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The Raptures of Watching And Being Watched

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My partner and I have at times watched and assisted each other masturbate. In recent years, I have discovered a further watch-and-be-watched pleasure that's allowed my exhibitionistic and voyeuristic fantasies to blossom more fully. I have taped and photographed my solo sensual sessions (very arousing in itself) and traded them with others (doubling the pleasures) for them to watch me and me, them. My partner likes to watch my taped sensual bliss, as she masturbates. She's slowly moving toward making me a tape of her self-pleasuring. As I patiently but excitedly await that, she OK'd my connecting with women over the internet to swap masturbation photos and tapes with.
Let me tell you about my solo selferotic session (one of several on the tape) that women who swapped for my tape get the most excited about watching.
I am home alone, a whole weekend to myself. In the evening, I move the video camera on a tripod and connected to a tv into the bathroom. The room is lit with about a dozen candles, a very soothing and pleasing, inviting light. I start the camera. As it tapes, I can also see myself on the screen. I start the shower water, warm and flowing.
The water-running sounds are an auditory cousin to the candles' lights, intimate, calming, arousing. Not yet in the water, still wearing t-shirt and underwear, I begin self-stroking. I like seeing my body on the tv in the way my sensual partner sees me. One hand's fingertips find my nipples, showing erect thru my green t-shirt; the other hand's fingers caress across my testicles and my penis, now stretching with anticipation against my underwear. The cotton of it feels like a lover's warm breath, like her soft cheek against my most sensual skin.
The sensual hisses of the water now beckon me in, and I enter, not yet undressing. Wet T-shirt and underwear are like a second skin, at once multiplying my body's sensual surfaces and feeling like an intimate lover's body suffused into mine. The waters transform the green of my t-shirt into the deep green of primeval Nature. I am fairly tall and, despite being middle-aged, have kept my athletic build. The t-shirt clings to me, heightening the visual pleasures from seeing my bodily contours.
Whoever invented the detachable shower head gets my fullest gratitude. She or he was undoubtedly a profoundly sensual person. My shower head and its spray of waters now becomes simultaneously an erotically exploring mouth, stroking fingers, and caressing skin against my body. I first use the wide and gentler spray to trace and dampen my full body, literally head to foot, completely and slowly. Warmth builds, warmth of all possible kinds.
One of the most arousing parts both of making the tape and of watching it is its sounds. The aqualine hiss of flowing water and the rhythmically punctuated dripping from my body are alone deeply erotic. Since making the tape, I have masturbated at times just while listening to those sounds, visuals off. I now begin to add my deep body moaning to those sounds. I turn the shower head to the pulsating massage setting and put it on its holder. Its stream of erotic fluidity seems to find its connection to my genitals by itself, and I rhythmically press and withdraw my hips into it as it it were my lovers mouth, anus, or vagina allowing me strokingly into their inner welcoming recesses.
Ever so slowly, I pull up my shirt. Watching my lover undress in movement toward sex has always been an exciting moment for me, as she allows me into the intimacies of her private body. Now, I am my own lover, undressing myself for the visual pleasure it gives me (and anticipating it will give others their own pleasures as they watch). Very slowly and teasingly, I pull down my underwear, ecstatic from the sensations of it moistly gliding along my buttocks, down across my thighs. Not yet ready to fully part with the caresses of cotton clothing, I use the t-shirt and one hand to grasp my testicles, the other hand to longingly slither the warm wet shirt up and down the shaft of my uncircumsized penis. My hands visually please me, strong as a carpenter's, as lyrically fluid as a concert pianist's.
Turning toward the camera, I now gaze at myself fullly frontally, naked and aroused. My thighs are particularly muscular, and I thrill to see them and my penis as three powerful erotic columns, parallel to one another, and my penis vertical in its excitement. I lean against the back shower wall, itself a coursing waterfall of sensual warmth, and unhook the shower head toward me, very much as I have sometimes pulled my teasingly-distant lover across sheets to me.
The powerful massage spray is now as if it were my lover's fingers. They dedicate themselves to squeezing and probing my testicles and the outside of my anus. My other hand starts stroking the shaft of my penis, from the bottom. Masturbation must be different for those of us who are uncircumsized, and the touch of my foreskin moving over my penis tip is a sensation I treasure. (I think being uncircumsized must allow me quite a lot of the same sensations that masturbating women have when they indirectly stroke their clitoris. I know partners and I have gotten profound pleasures from sex in which we have fantasized that I was also a woman and have thought of my penis as if it were a clitoris.)
As my excitement and anticipation of the beauties of a climax crescendo, my stroking hand slides farther up the shaft, and the shower head's intense, hard spray concentrates its energies on being a lover's finger partially entering and rimming my anus. You can hear my voice deepen and my moans intensify, knowing that soon, soon....
I release my hold on the shaft and withdraw the shower head. I stand nearly motionless, though my body courses with pleasure. Only my erect penis moves, quivering slightly. Seconds pass.
My love liquid spurts forth from me, coursing upward in an arcing fountain that are the visual counterpart of the plaesure-moans that emanate from deeply within me. The water-sounds in the background are as an orchestral accompaniment to my song of erotic ecstasy. Now I grasp and stroke hard and fully, extending the pleasure, spreading it outward through my entire sensual being.
For some minutes, I stand still and quiet, waters flowing in sight and in sound, savoring. My wet body, glistening in candle light and in postorgasmic rapture.



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