Caught In The Act

September 13, 2011
  • Caught In The Act

You all remember infrequent Swan Fungus contributor Sam, right? He goes by the improbable handle “S Bowlin” in the comments section. He’s got two of his own websites, Black Candle Magick and Mask Making. He’s authored a few Swan Fungus blog posts through the years, including “Cruising At Red Robin” and “13 Songs That Would Rape You If They Had A Penis”. Well, Sam has long been one of my favorite writers — not to mention a great friend I can always count on in a time of need — so I asked him recently (as in this morning) if he had anything he was particularly proud of that he might want to share with my audience. At first he seemed hesitant, but I’m happy to say Sam is nothing if not a genius when it comes to penning a heartbreaking blog post of staggering proportions in a matter of hours. I’m happy he’s back today with another wonderful guest post. This one’s sure to touch you all, as it is on the topic of Self Love. Take it away, Sam!


I don’t know how many of you are out there, but if this has happened to you, know we are psychic survivors of real psychodrama.

When I was a teen, I got caught masturbating by my neighbor.  This has to be a common experience, right?  Who else has lived this?

To my defense, I was inside my home, and she spied me from the window. Before school, in precious moments of aloneness inside, no one to notice if I want to pleasure myself before taking the bus to school, I felt the urge and I chased it, in front of the tv that was in front of the front porch window where I looked up and there she was watching, I don’t know for how long, but as I stood she turned and ran, but not before I caught a glimpse of her, fleeing the scene of the crime.

The event itself had some serious psychic manifestations, since I had seen her brother a few seasons prior in the act of masturbation. Similar situation, except we had an open window through which to stare as he hammerjacked it in front of the TV.  And it was in the middle of the night.

At this point in the story, I realize names are not important, only the specific incident, that tenuous moment where private turns public with a flash of embarrassment and invasion.  Those who have felt the hot flash, you are not alone.  I had figured that this was a personal thing, but something you didn’t talk about in small-town USA.  We knew all about public displays of affection.  Nobody talked about the other half of the equation, the quiet side.  The stolen moments, the soiled underwear.  The secret every kid kept hidden the best they could, until someone just ruins it for you.

So there I was, pants around my ankles, a wad of paper towels ready, and another few minutes until I had to walk outside to the bus stop and know she told everyone and they’d all be dying to tell the world. Nobody masturbated, or at least admitted to it, portrayed as a sex-negative experience, this act seemed taboo and restricted dialogue.  But there was no way she wasn’t going to tell anyone. She’d tell anyone who’d listen.

I could have rushed out at once with my bookbag and try to interrupt any discussions about me jerking off before school but there were more pressing matters at hand.  I didn’t have to finish, but I did, anyway. And then I cleaned up and walked out to the bus stop, where the schoolbus was already pulling up.  I didn’t get a chance to say anything.

See, when we’d told people about her brother, I remember my sister busting on him, and he stormed away, and didn’t really talk to the rest of us anymore.  He gave us the cut-off and the neighborhood splintered into a battleground of accusations.  Suddenly, I became known as one of the common rural legend, as the boy who jerked it, the loneliness of the long distance stroker.  And I don’t know how any of you other survivors coped with it, but not knowing what else to do, I embraced the jokes and the razzings.  I took on my new identity, the posterchild for safe sex in the early 90’s, and an advocate for the practice of masturbation, in my little town, in my little school, surrounded by lonely strokers and furious gropers and I was not afraid to speak of its many benefits.  I was part of a small clique of kids drifting towards deviant behaviors and I would lecture them to the point of discomfort on the practices of this private cult, insisting on the importance of frank discussion.  And, it gave me an opportunity to discuss masturbation with women, which provided to pave new sexual
fantasy highways.  I was more than somewhat lonely, and in the loneliest practice came an opportunity to share with others my common interests and oral fixations.

But I never really forgave my neighbor, oddly enough.  I can recall an incident where we were sitting on the steps of the church next to my house, an awkward social moment where she finally addressed the experience.

‘I can tell everyone I made it up,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry.’  But there was a bitterness that lingered, and I refused to acknowledge her presence, until she got up and left.  But she had liberated an experience for me that has had transformative effects upon my life. Masturbation, I mean, not getting caught masturbating.  If you live it more than once, you may be previously addicted to being discovered, and should stop exposing yourself to frightened cleaning ladies and full subway cars.  We never meant for this to happen.

But, accidents happen.

Brainbombs – Kill Them All

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