘Would it be just so... easy... as that?’ Heck, all the men in this country did it, and everybody seemed to think it was perfectly fine. This was one of those days when I wasn’t doing so good a job at deadening my psychosexual feelings. (Well, that happens too.) I was finding myself continuing to be obsessed with the idea of how in this country—especially in neighborhoods like this—when a man is walking along somewhere where there aren’t many people around, and a pretty girl comes walking along, if he had to go, he could just brazenly unzip his pants, pull it out, turn against the wall—right in front of her—and he COULD do it in such a way that she wouldn’t miss seeing the whole schmeer—unless she made an effort to look down at the ground (which they commonly did, actually). They were very kind, gentle, polite people. As if addressing the stranger with the respectful word their language has that can only be translated into English as “sir,” every time it would happen and I watched the expressions on the girls’ faces, I would always see them with a demure, courteous look, as if they were saying, “Oh, do you have to go, sir? Here, I will look down so that you do not have to suffer shame from me seeing you,” and politely oblige him by looking down. But they didn’t always. Sometimes they just looked straight ahead... and sometimes, as I noticed, their line of vision appeared to be such that they may have been making visual contact. But it was usually hard to tell. As they walked by, they would retain their nonchalant looks as if not seeing anything. I couldn’t tell if they were or not. As I continued along on my walk, erection still firm in my pants, the thought kept occurring to me—just a thought, just a little fantasy in my mind—of what it would be like if I did it... and succeeded at getting one of those beautiful brown-skinned, black-haired girls to see the thing, which, from my observations, should be something very easy to do. Immediately I jumped into my own thoughts, saying to myself, ‘All right, that’s enough! You can stop now. Get back to normal now.’ I would keep looking at the girls as they walked by. Sometimes they would give me a friendly smile in return, sometimes they would giggle shyly when they saw me noticing them. Although I was trying to control my feelings, the thoughts kept popping up in my head and putting themselves into words, like: ‘Well, if THEIR brown-skinned, black-haired men can pull out their brown-skinned penises right in front of their brown-skinned, black-haired, exotic-eyed women... and it’s perfectly all right for them... then I could just as well pull out MY white-skinned penis in front of their brown-skinned, black-haired, exotic-eyed women, and it should be perfectly fine for me too, right?’ After all, for all these people knew, all the rest of the world was the same way about it as their country was. And just because a man was a foreigner with white skin who came from the United States, that wouldn’t be any reason, in their minds, why he couldn’t just do the same thing, if he were out taking a walk, and perchance he just had to pee somewhere, too—would it? Heck, he’d just blend right in with the scenery. How were they going to know that where I come from, a different standard of conduct is expected of people, and that it was considered my duty not to do such a thing in public? Yes, how would they ever be able to know a thing like that? Hey, when in Rome, as the saying goes, do as the Romans do (and from what I gathered from my later studies, it appears the Romans—as was the case with most ancient cultures, as well as many modern ones—used to pee in public too). Then, once again, I would jump in, trying to detain my thoughts and pull myself together. I would shout my name at myself in my mind: ‘Ryan! Get a hold of yourself now! You can’t even CONSIDER it! What about Sexaholics Anonymous back home? What about your commitment to channel and control your sexuality in accordance with what is normal and right... and not to allow anything twisted or perverse to be there? And what about Lynnette? How would she feel if she knew?’ But I was getting weaker. It was like being hungry and having a cookie dangled in front of you, but all the while you were understanding that you weren’t allowed to take it and eat it, and you were agreeing with the restriction. And if you were REALLY hungry, you would start thinking things like, ‘Well, can’t I just, like, smell it or something? And enjoy the aroma of it?’ That’s more or less like what was starting to happen with me that day. Being pulled in two opposite directions at once, the thought of some kind of a compromise between the two, doing it or not doing it, as I was walking along, started seeming more appealing. ‘What if I just, like, find a girl and then, just, kind of... ACT like I’m going to take it out against a wall in front of her somewhere... and watch the reaction on her face... just to answer my question... about whether it COULD be done... without anything happening?’ ‘My!’ I thought, shaking my head. I still just couldn’t get over how such a situation could exist. Forbidden a thought though it was, it sent chills all through me when I thought it, while I was walking along that day. Like sniffing the cookie when you know you can’t have it, that thought became so appealing to me that afternoon, that finally I gave in to it—but I did so with the idea in mind that I would have to strictly contain myself from actually taking it out in front of any girl passing by. I could find one somewhere and then turn against a wall as IF I were going to take it out and start peeing, unzip my pants in front of her, and observe the look on her face—but that was it, I said to myself. I would have to stop short of actually taking it out—just take notice of the look on her face at the THOUGHT that would be presented to her of the possibility of it being exposed in front of her and her seeing it. How depraved. Makes you wish you could just give the poor guy the cookie—but you CAN’T—not in a thing like this. Link: Post a response
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(Originally posted 11/7/2003, 6:55 pm)
