Upon my arrival at my grandparents’ house in Stuttgart, I was greeted with grandma Agnes’ best lemonade and received my graduation gift from grandpa Jürgen: his old 35mm camera. Before getting my digital camera, I used to experiment with film, and the idea of going back to it was exciting for me, especially since it had slowly lost ground to modern photography. It was also a reminder I had a box full of film rolls that needed developing.
This morning started off on an unusual note. I woke up and went out for a walk with Hugo. We went to the park nearby where he restlessly chased after rabbits while I went through my old, middle school copy of “Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde” until I got interrupted by a weird sound. I looked around and found Hugo occupied by something in the bushes. I walked up to him and found a small, injured bird. It was clearly in pain. I stared at it for a while before picking it up, walking to the lake and releasing it, watching as it fell in it. As it drowned, it became less and less mobile as it got sucked deeper into the lake, its wings quaking with exhaustion.
Thinking about what I did, I couldn’t tell whether my main motivation was to end its suffering or create more of it. Maybe it was more of an experience; seeing what would happen. I took no pleasure in adding another tormenting layer to the bird’s slow and agonizing death. I would’ve been indifferent either way.
We returned home, me drenched in sweat, the back of my t-shirt wet, muddy and covered in grass. My grandparents had left to the farmers’ market, so the house was empty. I took off my clothes and headed outside to the pool, naked. Shockingly enough, I walked out and found myself right in front of the pool boy, a semi-short, dark-haired young man in a tank top and swimming shorts. I rudely yelled at him due to the intrusion and rushed back inside. My awful reaction wasn’t intentional, it was just the result of being caught off-guard. I heard him apologize, and went back outside, shorts back on, and excused myself. He smiled, and I reciprocated. He introduced himself as Kristofer, the new pool boy. He lives a couple of miles away on a farm he helps run with his dad. We talked for a little bit before I headed back inside to fix myself something to eat. As I prepared myself a sandwich, I kept gazing out the window, watching his body work, his muscles move. I could feel my penis twinge. I turned away, sat down at the table, and ate my sandwich. However, even when he was out of sight, I could still see him in my mind. When my memory could no longer picture his sleek, hot body, I decided to go back outside. I grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked back out. I offered it to him before sitting down on one of the chairs. Once he was done cleaning the pool, he sat down on the one right across from me, popped his can open and took a big gulp, tilting his head backwards as he did so, making the bump of his laryngeal prominence noticeable. The steady contractions his throat showed as he swallowed were fascinating to look at. I don’t know why, but I was intrigued by his anatomy. I studied it obsessively as he talked and moved. I felt weird doing so, but the whole situation felt electrifying to me; the fact that I was alone with a beautiful boy who, as far as I could tell, was somewhat interested in me. Him suggesting we hang out was proof of that.
When he left, I immediately went up to my room and watched some porn to get off. I started with straight before switching to gay. Watching videos of the latter kind, I noticed that gay porn was less fake and way more enjoyable to watch. I liked the sense of equality between the two partners and how, since they both shared the same anatomy, knew exactly how to please each other. Watching a guy be balls-deep inside his partner recently became arousing to me.
Tracing my initial attraction towards Stephen, I didn’t how to interpret it other than an innocent brotherly kind of love. Growing up in a family filled with women, I’ve always craved to be around other boys, and although I’ve had some decent male friends growing up, none of them stuck around long enough for me to properly identify with any of them.
As I transfered from one porn site to another, a pop-up ad showed up on my screen. It showed a ripped, shirtless guy sitting in front of his computer screen, a button linking to the site’s main page right underneath. I clicked on it and found myself on Men4Cam, a live cam site, staring at yet another random, shirtless guy leaning back on his rolling desk chair. On the right side of the screen, a chat tab showed a conversation between him and anonymous people, presumably men, complimenting his physique and flirting with him. The instant connection that this sort of voyeurism provided was appealing to me; the idea that men would spend noticeable amount of money on virtual models they’ll never meet seemed peculiar and impressive at the same time.
Pornstars are usually ridiculously attractive and the sex they tend to engage in, although robotic and orchestrated at times, seems naturally flawless. They know what to do and when to do it, and I always find myself cravingly anticipating the end of the session, when both of them climax, cum pumping out of their cocks and all over each other. Seeing that drives me crazy every time. But with camming, the process is different. You’re witnessing the sight of someone, half-naked, sitting in front of their computer screen; someone, somewhere in the world, in real time. You watch them as they talk and act in the moment, with nothing thought-through or prepared ahead of time. Something about voyeurism fascinates and excites me; the thought of watching or being watched: the fact that both sides are in it. You suddenly become part of each other’s worlds. A world where sexual fantasies virtually come true.
There’s an atypical connection created that I find intensely thrilling; being in direct contact with the object of your desire. I knew I wanted part in that world as soon as I was exposed to it. Then there’s the money factored in as well which is primarily what’s making me consider trying it out.
Felix Eberstark 