I am a masochistic cocksucker. I mean, I like to give oral pleasure to a hyper-masculine, abusive-type straight guy. I like it when the guy calls me names, like "faggot," "queer," "bitch," or "pervert." I like to have the guy make me feel ashamed of myself for being so queer for him at the same time that I'm doing my best to make his dick feel good in my mouth for him, sucking on it. I like to be spit at and slapped around abusively while I'm being called names. I like it when the guy calls up his buddies on the phone and tells them he's got a "live one," while I'm down on my knees between his legs bobbing up and down on it, slurping it up, gagging on it. I like doing degrading stuff for him like sniffing out his sweaty nuts, licking his feet, sucking his toes, licking out his armpits and his asshole for him, while we wait for his pals to arrive.
When his buddies arrive with a case of beer, I take them all on, while they smoke my cigarettes and grass and use me as their suck bitch. I like it when a sort of pack mentality begins to make some of the guys more abusive. I've enjoyed being pissed on by guys--either all at once or else taking turns, one after the other. I've also submitted to beltings and whippings. I get excited when it feels like it might get out of hand. After a truly abusive session, when you'd think I would have felt the worst, I instead feel relieved, relaxed and empowered. .
In my case the ultimate cause of this masochism was inadequate fathering. My dad was an iron worker and I remember him mostly being too tired to do anything with us boys (except, significantly, the occasional spanking). So many of the skills I needed to function socially as a boy (i.e. learn to throw a ball, learn to ride a bike) I had to do the best I could on my own. When a cousin or a pal would help me learn these things, I would end up having a crush on him (what I really needed was a dad). Since spankings were one type of interaction my dad did do, I ended up making this power display a central theme in my adult fantasy life. I thought that somehow, if my dad really whipped me hard (which he never did) it would somehow "make a man out of me."
In the early sixties it was still common for dads to whip their sons in working-class neighborhoods. I remember hearing a kid down the street really "getting it" from his dad, on more than one occasion, who used a razor strop on his boys out in the garage. The kid once showed me his welts the day after a particularly brutal beating when we were both around twelve. I was turned-on by this even then.
Since I so craved masculine attention and didn't know how to fight, I fell victim to bullies in junior high school. They would abuse me in the boys room after school, making me light their cigarettes or kiss their sneakers, making me hold their dicks for them while they pissed. I thought if I just do what they say, I won't get hurt. They would call me names while they abused me for kicks.
Although I repressed this (even now the memories are hazy and partial) these kinds of actions became very heavily charged as symbols of power and continue to play a major role in my fantasy life to this day. Although I never fantasize about these incidents themselves, I can see now that I restage variations of them. It is called "identification with the aggressor," when someone being forcibly dominated begins to get off on the sadistic abuse itself, as a sort of defense mechanism.
I used to think that if I understood my masochism, it would disappear. It didn't, but at least for me it's no longer a mystery.