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Karoo Christmas Discovery 5
Jan speaks...
The first semester flew by, and I don't think I learned as much as I had in my entire high school life. Joel and I were getting along well, and we were very happy in our small residence. Joel and I were officially `going out'. Joel had been brought up Orthodox but joined a local Progressive Synagogue, and I joined him at Shabbat services on Friday nights. He had given me a beautifully decorated yarmulka as a gift which I wore proudly. I enjoyed the service and felt very welcome, particularly since there were several other gay couples at the synagogue. I quickly learned how the liturgy was structured and enjoyed the way the rabbi integrated the readings with contemporary issues. The meal after the Friday service was a bonus and we got to know a lot of other members of the Shul.
I reflected a lot on how I as an Afrikaner, an Afrikaans-speaking Dutch Reformed kid was finding his was through a different world. Joel and I had never been to a gay club before, and a mutual friend, Sam, agreed to take us with him one Saturday night.
As I stepped into the pulsating lights of the nightclub, the thumping bass reverberated through my chest, igniting a surge of energy within me. The air was electric, charged with anticipation. A kaleidoscope of colours danced across the dimly lit room and cast a glow on the crowd that filled the space.
We worked our way through the throng of bodies, each person exuding their unique aura of confidence and self-expression. The atmosphere was a little intoxicating, a melting pot of identities and desires coming together. As we made our way to the bar, I caught glimpses of flirtatious glances exchanged between strangers, and the air was thick with a sense of possibility. The bartender greeted us with a warm smile, and we ordered our drinks.
We lost ourselves in the rhythm of the music, and let it carry us away on a wave of euphoria. Every beat seemed to synchronize with the rhythm of my heart, and for a moment, I was lost in another world. As the night wore on, the energy intensified, and we found ourselves in conversations with strangers.
As the early hours of the morning beckoned, we left the noise of the club. There was silence as we stepped out into the cool fresh night air. I carried the memory of connection and uncertainty. We both unsure about the experience, and to be honest, I found it disconcerting. I was relieved when Joel told me that he didn't think he'd be going back to Club Pink very soon.
We took a quick shower when we got home, dried ourselves and climbed into our bed. We had moved our beds together to make a double bed. I was on my back and Joel started sucking my toes and slowly worked himself up my legs until he got to my balls which he played with in his mouth. He then took my dick head into his soft mouth and in time swallowed my entire dick. I pushed him off and I began kissing his eyes, nose, and ears tenderly. My tongue slipped into his mouth, and I moved down to suck his nipples. He squirmed and I made my way down to his beautiful dick and moved my mouth up and down his shaft.
I asked Joel to fuck me. I had never been fucked and wanted him in me. He had some coconut oil and got it out the cupboard while I lay on my back waiting for him, slowly playing with my dick. Joel was on his knees in front of me as he oiled his dick, he then used his finger to open my hole and smeared it with coconut oil. The room smelled like a tropical beach as he brought his dick to my hole. My legs were on his shoulders, and he pushed his dick in. I knew it would be sore and it was. The books I had read said that I had to push out, so I did. Joel kept asking me if I was okay and I told him to keep pushing. It felt like a knife cutting through, but then he was in. He moved his hips and found a rhythm as I tried to relax. It was a mixture of pleasure and pain for me. As Joel began breathing faster, I felt him come in my arse.
He collapsed onto me, lay on my stomach and kissed me. I pushed him off because it was getting hard to breathe. He went down on his knees and sucked my dick. It wasn't long until I came into his mouth. We lay next to each other and kissed. I tasted my cum and I felt very close to Joel, I had his cum in me. We played with each other's flaccid dicks and fell asleep in each other's arms.
My parents did not take too many holidays when I was growing up because of the pressures of farming, but when they did go on holiday we always went to Storms River in the southern Cape. The camp is located along the rocky beachfront and is part of a national park. There is a famous hanging bridge over the Storms River, and it is the starting point of many hiking trails. Joel was keen to discover the spot for himself and he agreed to drive us there for a four-day stay over our first break. He had debated returning home to Wepener but decided that he would rather spend the time with me.
After driving through some forests we reached the entry gate, paid the fee, and drove down a driveway with spectacular views of the ocean below. I had managed to secure a chalet on the beachfront and the sound of the waves breaking on the rocks reminded me of my childhood. The sound of seagulls, African oystercatchers, and the smell of sea salt also took me back in time. We unpacked our baggage and the groceries we had brought, and we went for a walk on the beach. The rocks were hard on our bare feet, and we searched for the sandy beach for respite. The rock pools were teaming with life and Joel said that it was the best thing he had ever seen. It was a very romantic moment as the sun went down, there was a reddish colour over the ocean, and the warmth of Joel's hand in mine was comforting. He turned to me a kissed me.
The smallness of the shower was the only downside in our chalet, and it was far too tiny for the two of us to use at the same time. So, we took separate showers and had supper on the veranda watching the moon rise over the ocean.
Joel speaks...
Jan and I ended up talking about masturbation and when we both started. I told him that Pieter, the Dutch Reformed Minister's son had shown me how to masturbate. I was just about to turn eleven. He was thirteen and we were in the barn on our farm. We were in our shorts playing wrestling on an old double bed mattress. We were out of breath, and he was sitting on top of me and I had a hard-on, I noticed that his dick was also tenting in his shorts. Pieter rolled off me and slipped his hand into my shorts and unexpectantly grabbed my erect dick. I let out a little yelp and he guided my hand to his dick, I never anticipated any of this and I formed a little fist around his dick. I had just started to get pubic hair, but he already had a dense little bush above his dick. Pieter began to wank me and told me this was called "draadtrek" (masturbation). It felt good and he told me to keep doing it to him too. My body began to tremble, and my balls tightened, and I got an incredibly warm feeling (my first dry orgasm) Pieter's dick stiffened and he said "Ek kom' (I'm coming) and he shot cum onto his stomach. It was incredible and it was the first of many encounters between Pieter and me. The only problem I had was the incredible guilt that I lived with in my teen years.
I understood better what I was going through when I read a story on Nifty called "The magnitude of guilt". I loved the story because it said so much about my own Jewish experience, and I read it to Jan:
"I am David. Not my real name. I have been struggling with masturbation since I was ten. Not that kind of struggle! I know how to do it, and I'm good at it. This struggle comes from my family's deeply religious orthodox beliefs, my problem is that I can't understand why something that feels so good and natural can be so wrong.
Many years ago, my dad asked the rabbi he was close with whether he had discussed wet dreams with his son when he experienced puberty. He said, "Not yet." When he asked again a few years later, after his son had physically matured, he said, "No, it just never came up."
Giving a boy zero information about why his sheets are sometimes sticky is a recipe for confusion, shame, and guilt. How can it be right to keep truths about human biology a secret from young boys just because we feel uncomfortable?
My dad said that maintaining secrecy must lead boys to think that these challenges only affect a few people, but that wasn't true. The solution my dad gave me was to overcome the urges through willpower.
I have never told my father that I lack the willpower that he thinks I have since then. I masturbate in the shower every night and feel guilty afterward. I have searched the web for years looking for answers and I took heart from one Quora answer about masturbation in Yeshivas:
"In my yeshivah, they'd say if you don't wear flip-flops in the shower you might get pregnant."
Another person answered: "I remember it being hard to find a bathroom around 7 pm in my yeshiva dorm."
I wondered if this is true. I also wonder what percentage of boys spend the entire time thinking that they are the only ones. My mind drifted off to the many yeshivas in Jerusalem with their students sitting for hours diligently studying and reflecting. The yeshiva is a rare survivor in the twenty-first century and cannot easily be taken for granted. For all its shortcomings and insularity, the traditions, and beliefs it nurtures do give hope. They transmit a tradition, not only as an object of study but as a vital and life-giving for communities.
It was sometime after my bar mitzvah when I attended a question-and-answer session where a rabbi was asked how and when, if at all, a Jewish father should talk to his sons about wet dreams and masturbation.
Before he could even answer a person interrupted him: "There are children here!" The youngest boy in the room was two months shy of his bar mitzvah and I couldn't think of no one else who needed this information more urgently than a 12-year-old boy. Then, in rabbinical style, the rabbi said he didn't know and would probably ask his rabbi when his children grew older.
The typical answer I have received over the years has been something like this: "The fact that you are asking this question shows that you have a deep religious feeling. The beginning of teshuvah is a feeling that what I have done is wrong.
To do better you must look and see what it is that made you sin and try not to put yourself in the same situation again. For example, if you live alone maybe find a good male roommate."
Now that I am older, I have had more world experience, I found out that Catholics have the same taboos around masturbation and that Catholic boys live with the same guilt that we do. Hindu and Muslim boys also live in guilt, but when Muslim boys succumb to their needs it is seen as a lesser evil and they seek forgiveness.
So how do I manage? I hate feeling so damn guilty and fearful every time I do it. The way I always rationalise is that:
It isn't directly addressed in the Torah despite being such a "horrible sin"?
Why the heck would we be designed to do it so easily?
I am not married and therefore how am I wasting seed if there is no wife around to potentially impregnate?
Plus, our bodies regenerate sperm our whole life. It makes no sense that it would hold such value worthy of being equated to murder. Also, sperm does not contain souls, only DNA. My understanding is when a baby is formed from the womb, the soul is then planted by G-d.
I put my flip-flops on and got into the shower. The warm jet of water felt good on my back, I closed my eyes turned my head up, and washed my face. I massaged the shower gel across my shoulders and onto my chest. I washed my arse and cleaned out my hole using the gel. I lifted my legs and washed my thighs and my calves.
My dick grew harder as I massaged my body and I washed under my balls. I washed my shaft and was careful not to soap into my piss slit. My dick was upright, parallel to my stomach when I started to wank. I felt an incredible sensation building up and my body trembled, and I held onto the wall for a moment as ropes of cum splashed onto the shower glass. I was breathing faster, and I felt my heart beating in my ears. An incredible sensation.
But I then experienced `la petite mort' (the little death), that feeling of post-orgasmic guilt as my religious ideas swirled in my head reinforcing the feelings of guilt. I turned off the shower, dried myself off, wrapped the damp towel around me, and went to my room. I dropped the towel and stood looking at my body in the mirror for a second and wondered what would become of me. I used some tissue to dry off some remaining drops of cum on my dick before I put my undies on.' "
Jan thought the story was brilliant, and he said that it also helped him to understand a lot of the emotions he had.
Jan speaks...
That night I got to fuck Joel, who was a little more experienced than I was. I had brought some lube and spread the lube in his arse and on my dick. My dick went in easily and he didn't seem to moan, I could feel my balls against his arse and that was cool. I found my rhythm quickly and my dick moved in and out while I used my one hand to wank him. It wasn't long before I shot off in his arse and he shot his load onto my chest.