From whence comes pleasure? A seeming silly question to pose to a man laying in bed with his hand on his johnson.
‘You manipulate it, and you get pleasure, stupid,’ a scoffing thought answers.
‘Oh, really?’ counters the new man. ‘I believe I could manipulate this tool and all I’d get was sore without fantasy,’ adds the spirit of understanding.
‘What do you mean?’ says bad-cop.
‘I mean I could lay here pullin’ till the cows come home, but without a fantasy to stir into the mix nothing’s comin.’ Let’s go to the point at hand: You’re alone in bed trying to sleep. Your mind is overwhelmed by sexual reverie and you decide to rid yourself of the tension by committing to the physical requirements necessary for relief. You decide to “do it.”
What happens next? Do we decide to “think about something with our normal consciousness?” No, we release from “self” consciousness and croon sweetly for another spirit to enter and replace it. We croon as a hungry lover longing for this new current-of-consciousness to sweep us into worlds indefinable; dark and exciting, symbolic reflections of behaviors oftimes kept secret even from ourselves. This new lord is a force beyond mere male or female. This is a sensual tempest which takes our willing consciousness swooning into it, and it floods us; commanding, titillating, enticing and tempting – we bond ourselves within its passions to our roles, lose ourselves in them, merging with it and at the moment of physical release drown in our “sub” mergence. A complete worship of orgasmic proportion, night after night, year after year, it convinces us its features need real-life realization, and we may begin to believe “it” is “us.”  Perhaps it is the fantasy itself that needs its presence ministered to, its spirit worshipped, more than our bodies.
‘What’s the point, genius?’  bad-cop says.
‘Perhaps what we have here is the metaphor and maxim that when we’re hungry we think of food, but we can also just think of food and get hungry. So now we’re hungry whether we were hungry or not when we began to think of food. Just like sex. Perhaps it is not so much the physical sex urge that is making the demand for relief, but the fantasy which is using the body to gain ascendancy (and worship for itself) through the physical manipulation of the creature-in-its-service. I maintain there is some nameless dynamism behind the fantasy. A motivator that seeks such activity within us and from us. So even though you just had sex a relatively short time ago, you start thinking about it and now you’re hungry for it again because you started thinking about it. You didn’t start thinking about it because of the body’s natural desire to procreate and release its pent-up fluid. How can one avoid thinking about sex and hence creating more bodily fluid needing more frequent release when one is surrounded by the suggestive imagery of our culture? Our culture has no precedent in human history regarding the total abandonment of clothing norms that had more or less defined women’s couture for the last two thousand years. From Day One to about 1900, women covered themselves from ankle to wrist. The paintings of the renaissance notwithstanding, for a woman to show her ankle, even in the 1800s, was considered scandalous. As a teenager, I frequented brothels in the 1960s. The girls stood outside the doors looking more-or-less wicked and sexy. Their outfits can’t compare to what many high school girls wear today. Now, fifty years later, it seems every female – even the virgin and the churchgoer – has at least one ‘prostitot’ outfit in their closet. Neither Abraham, the Apostles nor any of the religious icons of the past had to put up with the sexual temptations which bombards the male in today’s culture 24/7. If a man gets on his knees and prays to G-d, we can – without too much fear of contradiction - call that worshipping, and can point to the fact that the man chose to ‘give of himself’ – his physical presence – to the aforementioned spiritual entity. Whether to prostrate himself, kneel or whatever, he makes his body a part of this worship, the container of soulish effort by which he engages the world of the spirit. Where his “head” is at, is another story, and, impossible for an outsider to tell.
Does it not also follow that if a man (or woman) submerges into a sexual fantasy and then offers up his or her body in the service of that fantasy (in this case into orgasm), isn’t that also a form of worship?
If the river of imagination is necessary – and it does appear to be so – in order that the release of excess sexuality in (even) the lone individual be accomplished, it is the awareness of the levels one merges into – or doesn’t –by which one reflects one’s desire to live free from unconscious forces within. It is the total awareness of the fantasy that is necessary, not the changing, diminishing or ending of the fantasy itself. It is the flesh, or, one might say, the spirit of the flesh that one must become aware of.

The relationship of my childhood trauma to the essential motif of the fantasy is made possible through identifying an inner voice I have come to call my own. A sense of reverie that speaks to me and makes me think it’s “me” thinking – and we all think it’s “me” speaking to ourselves in our own ego mind – is really the spirit that replaced the image of G-d (which we were originally created with) when we got traumatized. (It is no accident we are asked to heed the call of “Lest we become as little children…”)
This new spirit whispers in us (as if it’s us) encouraging us not only to create more and more (in this case, sexual) excitement within ourselves, but it helps us to make bad decisions in every other area of our lives, and it would have us seek emotional stimulations within an entire range of activities which are rooted in a source designed to bring further calamity upon us. It does this first and foremost by keeping us blind to our blindness. The rationalization that “we’re ok” is just so tempting to believe. We’ll even go to religions that help to support us in our weakness.
This root source is “resentment,” – almost always to the parental (or authoritarian) figure. The nature of the traumatized spirit will be served by a reflection of the trauma. My reflection involves submissive humiliation (caused by the sudden physical abuse and scissoring of my long pants) energized by my hate of the one that caused me to suffer. That hate cannot be dealt with at five years of age, and oftentimes not at fifty either. Then, to take away the anxieties stemming from my hate-filled reactions, thoughts and emotions mired in the resentment, I’ve created a ‘self-system’ that lives to avoid this anxiety. It seeks approval, drugs, alcohol, sex, music, television, hero worship, church worship, materialism and intellectualism as places to seek refuge. These all tend to feel pretty good, but also tend to make promises they can’t keep, while my soul stays in darkness, growing older, growing deader.
We are programmed (listening) in our new wasp-impregnated identity. There is a  voice in ourselves that subtly assumes in its logical perception of our reality that there’s nothing greater than ourselves. We are most creative in blaming others and all things external to ourselves for our problems. So why not do what feels good? What feels good certainly seems “right,” and what doesn’t feel good seems “wrong.” In that sense it often feels “good” to be angry, and when angry one always feels “right.” When we acknowledge this understanding in ourselves, we have arrived at a point of (at least some) clarity, and it is usually accompanied with the tremendous pain and conflict that a life lived like this will bring. Your yearning to end this is a good sign. It usually comes about only after years of the most intense pain.
“Many are called…” 

Chapter 41 – The Sexual Awareness Showdown
When we get to the point in our lives where we begin to get that first hint of our own mortality, we are only aware that one day we’re gonna’ be gone. Shameless or shamed, we (as men, anyway) push such thoughts out of our minds, replacing them with fantasies of glory, honor, power, judging in a noble or kingly fashion to the adoration of significant others; usually including beautiful women and/or dancing girls, and/or mature accomplishments and the gaining of grandfatherly respect from those younger relations who presently treat us askance.
Men (at least as we get older), often find ourselves lying in bed reliving sexual fantasies of days-gone-by. This is the ‘based-on-a-true-story’ sex fantasy. We find ourselves conveniently altering past events to make them a bit juicier – a bit more bold and satisfying then what they really were. In our fantasy, it’s as if we’re now chasing some promise of real life here, that gusto that so alludes us in our normal waking consciousness, and we submerge into that imaginary excursion for a few moments of intense excitement and release. The nature that defines us in this sexuality needs nurturing. It needs to be worshipped, fed and compensated in this manner, resulting in a feeling of being intensely alive – albeit in a highly emotional and momentary state.

 It takes time to see these wheels turning. Many of us just can’t see the mechanism at work. Carl Jung said the search for one’s soul may take half-a-lifetime. Take a moment to see what you’re becoming in your own mind’s eye at that moment of supreme sexual release – then tell me I’m wrong.
Many men, sliding blindly into their dieing stage, often simply repeat (with slight variations) their few selected historical fantasies, peppering them with new ego-sexual twists and imaginings, then flushing them from consciousness, much the same as the moist evidence. I shoulda’ done it that way! The ache of frustration is as if one’s whole life would’ve suddenly been different… I would have found such satisfaction, pleasure, peace… I would be so contented if only I would have (every one makes their own list here): taken that girl back to my place that night, fucked her sister, his daughter, her mother, his brother, her girlfriend; did her in the ass, made her swallow, made that freak scene, did that threesome with so-and-so, ad infinitum.

 We worship in our jerking ministrations right up into the death rattle. You sit at work or in your car with a “based on a true story” fantasy raging in your head. You know the kind: it brings that ache that nags you for release as soon as you can get the opportunity. It’s difficult to observe the sexual quicksand without falling into it, isn’t it? Besides, it not only feels right, good and necessary, but the truth is, we can’t do anything about the urge to do it, can we? If you’re still reading, and recognize part of yourself here, then walk with me a little further.We have to be aware of these spiritual dimensions, these spiritual representations, if you will, of energetic ties and how they bind us to their earlier disturbances in our lives through trauma. It needn’t be dramatic trauma. It is only through heightened awareness – thru the observation exercise, for example, – that something “other” than cognitive efforts are engaged in bringing into being (from unconscious to preconscious to awareness) of a new realization over what was heretofore dissociated components (in sexual imagery).
Possibly of greater importance is the sudden understanding through awareness of its representation in our reality as “fate” in our non-sexual lives. We see our behavior in previously inexplicable personality quirks, failures, misunderstandings between ourselves and significant others. It’s as if we see our behavior mirroring an ego-identification, which may, in the very unfortunate (the very traumatized), contain too much the unsung aspects of our sexual unconscious.
In order to understand this spiritual warfare I’m taking you into, you need a quick lesson in understanding this particular battle as well as the battlefield it takes place in. So in this unique illustration, I shall give you the actual history of the events by which memorable basics are drawn from, as well as the changes made in order to feed more the fundamental nature of the beast. Within the spiritual warfare of our sexuality, we are normally re-inventing the stimulating memory taking lots of liberties.

The Street Hustler
I submerged into the actual memory concerning a street person/hustler I had picked up thirty years earlier right at the end of what would become known as the “pre-AIDS era.” This slight, blonde, attractively submissive young man wasn’t looking for much. I told him I had no money, but he was welcome to come up to my apartment if he still cared to.
“I think I have some beer,” I said at the market where we started to talk. It’s that strange talk of the hungry. Often the stoned and penniless; the drifters, the druggies, the almost-homeless. Your mouths move in somewhat innocuous conversation communicating more in subtle changes of voice and innuendo, in body language hints while your eyes feast hungrily for surer signs of availability, for pleasure, lust, excitement, and for who knows what? It’s not what’s being said as much as the continuing excitement that perhaps you’ll have instant sex. Soon up in my apartment looking at the four cans in the frig, I told him, with my hand on his shoulder, “you can have them all.” Apparently that was enough.
Three cans later, he was looking into the refrigerator as he stood holding the last can.
His fey persona was becoming much more noticeable and it was having its intended effect. It had been very subtle at the market, but I had read it even before I drew full focus on his physical stature.  His female-within-a-male persona was in much greater evidence now within our alcohol-fueled privacy. Men can often be more seductive than women when they get this way. Their tempting ‘don’t you want to use me for your pleasure?’ energy is wrapped in a slightly-annoying-teasing-come-get-me submissive posture. It is ‘in your face’ with its availability, and slightly annoying in an attitude that somehow teases you into wanting to put him in a position where you can both demean him and use him for your sexual pleasure at the same time. When it’s in your face, it’s accept it or reject it.
I certainly had no thoughts of rejecting this eager-to-be-used vibe emanating from this seemingly harmless, passive young man. I had a stimulating eagerness to take him, use him, and my lust was evidenced physically by my own bulging unit.
Standing slightly behind him at the refrigerator, I touched his shoulder with my left hand while my right slid down the right side of his chest  to his belt buckle, which I tugged briefly, pulling him around to face me straighter. I let my hand slide down to his upper thigh, slowly pressing my palm against him as I slid it up slowly up over the bulge of his crotch and onto his belt buckle.
“Don’t come in me,” was all he said. Taking him to the couch, we tore off our clothes. He sat on the couch while I stood in front of him, bringing my bulging excitement to his face.
“I have something for you,” I found myself whispering. 
I slowly rode my hand along the back of his head as my brain and body reacted to the initial shock of receiving the oral sex. Just the bringing of this stranger’s head onto my unit to receive the initial jolt of pleasure caused my knees to go weak. I groaned and squeezed my three-quarter semi from within its own muscle to lend a more personal communication to our physical relationship. He received my body language with a whimpering moan from somewhere deep in his throat as his saliva became even more hotly abundant.
I had grown rock hard and strongly filled with the desire - then sudden necessity - to sodomize him. I had no lotion to ease the entrance. As for using saliva, I certainly wasn’t going near his one eyed-evacuation center with my mouth. After I bridged the subject, he looked up at me willingly.
“Try to get it real wet,” I said.
 “Just don’t come inside me,” he requested again as he carefully spit a goop of saliva on the head of my proud staff. He then licked the hard unit, spreading the spit all over its head. He bent over the couch, and I found myself putting both my hands on his hips as I maneuvered his youthful bottom low before me. I was totally engorged as I took a hand to guide myself into the entrance, surprised how the growing pleasure was effecting my speech:
“Uhmm, feelin something nice here. Ooooh, just relax baby… give it up… give it up for me, now honey… Give it up to for me, baby.”
“Y..Y..Yess” he gasps, and the last of the “S” sound is barely spoken before the easy slap of my hand sounds off his right buttock cheek, which was as soft and firm a teenage globe as one could hope to find.
“Oh, yeah, you don’t have to answer, if you don’t want,” I say, slapping his cheek again as I began to enjoy spanking him as I enter deeper.
“If you don’t choose to,” I add, elongating the words “choose to” as I slowly grind into him deeper. His hot, tight slickness is a moaning honeypot of greasy pleasure servicing my new-found butch posturing.
He groaned deeply.
“Oh, what a sweet bottom... You just need to be my little bottom for a while…”
I reached around and squeezed his hard little nipples harder, sending his body gently undulating a bit more, and his moans becoming more alarming as I squeezed without mercy.
“Do you? Cause I got some more for you. Oh yeah, you can get used to this.” I gasped out, driving in as deep as I possibly could, holding it at that depth till he stopped gasping and could adjust his sphincter relaxation to accommodate the total entrance. I gave his nipples a rest as I started to spank him again. He moaned with that ‘hurts so good’ ache in his voice which I knew would bring me over the top very soon.
Even as I was coming, I was looking forward to fucking him all afternoon. His ass was incredible in its pleasure-filled offering. For extra spice I added how good it was going to feel coming inside him. I added this verbally because he had asked me twice prior to our starting not to release into him.
He, upon hearing my intention to deliver my lust inside his rear, cried “no!” and twisted out of our physical entanglement. I groaned with the sudden frustration, sitting back to hear him go on with some nonsense concerning some disease he imagined he might be getting. He had heard on the street that there was some strange new “thing” going around, and fluid-in-the-rear seemed to spread it. I knew nothing about such a “thing,” and therefore didn’t think it was of any consequence. I staggered achingly to the bathroom and washed off.
Returning to him, I quickly figured it was time for us to part. In a round-about-way, I started to bring my desire to be alone into reality by ticking off the reasons why our afternoon should be considered too inert to continue, “Well, you don’t want me to come; I can’t come, you can’t come…”
“I can come,” he said.
Suddenly a whole new thing was on me.
“Yeah?” I asked shyly. “Y’want to let me…? Uhh, give you a little…?” It was almost as if I half-expected him to shriek insults at me for even daring to think of such a horrible thing, proving that not much had changed inside my head since my guilt-ridden days of that “not-me” mentality of puberty. But surprise. Instead of him being angry at the audacity of my suggestion (what would the neighbors think?), he laid back and pulled down his pants, which he had pulled back up minutes before.
I laid next to him on the couch, my face near his waist, overwhelmed by excitement and a little unsure of exactly what I wanted to do and how far I wanted to go in doing it.
“Go ahead,” he said.
I touched it, holding the small circumcised instrument, and then kissed the tip, blowing on it.
“I guess that’s my blow job,” I said hesitantly.
“It’s ok, go on,” he said, placing his hand on the back of my head and pushing it gently towards his growing unit. “Put it in your mouth.”
I did, and the more I accepted the rubbery flesh into my deep dark swallows the more I didn’t want to stop. The more I wanted to commit, the more I couldn’t stop. He was small enough that it was quite easy to take it all the way down my throat without choking. The harder he grew, the louder came his cries of pleasure and ecstasy; along with the spasmodic tension within his body, as my brain rode like a magic carpet helped along by the emotional octane released by his ecstatic approvals. His cries were excitingly real, and my brain was in sensory overload at the realization of what I wanted, and what I wanted to do to get it. My mind filled with a head-trip of sexual relief as I rode on his wave of orgasmic ascent. I became him somehow in an inexplicable dark spiritual moment as he swelled and came spurting down my throat amidst physical spasms, gasps and moans. His delivery was minimal, hot, thick, slick, salty and actually didn’t taste too bad.
The astonishing upshot was I felt rather satisfied. I, who minutes before had been mightily frustrated at not being able to complete my own orgasm, was now feeling content. The hustler, speaking very little, soon left.
I was amazed at this remarkable turn of events. A few days later he came knocking at my door. I had let him in, and he quickly got down to business. He had taken out his thing, which unlike before, sprung erect from his underwear once freed of the imprisoning cloth. Golly, he remembered me. We did it all again, but I had a greater reticence for the whole thing. Whether it was my being orally submissive, or allowing him to sodomize me, I had to fight the urge both times to simply stop the behavior and tell him to leave. I simply found myself not wanting to do it. Like a mule bawking to go forward, I felt repulsed and offended by the same sex that had seemed so satisfying and exciting the time before. The “I’ll do anything once” fascination which accompanied the sinful and sensual behavior of our first experience was gone, and I found an off-putting fleshly atmosphere of ‘been-there-done-that’ throughout my attempts to get into it.
He returned a third time soon afterwards. His unit, however now appeared to have a red dot on the tip that I didn’t remember it having before, and although to a normal person this would be reason enough to consider not having sex, I found myself simply using it as an excuse. The truth was I didn’t care a whit about the red dot. I simply had no libido at all to engage in sex with him any more. If I hadn’t noticed the red dot I would have found some other excuse. He left and I never saw him again. This is history.
* * *
In addition to this main historical unit, there is an adjunct historical event.  It might appear a small, seemingly minor source of inspiration to the larger picture. However, you will see in retrospect how it helps spice up the overall situation as an eager side-dish when added to the larger course.
When I was barely adolescent, I was playing around naked with a boyhood chum. We were holding and touching each other’s thing – more out of curious, tentative lust than a determined effort to actually achieve anything. We took turns laying on top of one another. Neither of us inserted ourselves so as to sodomize the other, but found that if we placed our erect pole between the legs of the boy lying on his stomach, the head then being pushed up against that area (the ‘taint) between the butt and the balls, the enclosed soft thighs of our youth offered soft, ample friction for the “top” to pleasure himself with. My friend got so into it with me underneath that he humped until releasing himself within that area of which I just made note. I pretended to be angry at the time, but in truth felt the episode to be intensely stimulating.
So these are the historical facts upon which the fantasy is built within the spiritual battle to follow.
As I lay down, preparing to come to grips with the familiar ache in my loins, I seek a way to find release but refuse to hide from G-d mentally. I commit to the giving over of myself to that behavior conducive to relieving sexual tension by myself. We shut off self-consciousness in order to allow this new consciousness to enter. ‘We croon sweetly for its presence.’ I am immediately aware of a pleasure that grows in direct relationship to the humiliating, imaginative scenario.
I notice an immediate acceleration in the flow of imagery, exciting emotion concomitant with the promise of physical release. I also notice there is a “hunching over” retentive quality to this mental abstraction. If conscious “expansion” allows consciousness to flow out from the innermost being to one’s infinite horizons, this mindset now in sexual fantasy gives me the impression of a squirrel hunching over a nut he’s trying to eat, nervously intent on not losing any of its nutrition. I wonder if by compartmentalizing it in this manner, there remains an almost guarding of the amount of awareness we allow to be accorded to the imagery, which, by keeping a “lid on it” makes it all the easier to put it away in the “not-me” drawer after submerging oneself in it. I allow my mind to simply be aware of this sexual direction without submerging further into it and instead expand outwards as in meditation. “From my innermost being to my outermost limits…” 
I found a help in the following CEV (closed eye visual): There’s a ballroom being prepared with many tables all covered with white linen tablecloths. Each table represented a different fantasy, some with just enough variation to them to warrant its own ‘table.”  Each fantasy, therefore, began to bubble up into awareness with an “OK, I know you” sense on my part, rather than “I don’t dare take a conscious effort to observe this. It’s too terrible, too infrahuman, it has a quality that’s too ‘something’ for my ego to be content with. It brings with it the ‘not-me’ mental symptoms of awe, dread, horror and loathing. It flies in the face of acknowledged cultural norms.’ I began to dare to see that it was all part of ‘me.’
Complying to my imaginary partner’s pressure while playing the feminine homoerotic role, humiliating and submissive story lines flow up easily into my waking dreamstate. The Spirit wars against the flesh, but as long as we are sons of Adam and Eve, we have this flesh. Sexual imagery is part of it. G-d knows this, but we don’t know His will concerning it. We know we are to procreate, and we’re set up that way inside and out, yet we sense something unnaturally sinful about this sexual fantasy life, and the sexual apatite(s) it creates, demands and frustrates us with. I ask G-d with sincerity in my mind and seeking in my soul, and in less than a second I receive understanding: I open my mind to Him to help me with this. I immediately find myself in imagery of a thread from the trauma of my emasculation in childhood at age five (See Chapter 1) to my fantasy now of me lying in bed in a satin kimono and half-slip with this same street hustler. Instead of sending him away – as I did in reality – I am eager to have sex with him. In some cases, I have won money at the track, purchased cocaine and lingerie, and allow him to spank my pantied ass while removing a twenty-dollar bill I placed in the elastic hem as a gift to my “man,” my pimp-to-be. After a few spanks, I whisper just below his ear, kissing his neck while squeezing his swollen shaft,:
“You were hard tonight before even taking it out, and I wasn’t even touching you. Been thinking about what I did for you last time? I know I’ve been thinking about what I did for you last time. What you made me do for you,” I add in a whisper, teasing a finger running a finger along his swollen shaft.
“ Even though I loved fucking you… you were so hot and creamy tight, I was truly planning to fuck you all day long...  I have ta’ tell you though… I loved it even more the way you treated me.. like I was your… girl. You pushed on the back of my head to suck your cock; and then you came right in my mouth…  (groan) Without even warning me! You devil… I never did that with anyone before. Not all the way.. you coming and me swallowing. Maybe there’s some other things you’d like… to try… do... to me… that I’ve never done either.”
He starts to squeeze my ass, the lingerie giving his hand a smooth slippery quality over my skin. I moan.
“When I was fourteen, my friend got on top of me while I laid on my stomach and put his thing between my legs. Not inside me, of course. I thought maybe you might like to try… something like that…”
At this point he turns me full on my stomach, flips up my nightgown, spanks me once, and, climbing on top so I can feel his hot weight pinning me down, proceeds to begin to enter me from behind.
“Oh!” I am surprised as I am helpless, “you’re not really… you’re not really going to fuck me!? A sharp spank from his right hand interrupts my whimpering stammer; “I thought you would just… Ohh, oh, you’re really fucking me! ” I croon in helpless surrender, allowing no tension to exist in my sphincter as I open my body and soul to serve him. It’s his lust, taking its pleasure using me that is supposed to satisfy me, and my satisfaction appears linked to being used and humiliated; that my giving myself to him submissively is what is bringing me pleasure.
I refuse the temptation to submerge into the fantasy to completion, and instead back out mentally into the meditative state of simply being aware of it, aware of the submission and humiliation, aware that this doesn’t occur in a vacuum, that there is more to this. I am immediately given understanding. The dynamic energy that has created the tempting excitement and pleasure for this scene of humiliation and submission is born - deriving its essence from - my resentment of my mother’s behavior that day of emasculation so many years ago. (See Chapter 1) The resentment is the energy – the power – by which essential elements of the trauma are redirected into forming present realities.
In less than a heartbeat I flash on the non-sexual elements in my life, and an instant parade of slides appear detailing my dealings in reality where I reflect this eagerness to give in, give up and never miss an opportunity to lose. It showed me what I thought was clever was really a substitute process sub-personality exactly as demonstrated by in Britneyzian Prophecies.
My resentment, my hatred, my anger over the childhood immasculation/trauma  coupled with my refusal to admit hatred of my parents into my consciousness was the repressed dynamism insisting to be heard, demanding to rule this day. It had insisted all my life that “it” be regarded as the legitimate source of reason, the interpreter of life - and above all, to be reacted to as if it was “my own” thought, that it was indeed “me.” But through the meditation, objectivity had now brought the light of awareness to – or upon - this spirit.
I realized at that moment (even with my hand on my now-wilting Johnson) more fully than ever that my mother didn’t know any better. She wasn’t aware of the forces that caused her to scissor my pants in front of the whole neighborhood and strike and traumatize me. I had to forgive her, and by forgiving her, be relieved of these imprisoning compulsions. My mother’s mother’s mother as well as my father’s father’s father all the way back to our shared antiquity of Adam and Eve had been doing the unwitting ego-trauma-slam in one form or another to their progeny  from antiquity till now. This resentment was the production engine pumping out the exciting emotional energy for this sexual environment. The connection between the traumatic abusive humiliation and my sexual arousal reflected this identification kept alive by anger and resentment. Forgiving them while still discerning their emotional illness was setting me free from this unconscious urge to lose in life. Now I was at a stage to take my awareness a step further.
As I sought to forgive her in a brand new way (as I realized at a deeper level that she didn’t know what she was doing), I was taken deep into the spirit; deep into the place perhaps where my unconscious merges with that known as the collective unconscious. I saw the spirit of submission and humiliation that had made itself so clear to me in that LSD experience almost forty years ago come out of me. (Chapter 10) I saw it clearly rise apart from me. It rose before my awareness opaque and multi-dimensional within this fourth dimension. I looked at it. It screamed and fled. I did not react. I was slightly surprised but not scared. I was suddenly just laying there, small and shrunken with eyes wide open.
I brought them back, like dogs pulling a sexual sled; like mice in a science experiment; to use… to show me who they were, for I was no longer fearful to be aware of the imagery or the temptation. Sex would still be part of my life. I had to understand all I could about it.

I saw the symbolic future within my sexual imaginings: I brought them back by re-engaging these energies. I would have the street hustler bring in his friends, with him coaxing me into serving them sexually so they could pay the hustler for my sexual favors. I could become aware that what I had called the ultimate pleasure and excitement at release was not all that different from the height of the cocaine injection. Excitement and physical tingling equaling pleasure to orgasm, along with a very subtle promise upon which it always failed to deliver.
I saw the hustler sodomizing me from behind while one of his companions had me service him orally at the same time, and, upon completion, with my head pulled back up by the hair, my available throat would be offered. I could see the fantasy excitement remaining unchanged as I objectively observed the death I was purchasing. This is what I was doing in reality (symbolically) by giving my life to this spirit. I was death coming alive.  Awareness now allowed me to see the one sodomizing me take the knife and slit my throat from behind as he poured himself into my body for his own pleasure. As I was victimized, I could stay aware and observant enough to see – with my hand continuing to urge my completion – that I was experiencing no diminishment in the level of excitement.
I could sense something dark crying out to G-d while pointing at me:
‘this is what I’ve done with the creation made in your image, and he came to me willingly of his own accord.’
As I realized this, I again saw this hermaphrodite spirit (of which I spoke before) jump out of my cut-open chest (that had been slashed open as well when the two men had used me), leave me and enter the dark belly of a larger, incredibly merciless and consummately hateful spirit, which it served. Its eyes had the most intense hatred imaginable. For the briefest moment, I was able to not react to it, and became simply aware of it. I just watched it for a moment and it fled. It was made known to me (from that same Spirit that guided me before) that this demon spirit had to flee. It cannot stand an objective gaze from a soul not under its command.
I inquired as to the dark side’s motivation; the answer was delivered at the speed of light, the words of Melville rising up immediately in my mind:

“… to the last I grapple with thee;
 from hell's heart I stab at thee;
for hate's sake
I spit my last breath at thee.”

As the momentum for my physical release was no longer flowing towards completion, I allowed myself to dip into various amount of sexual imagination – which was like skimming briefly over a hundred different scenes without submerging into any one of them. It was not unlike those very short clips promoting a movie studio by showing two seconds of each movie they’ve made in a quick-changing slide show format.  Just enough to catch your interest, stimulate a memory, and then the next one is there to do the same. Each glimpse was an awareness of a sexual symbol, which, when explored, would be the basis for a more excitingly detailed, more emotionally specific fantasy, but was now simply a symbolized spur to my passion. When enough momentum was assured that I would ‘deliver’ into port, I became aware of myself watching my hand manipulating my body, bringing to release my seed amongst the pre-conscious sexual symbolisms skirting across my mind. It was a sexual exercise not too far removed from any other healthy physical exercise. I was pleased to see my body able to rid itself of the excess, and it was extremely pleasurable in a physical way. As far as an anatomical function, it was sexual, of course, but it appeared more like a physical exertion than a shameful and dark voyage. Being aware of these lusts was subtly but significantly different than submerging into them. Being aware of a rite is different than performing that rite.

It was pleasurable relief without submerging into fantasy. I began to see it now vaguely as something along the lines of an excretory operation. Over time, my battle in these spiritual provinces would always revolve around the degree of submergence and awareness. It is neither the sexual urge nor the imagination that one can – or seeks to – prevent. But the submergence into the imagination ceased to be the necessary all-in-all for completion. This would allow many areas of my non-sexual life to become clearer. As I calmly, unemotionally and objectively became able to observe and identify the sources of sexual excitement in fantasy, my obsessions in reality diminished remarkably.
I wanted to share these dramatic changes with the only person I knew who not only could understand them, but give me feedback and point me in the direction I needed to stay tuned to. I often had trouble speaking of the matters alluded to above. My mind often seemed enclosed in a thick blanketed fog. Cannabis smoke would throw open the barn doors, but thought would come pouring out like the wild horses from within. There was only one person in the world who could throw a rope around these undomesticated notions and respond intelligently to them, and that was my new friend at the Foundation of Human Understanding. Roy Masters’ radio show was not picked up in Carvel, so I was on the phone and on web radio to www.fhu.com.

I wanted to share these dramatic changes with the only person I knew who not only could understand them, but give me feedback and point me in the direction I needed to stay tuned to.
I often had trouble speaking of the matters alluded to above. My mind seemed enclosed in a thick blanketed fog. Cannabis smoke would throw open the barndoors, but thought would come pouring out like the wild horses from within. There was only one person in the world who could throw a rope around these undomesticated notions, and that was my new friend at the Foundation of Human Understanding. Roy Masters’ radio show was not picked up in Carvel, so I was on the phone and on web radio to www.fhu.com.

Chapter 38 – Second Call to Roy Masters
Tape # 3518 (www.fhu.com) – Nov 29, 2004Roy: All right, we’re going to go to Marty.
Me:  Hi Roy Good to speak w/you again.
About six months ago (Author’s note: actually it was sixteen months), I spoke with you and you ended that conversation by saying “you’re a woman.” (Author’s note: A Freudian slip here, as the phrase Roy actually used was “woman centered.”) I would like to just briefly take thirty seconds to pick up where I was and pick up what happened since that phone call.
Roy: Yes, sure.
Me:  I had a world-class approval-seeking people pleasing mother very weak father only into gambling and having sex with my mother and looking for her approval. I found myself even though I was in a Jewish household which didn’t allow any German products into the house because of relatives killed in the holocaust…
I found myself emotionally drawn and supporting Germans in these WWII books I was reading, I had a tremendous hatred for my father
Roy:     Fascinating.
Me:  When my adolescence came along, I found that sexually I would start off being excited thinking of a woman in the normal sense of a playboy centerfold, but as my fantasies progressed, I found in order to maintain the high level of excitement or gain more pleasure I found myself becoming female or submissive or humiliated and this brought me into all kinds of horrible situations in most of my life and I found I was able to keep heterosexual relations in a complimentary fashion, because in a way I sold my soul to the devil by going in further and further in these submissive feminine fantasies I would have while in a heterosexual  relationship.
Roy: I understand that…
Me:  I also had homosexual relationships going on, and I always had this pangs of conscience, and I didn’t quite know what to make of it; know what to do until I found your tape about seven years ago and I called in and said I had no money and got it for free and that was a long time ago and since then I've been to the ranch, etc.
Basically, when you said that to me, “you’re a women,” I thought to myself, well, I know and I’m sure Roy agrees that homosexuality is not the way, I’ve been celibate for 3 or 4 years now. What’s happened since you said that, is while I’ve been meditating I was able to relive when I was 5 years old to a new suburbs in my first pair of my long pants. Just come out from Brooklyn in lakes and weeds and had my first pair. We called them dungarees in those days… They’re Jeans for everyone else
Roy: I know what they are.. .
Me:  I developed holes..
Roy:     You’ve got two minutes left. Can you finish up, in two minutes?
Me:  OK, My mother wanted to cut them into shorts, I said “no,” and she cut them into shorts in front of the whole neighborhood, so I felt that that kind of humiliation, I was able to experience and my resentment and hatred for her and also towards my father and that that caused the pleasure experience to come alive in the submissive sexual position.
Roy:     Sure, are you ok?
Me:  I can’t hardly hear you
Roy: Are you getting better?
Me:  Yes, but when I meditate now, I feel like a snap, crackle and pop in my head – or something like that in my head, and I feel energies moving around in my head.
Roy: Oh yeah. I tell you what. Would you like to talk to me a little more about this? This is interesting, and I think I can give you some input, which will be more than useful. Would you like to hold on for a few minutes?
Me:  Yes, I certainly will.
Roy:     Well, hold the line now. Because this is… I’m not available so much during the daytime, I just couldn’t handle all the phone calls, so I have to do it on my radio show. That’s why I do two hours, and sometimes I waste that time just by pontificating, and I’m always glad for a call like yours because it gives me an opportunity to be useful, and provide a service that you might not otherwise have. So hold the line…
Roy: I’m going to suspend some of my commercials so I can talk to my friend Marty.
Let’s see where were we, now? can I just give you a heads up on something here? Are you there, Marty?
Me:  Yes, the connection’s much better.
Roy: What awakens sexual feelings is hostility, excitement, any form of excitement, undo excitement which transfers – and I’m going to say this very slowly, and you can fit your own scenario in there, any form of excitement like anger towards anybody or anything, I mean resentment – the word is resentment – and anger, hate, hostility all that is built on little bits of resentment – as the example you gave about your mother humiliating you by cutting up your dungarees, And there’s a whole multitude of those, the resentment towards parents, or resentment towards anything as a child awakens sexual feelings very early.
I once saw, I discovered this, I was in New York forty years ago, and there was a traffic jam, the driver got so frustrated, he got out in the middle of the street and opened his pants and you know what he did.
Me:  Yes.
Roy: Just to relieve the frustration. Anger and sex are connected. Women can frustrate men, upset them one minute, awaken the sexual feeling, and complete the act, go to bed, relieve their pain and get them addicted, to angry (lust). Anger awakens the lust for them, they gratify the lust and they are a slave of it, and now the only way you can have sex at all is for being upset, so you have to think of something in a disturbing way in order for her to have it. Your disturbing way is rebellious, like thinking about – having an affinity for Nazis, because you hated your Jewish parents.
Me:  If I just might comment on what you…
Roy:     Sure. That’s just a rough outline.
Me:  This may seem alike an aside but there may be other people in the same boat- I had a terribly difficult time making strides to create my own home business. Every time I was about to make some sort of little breakthrough, I would become very sexually aroused and wind up taking care of that, and falling into a nap.
Roy:     Frustrated, That’s what it’s called: frustrated. The frustration is the resentment I’m alluding to.
Me:  I understand. It’s also been lately in my life – and I won’t say coincidentally - I’m sure it’s connected, that lately I’ve been enjoying myself at a low-paying, humble job… and doing much more than I need to, without telling anyone about it…
Roy: This was a very short break, I’ll have more time with you after the break. Do you mind holding on now?
Me:  No, not at all, cause I have something I want to share that’s…
Roy: Hold on, I’m listening, I’m listening… cause it’s very valuable. I have other callers, if these callers would please be patient… We’ll dispense with this gentleman and give him the help he needs, and we’ll give you the help those of you who will be patient enough to hold on.
(Commercial message for Advice Line)
Female voice: I had a dream I was being molested. That’s how I feel about sex with my husband.”
Male voice: I just want to talk about my error-making decisions, and the fear I have about going to the gym by myself.
Roy: The lady says she has a dream of being molested. That’s how she feels towards her husband. Actually, her husband is molesting her, because she’s yielding on demand rather than out of love. Remember that’s the point I was making. Do you do the right thing because you love it?  Do you buy Christmas presents because you’re under compulsion? That’s like being violated. Being made to do the right thing but it’s out of somebody else’s pressure to suit somebody’s needs and purpose. And not your own. It’s not out of you. Could be she was molested as a kid, and projecting onto her husband. There are lots of combinations, you need to call me about these things. Roy:     Meanwhile I will be talking to Marty about his problem and I hope you’ve been following and you need to pick up some of the gist of this if you’ve just tuned in.
Finish up, I’m sorry about these commercials. We have more time now.
Me:  No, I feel privileged to have the conversation, and let me now, take it… go up a notch. Because I am so angry... I was… much more angry than I am now, and I was a world class alcoholic, drug addict, gambler, no-goodnik. I found myself, overwhelmed, in spite of my prayers, in spite of my meditating with anger, and hence, I would be overwhelmed when I came home from work or late at night with sexual fantasies I felt I had to relieve. And what happened, as a result of being able to understand my resentment towards my mother as an etymology of my pleasure seeking to twist this, I got to a point whereby… and I’ll try to be discrete, whereby when taking myself in hand, I needed the fantasy to complete the objective.
Roy:     Exactly. I think everybody understood that.
Me:  I found however, that I didn’t have to merge with the fantasy to get all the way into port. There was a certain momentum built up, where the completion of act could happen without the fantasy, and in that time, I... I opened my mind as I would in meditation, to God…
Roy:     Exactly.
Me:  … and I came face to face with an image, I mean the spirit of the humiliation and the submissiveness…
     It was like in a kid’s movie called “Monster’s Inc.” where the monster looks at the kid and they each scream and run the other way.
Roy: (laughter) I never saw it but I can see it.
Me:  OK, and I thought: I saw that! and then over the course of time, I was able to see that same pleasure principle, that I was seeking in my fantasies, could take me to being tied down on a table and murdered by these sadistic serial killers, and that same spirit would jump out of my cut-open chest  – I had a vision of this – and go into a bigger spirit that he’s serving, the so-called principalities and powers.
Roy:     Actually, what you are observing is spiritually accurate.
Me:  Yes, I know.
Roy: It’s not something everybody gets a glimpse of. You’re talking to me and I understand every word you said.
Me:  Oh, this is very meaningful to me, and uh…
Roy: This is not imagination any more. There’s an imagination factor. Let me just reiterate some of the things you say so I can show you I understand you.
Me:  I know you do.
Roy: When you said you were angry, my first observation was anger is a sin, and all sin is sensual. I never said that to you before quite that way, but every time you contemplate sin, or actually do the sin, and one of the seven deadly sins is anger, right? Resentment.
Me:  OK.
Roy: So all sin awakens the sensual, because it separates you from the motivation of the sensible. Is that clear?
Me:  Yes.
Roy: The “sensible” meaning your conscience. Moving and having your being as a noble being. The sin awakens the mortal self. The base nature, there’s an appeal to the base nature. Something stimulates you, upsets you, degrades you, makes you hateful; especially that hate, which is the most subtle of all, which you don’t recognize it as hate until it’s too late, called resentment; many little resentment-izzes. They separate you from the sensible, and you die. Literally, is a sentence of death. Anger is a sentence of death; a very slow death; where the sensual displaces the sensible. But it awakens death coming alive, meaning; the first duty of an animal, the most important love that an animal can have is to reproduce itself; to replace its dying self. That’s the most urgent call, follow that?
Me:  Yes.
Roy: When a human being dies, spiritually and becomes egotistical; puffed up in judgment and anger, it separates from God, and becomes egotistical, or ego-testical in your case. Do you see what I mean?
Me:     (laughter) Yes.
Roy: And so, therefore, the urgency to reproduce a dieing self, as if it was the most glorious thing, because women do make that glorious, don’t they? Hollywood makes things like that glorious, they put it all to music, don’t they? They call it romance. And so you start to fantasy the source of your new existence; while reproducing yourself endlessly, even uselessly. Follow that?
Me:     Yes.. after..
Roy: Just one more point, and then you can take over the show.
So, you know that when you’re hungry you think of food. But… and then you’re satisfied with the food. But you can do it the other way around. You can just think of food and get hungry. You discovered that once the corrupt nature starts to awaken in you; the sexual nature, the sexual impulse.. or the sexual beast or sexual spirit gets into you it’s ego, it knows how to keep on.. it creates a dissatisfaction, it creates a wider gulf between you and your creator and a greater emptiness and a greater meaninglessness a greater inferiority and a guilt. A remembrance of what gave you pleasure, and so even if the woman isn’t there, especially because you’re afraid of women; because you know what women do to you, you know what your mother was able to do to you. But you can conjure them up like a centerfold. You know, a Playboy centerfold in your mind, indulge them, get into the pleasure, relieve yourself, and then get exhausted… but the point is, the more you do that it’s like giving your life to the spirit of that image. You understand there’s a spirit behind that image. Anytime you sin, anytime you overreact to something, there’s an energy.. you become disconnected from your true self, and the motivation to move and have your being comes from the outside, but with that comes thoughts and ideas, and a spirit, and this indwelling spirit with it, and this indwelling spirit lives in your subconscious. You can never see it, it’s always there. When it thinks you think it’s you that’s thinking. You actually think it’s you that’s thinking. But it’s thinking through you, and you’re caught up in it, and you can’t see otherwise. And it will show you how to have pleasure, how to have life, how to get rid of the pain of conscience, cause it’s conscience’s enemy, follow that?
Me:  Yes.
Roy: So, therefore, when you were able to detach from the image, sort of relieve yourself without the glory of escaping, because what is happening is when you fantasize with a sexual act you’re actually experiencing a glorious feeling, aren’t you?
Me:     Worship.
Roy: A relief of pain of conscience, but at that moment you’re getting worse. You’re becoming more depleted, more possessed by that spirit, that lives within the phantom of the opera, so to speak, the phantom that’s hidden there in all the fanfare and beauty and music and glory and excitement, follow?
Me:  Yes.
Roy: And so when you separated from that, and just did the act by itself, like dispensed with the excess, if you’ll pardon the expression,
Me:  No, I understand.
Roy: …you began to be separated from that, you began to be free. It was just sex, stupid, you see…
Me:  It was a quantum leap. It was a giant leap of freedom, and it took a tremendous amount of the bondage out… and just so I don’t sound like a know-it-all, my pride came in, after about thirty or forty days without taking myself in hand, and I began to feel really cocky about myself, and then began to think, ‘wouldn’t it be nice to spend my last few days with a woman..
Roy:     You’d be back in the saddle again, wouldn’t you?
Me:  I…I went flying, I went flying back worse than I was before for about two days, I actually looked up pornography on the internet, and then I said “I can’t do this,” and I went on a.. I’m on the third day of a fast, but, I’m working and it doesn’t affect my life. I fast a lot.
Roy:     Young man, you see; the fact that you were becoming a woman means the woman was your center. When your mother became the center of your being because your father who was weak. You weren’t delivered over to a strong father who represented, God’s bureaucrat, because when you are handed over to a strong father who’s noble, then you have your God identity. You love the good in him as a roundabout way of loving the good in yourself and your mother supporting the love of the good in your father would also be a good woman, but this was a divided house, where your mother, was a control-freak.
Me:  May I just say one thing…
Roy: And you became feminine. You took on the woman’s nature. The woman’s spirit.
Me:  I want to put an accent on that, because when I was about twelve I was a coward being pushed around by a bully (in the neighborhood). Had a cousin come in (to visit) and the two of us were walking to the candy store and the bully came over my cousin just stood there. Like a rock. Didn’t make faces back at him, just wouldn’t let him push him around, and the bully backed off.
Within a year, I went to my cousin’s house; something came over me. I walked upstairs, it was his birthday, he had just been given a single-barreled shotgun as a present. I took the shotgun, put a shell in it, snapped the barrel up, brought it to my shoulder, pulled back the hammer, and… it was as if something in me was wordlessly saying ‘just go ahead, it’ll be all right if you just take this next step.’ And my cousin, God bless him, just had the courage to just say my name, with a little bit of a laugh, like “don’t,” and it snapped me out of it. That’s how nuts I was.
Roy: You know why you picked your cousin for this?
Me:  He had courage, and integrity and honor…
Roy: In other words, the evil in you hated him.
Me:  Yes.
Roy: And you understand why they want to kill President Reagan and President Bush and why they glorify Al Quaida and Sadaam Hussein and people like that? You see the affinity is for evil and the hatred is toward good. Look, all I want to know..
I have to let you go now, as the calls are coming in. All you have to do now is learn to endure the cruelty like your cousin, learn to become like him in learning to deal with cruel things, deal with imperfect people, mean people, demoralizing people, degrading people like your mother with dignity, patience and calmness. If you just do that, all your illnesses will go away. I promise you. They are going away right now, God bless you.
Me:  Then it would be possible in my later years to meet a woman, maybe one that goes up to the ranch...
Roy: Yes, one day. You’re not quite ready. You need a woman to practice on. To learn to... You need a woman not to lust, but to love. See the difference? That may involve sex. But in the beginning your relationship must begin with her, you must court her for a year or two, I don’t care how old you are, you must love her for herself, before you have any other relationship. There must be a love and therefore she will respect you, and not rise to the occasion as a girl of your dreams, the nightmare of schemes, the one who caters to all of your weaknesses. Follow that? And turns you into a weak father. Got it?
Me:     Thank you Roy. God bless you.
I Hang up.Roy: (To radio audience) Now those kinds of conversations you won’t find on any other program on earth, so please, would you please consider supporting it with your tax deductible donations?

The “empathetic handshake” between myself and Roy Masters concerning my vision of the spirit of submissive sexuality had cemented in me the understanding that I was on the true journey I had wandered off of in 1968. The meaning, relevance and reality of the meditation to the soul were all providing similar ingredients to the ‘missing link’ between my two never-to-be-forgotten conscious expanding psychedelic experiences of the late sixties and the current state of my searching soul. The blazing cross I had seen as an ignorant, naïve, atheistic Jew approaching the throne of God had now, almost forty years later, taken on new and living relevance.
Like going to a shrink, sometimes one visit isn’t enough. I re-called Roy Masters three weeks later on December 17th, 2004.