Mother's Day Wankers: Betty's Workshop For Men

"WANKER'S WORKSHOP" read the bold type in the Village Voice. The year was1983 just before AIDS was about to throw America into a sexual panic. Howard Smith, the editor of Scene's, was telling his readers about my men's workshops. Since the subject was masturbation, he was milking it for laughs like everyone else did. When he first called, I told him the men's workshops were due to popular demand.

"Betty, it sounds utterly crazy. I'm sorry, but I'm hard pressed to follow what you're up to. I can understand how women could benefit from learning about masturbation; it would teach them how to have orgasms. But most research shows men are regular masturbators and they start at an early age. So what's to teach?"

I responded with the patience of a saint. "Just because a guy whacks off quickly in the shower doesn't mean he's good at sex. Fast ejaculators are impotent. For every pre-orgasmic woman there's a pre-orgasmic man."

Then I reminded him that Kinsey put the national average of intercourse after penetration at two and a half minutes. Most men are coming way too fast. Practicing masturbation could help them to last longer, have fuller orgasms and become better lovers.

As usual, the concept of a pre-orgasmic man never made it to the printed page. The good news was that the article brought in lots of letters and requests for more information about the Bodysex Groups. The bad news was handling all the jerk-off calls. This was before phone sex lines had become popular, so every time my name appeared in print, the phone would start ringing off the hook. By now, I was a veteran at dealing with phone pests. Within seconds I could tell if I had a legitimate caller or some jerk looking for a free orgasm.

The Wankers article got picked up by Screw magazine and was read by the maintenance personnel in my building. As I picked up my mail one morning, the Super, Lopez, was very excited by his idea of what went on in a men's masturbation workshop. He asked, "Betty, you think I learn something if I be in your group?" he was drooling as he leered through layers of Puerto Rican, Catholic conditioning.

"Sure," I said with a smile. "You'd learn that masturbation is about loving yourself and I'd teach you how to do it nice and slow."

He howled with laughter. The idea had him so tickled he called over Jordan, the doormen to tell him that he should take the workshop. He was doing the macho shtick of making another man squirm by sexually embarrassing him in front of a woman. I broke in and told Lopez that I thought he was the one who needed the workshop, not Jordan.

"I've heard that you come real fast," I lied, looking him straight in the eye.

"Who told you that?" Lopez asked defensively as his eyes widened.

"Oh, you know how people in the building gossip." With that, I walked off down the hall leaving my Super standing there scratching his head, trying to figure out who'd told me such an intimate thing about him. When we were at opposite ends of the hall about a hundred feet apart, I saw Lopez still looking at me. I spontaneously grabbed my imaginary dick and started wanking furiously for a few seconds before disappearing into the elevator. "Sexual Guerrilla theater at its best," I smiled to myself as the door closed.

I loved being out of the closet as an erotic artist first, and next as a sex teacher. It made my life unique. In some ways more difficult like ignoring comments from disapproving moralists or laughing with those who treated me like the latest dirty joke. But it was mostly delightful. The thing I loved best was overcoming female conditioning. Every woman knows those sick feelings of embarrassment mixed with rage when men leer or offer their unwanted opinions of what they admire about our tits and ass or offer to "suck your pussy." I'd been reversing that situation since I turned forty. Now in my early fifties, I was a pro at flirting with men and kidding them about sex. It was fun to make them blush for a change.

A month later I was still signing up two workshops on consecutive weekends, no easy task. When I got a call from a man who had to cancel because he was having dinner with his mother on Mother's Day, I realized what I'd done. The conflict with Mother's Day caused two more men to dropout which was a blessing because I'd overbooked. There were thirteen men on my list, and this time they weren't all coming through recommendations. Many were responding to the Voice and Screw articles, and there was no way I could screen that many clients. I simply talked to everyone one on the phone and signed each one up when I received their deposit. Suddenly I felt an edge of paranoia. Then I remembered similar to groupsex, there was safety in numbers.

When the bell rang the first day, I answered the door nude except for a big leather belt and a policeman's hat, my version of a butch doorman. There stood an attractive man in his thirties wearing a business suit holding a suitcase. He grinned at my outfit. Jim said he was in New York on business so he'd come straight from the airport instead of checking in at the hotel. I welcomed him and told him to hang his clothes on one of the silver hooks. While he was undressing, he told me he lived in a suburb of Boston and was an executive in a big Chemical Corporation. When I asked how he wanted to pay the balance, he handed me cash, and I thanked him. Since he was a little early, I said he might want to take a shower, which he appreciated.

Jim had just stepped into the bathroom when my second client rang the bell. In came Al, an older man with white hair, horned-rimmed glasses, and a tubby body that was still appealing. He told me in a soft voice that he'd read about my groups in Screw. Next was Richard, a cute little swishy Jewish guy around forty, who was extremely animated with a motor mouth. Then Alan arrived, a personal friend. He was a Frenchman in his early thirties with a great body and delicate features. Alan was gay but occasionally had sex with women. Jorge from South America came in next. He was about the same age as Alan, and was also a good looker with dark wavy hair. His body was nearly perfect with an ample penis, I noted. As I continued to greet the rest, I marveled at the wonderful assortment of types: from thirties to sixty, plain to handsome, fat and thin, with big cocks and small. I was prepared to love them all.

The group was scheduled to start at one o'clock, and at one fifteen, we formed the circle. After we did some breathing exercises to get rid of tension, I told them we would go around the circle to share how we felt about our bodies and our orgasms with me going first.

"At fifty-three, my self image is in decline at the moment," I stated. "I stopped smoking cigarettes and marijuana two years ago and I've put on weight. I intend to either accept the weight or reverse it as soon as I find a new workout I like. My orgasms are actually better now that I can breathe easier and short-term memory has improved. I love recreational drugs and I'll never put them down for other people who practice moderation, but I'm a little piggy who needs to clean out every now and then."

Next I talked about my struggle over sexual labels and how they'd caused confusion and guilt. Society put so much pressure on us to conform to heterosexuality that it took me forever to uncover my bisexuality. My hope for the future is that we'll be sexual without labels. With that, I turned to the man sitting on my left and invited him to go next.

"My name is Al. I was married to an alcoholic wife for twenty-five years, and we only had sex several times a year. When I was a child, my father told me to never masturbate because it would ruin my life. Throughout puberty, I had erections all the time and didn't know what to do about it. That kind of dilemma for a child is cruel and inhuman. Now I feel sexually cheated and it makes me very angry, mostly at myself for not rebelling. After spending my childhood fighting off masturbation, I ended up in a lousy marriage with minimal sex."

Al was convinced if he'd been given any decent sex information at all, he would have known better than to marry the woman he did. The absence of sex in his life made him feel so desperate that he stayed married to an alcoholic far too long. After fruitless years of trying to get his wife sober, he finally divorced her.

"She got sober and is now happily married to another man and for all I know, she's a great lay. I'm still single, and feel very awkward about dating at the age of fifty-six. Sex has damn well passed me by."

Immediately I told Al that as a woman in her fifties, the sex I was having with myself was the best ever. It was never too late, and I reminded him that there were thousands of divorced women who would love to have an affair with him. He was sitting all scrunched over, so I put my hand on his chest and had him take a deep breath of selflove. As he inhaled, he straightened up and looked completely different. When several of the guys commented on the change, Al smiled for the first time.

"My name is Gene. I'm forty-three and divorced. I really love women. I recently broke up with a woman who has two children from her first marriage. The sex was very good, but she ruined our three year affair by wanting to get married. I have three children of my own, and the last thing I want is another family. That's my main problem: whenever sex gets good, women screw up the relationship by pressuring me to marry them."

"Gene, if men want women to enjoy sex on its own terms, they've got to get out there and lobby for women's equal pay for equal work. Until that happens, most women will continue to want marriage. It represents a little financial security plus social acceptance."

Though he claimed to love women, I could hear anger boiling just under the surface. When I asked about his masturbation practices, he admitted it couldn't compare to fucking. But he resorted to it sometimes when sex wasn't available. He did it lying on his stomach humping the covers until he come. It was strictly a physical release. His style meant he wasn't comfortable handling his own cock. This guy was clearly a "Pussy junkie" and like all addicts, we end up hating what we can't live without.

Jim went next. He was the attractive man from Boston who'd arrived early. His vibrations were very peaceful as he spoke about his wife and how he actually enjoyed married life. He said he was crazy about his three kids who were a constant source of joy.

"After ten years of marriage, sex with my wife has been slacking off which I'm sure is only natural. That's one reason I want to learn about more about masturbation. I figure I'm going to be doing more of it not less. Although I sometimes think about having sex with other women, I'm afraid it might jeopardize my marriage, so I'm going to stay with masturbation."

Richard, the cute little swishy guy spoke next. He surprised us by saying he'd just broken up with a woman he'd lived with for eight years. Their relationship had been fabulous for the first five years and during that time, he rarely had sex with men. But in the last three years when they were fighting all the time, he enjoyed plenty of casual sex with guys.

"I could never imagine having to choose between being straight or gay", he continued. "I have always enjoyed both equally. I value the richness of the emotional content when I'm in love with a woman and I can always get off on the hot sex I have with men. I've been very successful in business so I can afford an active social life. I adore taking growth seminars and I bet I've done all the best ones. It makes complete sense to me that masturbation is a form of meditation, and that everybody could benefit from more orgasms and selflove."

Richard was such a contrast to the man who went next. During his entire share, Fred kept his head down and spoke softly. His body was hunched over with shoulders drawn up tight.

"My name is Fred and I'm forty-five-years old. My only sex is masturbation because I've never had sex with a woman. I always masturbate with pictures of women, but I'm lonely because all I have is pictures. But I enjoy the curved shape of ordinary objects like vases, toilet bowls and bottles that are inspired by a woman's body."

We were all momentarily stunned as Fred touched us with his poignant confession of being a forty-five-year-old virgin. As I listened, I wasn't sure he was all there. Either a bit retarded, or else driven half mad with sexual repression. Suddenly I felt a flash of panic. Fred was making everyone uneasy so I mentally asked for divine guidance as we moved along to the next man.

"I've never had sex with a woman either," said Patrick, a tall, thin man in his late thirties. We all laughed which broke through the tension in the room. "I'm gay so I do have some sex with men. But my experiences have been modest for a gay man. As you can see, I'm not particularly handsome. I have a lot to learn about sex because for a long time, I was basically asexual except for masturbation which I did infrequently."

Suddenly two sexual cliché's were busted, "Heterosexual men in their forties were never virgins and gay men in their thirties were never asexual."

Robert followed Patrick. He was in his early sixties and had called me the day before, concerned about being the only elder in the group. I had assured him that two other men were in their fifties and I was fifty-three.

"My name is Robert and I've been gay all my life. I have never had any interest in having sex with a woman and I'm sure I've missed nothing. Most intelligent people know the gay scene offers superior sex, and I've done it all! Even now at my advanced age, I have a young, gorgeous thirty-two-year-old lover who comes to me once a week. We have wonderful sex together and I feel totally fulfilled with my one orgasm a week. I have masturbated all my life without an ounce of guilt. It makes no sense why people make such a big deal over something that's done in the privacy of one's own bedroom."

Although half of his face was partially paralyzed, he was still a handsome, piss-elegant Queen with perfect diction from being an actor his entire life. As I listened to Robert, I thought, "Why on earth did he sign up for the group?" Then I had a sinking feeling; "Maybe it was to entertain his smart-ass friends by telling them about this fool of a woman who had the audacity to think she could teach men how to masturbate." I groaned inwardly at the thought.

Alan spoke about being very happy with his gay life. He grew up in a little town in France where there wasn't a lot of prohibition on sex, and the kids were always playing sex games.

"My first sex was doing hand jobs with boys, and then as a teenager, I had my first sex with girls. Right away I saw the difference. With girls, sex was much more complicated. It was such a serious affair it spoiled the fun. It made me feel sorry for girls, but they couldn't help being that way because they could get pregnant. That's why they were always thinking about which boy they wanted to capture for marriage. I still don't have anything against having sex with women, but even with birth control, they still try to possess me and that's an uncomfortable feeling."

I listened in amazement to a basically gay man give one of the clearest pictures of why women were different from men when it came to sex.

Jorge said that he had masturbated a lot as a child but always with guilt. He'd grown up Catholic, and masturbation was a cardinal sin. He knew he had suffered a lot of damage from religious repression. Just the fact that we were all sitting around in the nude talking about sex was very healing for him.

"I'd guess you'd say I was bisexual even though I've never had sex with a man alone. My favorite sex is threesomes. When I have both a man and a woman together, I feel completely free to suck and fuck and to be sucked and fucked by either one. I can't explain why this is true or where this comes from. I think it's unusual, yes?"

I told Jorge that I shared his sexual preference, and while not many people talked about threesomes, it was probably more prevalent than we knew.

Danny, a small Mr. Average in his late thirties with no identifying characteristics refused to use a sexual label to define himself.

"I believe labels are unhealthy. I'm just sexual. Like several of the other men here, I started off with a lot of guilt about masturbation. I'm Italian, and I grew up in a religious community in Queens. The Catholic Church has definitely damaged my sexual development with all its anti-sex, anti-body, anti-life doctrines. Although I've eliminated most of my guilt about masturbation, I think I could learn something from Betty. I like idea that masturbation is about selflove. Everyone could use more of that."

Next up was a sweet, cherubic, fifty-year-old clergyman, who radiated gentle vibes. Dick had been married his whole adult life but was now a widower. He'd always curtailed masturbation because he thought he should have sex the regular way.

"I came here to learn and to let go of any remaining guilt I might have with masturbation. But something profound has just happened. Listening to everyone talk so openly about being gay and bisexual has liberated me. I've never told this to anyone, but before I got married and was ordained as a minister, I had a two year love affair with a man. What we shared together was viewed as an abomination in the eyes of the church, but it was quite beautiful and completely loving. I don't want to deny that memory any more or to continue to deny the part of me that is bisexual. Man, not God has condemned sex between same sex partners."

The room fell silent for a moment as we realized we'd just heard a secret that had been hidden for some thirty-five years or more. Several men congratulated Dick for acknowledging he'd loved a man. We all got a positive hit from his confession.

"My name is Horace and that's a hard act to follow. I must say I personally have never wanted to have sex with another man but I also don't think it's such a big deal, especially after listening to everyone here in the room. I think we're representative of the society at large and it's inspirational to see how accepting we are of each others sexual preferences and differences."

Horace was also in his fifties, had gorgeous thick, gray hair with an open, appealing face and a nice body. He was in a long-term marriage that he wanted to stay in because he and his wife were best friends. He smiled when he said it was no news that sex disappeared in marriage.

"Sex has nothing to do with love. My wife and I are still very much in love, and we enjoy doing everything together. I'm very happy living with her but since there's no sexual interest on either of our part; I want to learn more about masturbation. I don't want to pursue sex outside marriage, so the older I get, the more important masturbation becomes."

Carl, the last to speak, was forty, recently divorced, and heterosexual. He admitted that he thought masturbation was "kidstuff" and doing it would mean he was losing his touch with the opposite sex. But now that he was older, he wanted to learn more about masturbation.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not ready to take on the identity of being gay or bisexual, but I'll admit I'm a bit curious about having sex with a man. Maybe the desire to experiment with both sexes is just a natural part of a person's sexual development."

I shared my theory that everyone was naturally bisexual until we got conditioned to be heterosexuals or rebelled to became gay. A few of us discovered we could enjoy both sexes which annoyed the two opposing camps. Without the social pressure to conform to being straight or gay, we would most likely do both during our lifetimes.

"Well, I don't fit your theory dear," chimed in Robert. "As I said before, I have never desired sex with a woman and I never will."

"That's okay, Robert," I smiled. "There's always an exception to every rule and I'm sure that applies to theories too. I know there are people who are fixed heterosexual and fixed homosexual but I think they're in the minority."

By the time we had gotten around the circle, I realized that one of my dreams had come true. I'd fantasized doing a men's group that was equal parts straight, bi, and gay. Now that I had one, I had no idea how to handle it. Just then, the doorbell rang.

When I opened the door, there stood Jay, apologizing for being so late, saying he'd just flown in from New Hampshire. The minute he was inside the foyer, he opened his suitcase that was filled with bondage gear, lingerie, and dildos. When he started going through his bag of goodies I told him we could get to all that later. For now, he could hang up his clothes and join the group. As he was undressing he said he'd just turned fifty, had retired and was doing sex full time. I saw he had a trim supple body and a very happy dick that was already turgid.

"I'm a bisexual transvestite who's into everything," Jay said when he joined the circle. "I was up all night having hot sex with a married couple and they were really great. I was fucking her when her husband started fucking me, and we had a synchronized three-way fuck until I came. Then I started sucking his cock and his wife started fucking him with a dildo, and then I sucked her clit while he fucked her. Man, we were going on like that all night long."

I loved it! Jay wasn't one bit tentative about sharing his experience; he was enthusiastic and the only one who talked about sexual activity in detail. Now that Jay had joined the group, I had everything except a female to male transsexual.

Next I started off the show & tell ritual by sitting down with my mirror. I aimed the bright light between my legs, ready to do a live split beaver show which was a challenge. I'd only done it several other times with men, and I was sweating profusely. Friends always assumed I was fearless when it came to sex, but that wasn't true. Fear constantly shook my very core, but I just did it anyway. Leading a men's group was similar to being a skydiver. The adrenaline rush was a big part of why we enjoy doing those things.

It was amusing to survey my audience as I opened up my glorious outer lips which allowed my assertive clitoris to pop out and have a look at who was looking. The heterosexual men moved up close to see the details, while my two fixed gay men stayed in the background totally disinterested at the prospect of viewing a pussy. The bisexual men were in the middle ground, paying attention as I wiggled my clit and talked about the PC muscle, telling them it was the same muscle that made their cocks jump. A few of the men immediately squeezed their PC muscles to make sure it worked, and it did. The front row of pussy slaves started asking questions about what felt good to women and I answered by saying each woman was different and the best way to know was to ask. But I showed them some of my favorite strokes and emphasized the importance of keeping my fingers slippery with massage oil. When I did cunt breathing, sucking air in through the vaginal opening and forcing it out to make a loud "pussy fart," the entire group was impressed, except Her Royal Highness who yawned with boredom.

When I invited the next person to come up under the light and do genital show and tell, no one would do it. They claimed they all knew what a penis looked like. They were in view all the time. Instead of badgering them or turning into a top sergeant shouting orders, I decided to move along. During the entire first day, I was aware of Robert giving me disapproving looks, raising his eyebrows, and pursing his lips. For sure I was going to lose him. I also figured I was going to loose Gene, my heterosexual who had also been very grumpy and detached all day.

Just as the group was getting ready to leave, Jay pulled me aside, wanting to know if he could dress up and put on a little show tomorrow. He wanted to be the femme and asked if I'd like to be his girlfriend or boyfriend? I told him I'd see how I felt tomorrow. Then with a little kid's face he asked, "Can I use poppers?" I explained the groups were always drug free, but he was welcome to talk about his use of recreational drugs and show off his sex toys. He left happy.

After everyone left, I was in a daze. Now that I had the perfect combination of seven straight men and seven bi and gay men, I found myself freaking out from the responsibility of trying to achieve harmony within the group. Feeling desperate, I ran a hot bath, and while soaking in the tub filled with bubbles, I thought, "The blindfolds and genital massage will get everyone on the other side of sex labels." I went over the December men's group, the first time I'd ever done the genital massage ritual, and smiled. Coming up with the idea of blindfolding the men who were being touched was truly divine inspiration. Without sight, they could concentrate on the sensations instead of focusing on the fact that a man was touching them. After all, what gender was a hand? That night I had trouble falling asleep. Teaching men to masturbate, indeed!

On the second day, I boosted my doorman's outfit with a nine-inch pink rubber dildo strapped in a black leather dildo harness. In walked Jay who immediately dropped to his knees and started sucking my cock, while I went into heavy breathing and meaningful thrusting. Just at that moment I looked up and saw Robert walking through the door. I was surprised he'd returned the second day, and he was equally surprised to see me getting a blow job. Ah ha! A little glint appeared in the Queen's widened eyes. Just then Jay then ran off to the back room to change into his finery for our little skit, thrilled that he had a boyfriend with a nine-inch dick.

As each man entered, I did lots of hugging, humping, and poking them with my big dick, actually threatening several with sex. When I challenged Jorge that my dick was bigger than his, he corrected me. With a hardon we were about the same size he said. The atmosphere was playful and friendly; the men all relaxed into laughter, and to my utter amazement, everyone had returned. Right off I announced that Jay and I were going to do a little sexual skit for them. While they got comfortable, I walked into the back room and there stood Jay wearing black fishnet hose held up by a frilly garter belt and red, high-heeled shoes. Bright red lipstick covered his lips and both nipples as well. Grinning, he struck a pose with his hip pushed out and his hand on it. His other hand nervously fidgeted with a tacky necklace that matched his clamp earrings.

"Do I pass inspection?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"You're a knockout!" I smiled, patting his behind. "I'd plant a big kiss on you, but I don't want to smear your lipstick."
I've got to tell you something," he said, frowning. "I feel strange because I've never done this without getting high first. Usually I smoke a little dope and use poppers."

"I know just how you feel, Honey. I'm every bit as nervous as you are, and I do this for a living." I showed him the sweat running down my sides and told him that being nervous was one of the best ways to make sure you were alive. Then, flexing my pecks, I told him not to worry. He was with his big, strong boyfriend, Betty, who would take good care of him. With that, I slipped my arm around his slender waist and we entered the living room amidst howls of laughter. I knew Jay was perfectly willing to get into some real sex, but I wanted to keep it light and playful.

I stood there, the strong silent type, while this brazen hussy pranced around me being very femmy and seductive. Suddenly, I grabbed her, bent her over, and pretended to fuck her from behind while she teetered on high heels. After a few moments of thrusting with my dildo between Jay's legs, I faked a butch orgasm, belched, scratched my theoretical balls, and asked my girlfriend if it had been as good for her as it was for me? Before she could finish her answer, I dropped my head and started to snore very loudly amidst more laughter and applause.

With everyone high on our cute skit, I decided to risk moving the group right into the circle masturbation ritual. Electric vibrators had been placed around the room for those who might be interested. Everyone had a bottle of massage oil and a box of tissues. I put on some music with a good beat, and began by taking the group through a series of pelvic movements standing up. While moving my Magic Wand like it was a twelve-inch penis, I told them to imitate my different strokes, long and short, slow and fast. When I saw three hard cocks I figured the rest would start worrying whether or not they were going to get erections, so I had everyone lie down. I reminded them to use plenty of massage oil and to try a vibrator at some point.

The buzzing of two Magic Wands was comforting as I stood there, riding my vibrator, I kept looking around the circle, seeing there wasn't much sex energy. There was some heat from a few spots, but for the most part, the circle was fairly cold and unresponsive. Jay, with all his dildos and vibrators was getting down to some serious pleasure while the men on either side of him kept as much distance as possible. Gene, my little pussy slave, was lying there with his eyes closed, hands folded across his chest refusing to touch his cock. My preacher had a semi-hardon, and Richard, my swishy bisexual had a boner that stuck out prominently from his small body. He kept a hardon the whole time with a blissful smile on his face. Alan and Jorge were having fun playing with themselves, but the rest of the group was drifting. Robert was fondling a big floppy cock with closed eyes probably wishing he was home watching television.

It was terrible! How was I going to whip up some esprit de corps, some joie de vivre, or just some plain old sex energy? As I struggled onward, sweat streams coursed down my sides. Half of me was thinking what a goddamn fool I was to be doing this while my other half was determined to be a successful leader of a men's circle jerk. Suddenly I got an idea. Dashing into the kitchen, I returned with a twenty-foot extension cord. Plugging my vibrator into it, I moved into the center of the circle holding my vibrator like it was a walking mike.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen," I said in my best M.C. voice, "I'd like to welcome everyone to Betty Dodson's internationally renowned circle jerk." I saw some heads look up, a few grins, and heard a couple of chuckles.

"Oh, excuse me," I said, surprised. "This seems to be a group of all gentlemen except for one lady over there in fishnet stockings. Madam, would you mind taking off your stockings and be ‘one of the boys?' Of course, Jay did it with a flourish. I began going up to each man and standing over him with my feet planted on either side of his hips I lined up our genitals. Then I visualized a sexual charge crackling between my cunt and his cock making eye contact the whole time.

As I looked down at Al and asked him how his cock felt, he blushed and kept his eyes lowered. I barked an order for him to look at me which he did, immediately. We made eye contact again. I asked him once more how his cock felt. Grinning sheepishly, he said, "It feels fine."

"Then grab that gorgeous dick of yours, and get a hold of your balls with your other hand," I said with authority. "You've got a lot there to love and I want to see you getting down." I stayed with Al until we were moving our bodies in sync and I was sure that he had picked up the sexual current between us through our sustained eye contact. It was intensely intimate and erotic.

Moving along, I connected with each man. When I came to Gene, my fixed heterosexual, I told him to look at me. He looked up with an expression of an angry two-year-old who was spoiled rotten and said "I'm not in the mood to masturbate."

"To hell with you," I said. And with that, I left him alone, much to his surprise. By the time I got to Jay, he had a dildo up his ass, and the minute we made eye contact, we both began wagging our tongues at each other and salaciously licking our lips with sucking sounds. He started beating his meat faster, his balls flopping up and down furiously, and I moved right up to meet his pace. Sparks were flying. "If everybody could be where we're at," I thought, "This would be one helluva circle jerk. Goddess bless us perverts!"

When I reached Robert, he'd already come, and when I suggested he keep going, he said, "Oh no, that's it. I've already told you, my dear, that one orgasm a week is all I ever want. This will take me right to next Sunday when my beautiful young lover comes to see me."

I picked up a nearby vibrator, threw the switch on low, and leaned over him, making gentle contact with my hand on his cock I placed the vibrator on top of my hand.

"You don't have to come again," I said, smiling. "Just put the vibrator on that big, beautiful dick of yours, and enjoy the good vibrations." I left Robert playing with the Magic Wand. He was obviously pleasantly surprised to find it stimulating because a sweet smile appeared on his face.

Finally I reached virginal Fred, who was looking at some porn he brought that consisted of fashion photos of women in bras and panties. Some were black and white lingerie ads from the New York Times. Everything about him was so repressed and pathetic, except in the middle of his scrunched up little body was a healthy, giant cock, fully erect. He was slowly and gracefully moving a long foreskin over a perfectly shaped, swollen purple glans.

"Fred!" I gasped. "You have a fabulous cock and I love the way you're doing yourself." Though he smiled ever so slightly, he still couldn't look up at me. So to engage him gently, I pointed to one of his photos, saying I liked the lighting in the picture, and then asked him to look at me for just a moment.

"I can see you now," he said looking up sadly, "but I'll never see you again after today."

"That's O.K., Fred. I'm here now, and this moment is all anyone has. Once you've seen something, you can always remember it and see it again in your mind's eye." I stayed a while, softening my energy to match his. Pretty soon, we were moving easy in a slow dance, and he looked like a happy kid as we grinned at each other. There was nothing wrong with him sexually; he simply had no social skills to connect with partners. As I watched the front of his torso flush red with sex heat, it was clear his cock was his best friend. I moved along, silently blessing him.

After I'd made a solid, intimate sexual connection with all fourteen men except my grumpy heterosexual two-year-old who was still pouting and not masturbating, I went back to my place in the circle. Stretching out and breathing deeply, I started pumping blood, sweat, and tears going nowhere. At one point, I became aware that most of the group was watching their teacher. While that seemed very sweet, it put additional pressure on me. I didn't have much energy left. At one point I actually considered faking an orgasm, but good old Jay was hanging in there, pacing his buildup with mine. I stopped thinking and focused on Jay who was about to blow. Gasping, I finally made it over the edge and fell into a grade C orgasm for which I was grateful. Our sounds mingled in mid air as we came together across a crowded room.

During our break with apple juice, we did feedback. Grumpy, angry Gene said there was no way he could get turned on watching a bunch of guys jerking off. He started talking about his date the night before, and how he'd thought they were going to get it on. But after they got back to her apartment, she turned cold and wanted him to leave. Instead of "dyke drama," we were being subjected to "dick drama," which was just as boring. Patrick said he'd never masturbated in front of another person, let alone a whole group. Watching everyone gave him some new ideas.

Then Robert spoke up and assured everyone that he'd been in much hotter circle jerks than this one. When a group of gay men got together to jerk off, there was much more interaction between the participants. Here, everyone seemed rather indifferent doing themselves. I reminded him, a bit defensively, that my workshops were about masturbation not groupsex.

"Yes, I know," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I just thought your workshop would be more erotic. You could have had a beautiful young boy assisting you to turn on your gay men." Robert was naked like the rest of us, but he was fully clothed with his attitude.

Undaunted, I announced we were going do to group genital massage. By counting one and two, pointing at each man, I divided the group in half. There wasn't time to think which men were straight, bi, or gay so it was left to fate. As it turned out, the mixture was perfect. I passed out the blindfolds and asked the one's to lie down and receive a genital massage. Since there was an even number of men, I decided to direct the rotation of the circle. Besides, I could watch the whole scene better without participating and the truth was, I was exhausted after sexually dealing with fourteen men.

As the two's oiled their hands, I explained there would be no talking so no one would know who was doing them. Every five minutes, I'd signal rotation. Each man would receive five minutes of touching from each massager, a total of thirty-five minutes from seven different sets of hands. They all nodded, with expressions ranging from fear to joyful anticipation. I expected the gay and bi men to be adept at handling another man's genitals, but even the straight men, most of whom had never touched another man's cock, became pros right before my eyes. Well, why not. They had one of their own. Fred lost his virginity for the second time that day. He came during the circle masturbation, and now he was coming again with Jorge doing him. Gene, my pouting two year old was now blindfolded and within the first two minutes of his massage he had a raging hardon. When I looked over a bit later, it was just in time to see him spurting jism like Mount St. Helen's biggest eruption. There was Jay down between Gene's legs, working him over with a finger up his ass. I smiled and thought, "So much for his x-girlfriend."

Then a miracle took place. Robert had a second orgasm with Alan doing him. He had made such a big deal out of his one orgasm per week that I couldn't resist saying that I wouldn't tell anyone he came twice this week. Everyone had an orgasm by the time the two teams had taken their turns. Richard had two comes with the massage and that was on top of the one he had during our masturbation ritual. Filled with enthusiasm, he wanted to start a jerk-off club that met once a week. I announced that as their sexual surrogate mother, I was very pleased to see that everyone had an orgasm on Mother's Day.

Then several voices chimed in at once. "What about you. Why don't we all give you a massage?" I immediately tied on a blindfold, stretched out on the floor, and turned my body over to my troops. After all those orgasms, they were a sweet, peaceful bunch of men. For about ten minutes, I just basked in the pleasure of getting a lot of delicious touching from what felt like an octopus lover. Several fingers daintily probed my vagina, a finger diddled my clit, and one oiled finger slid gracefully into my asshole. My nipples and breasts were getting a lot of attention, and then my big toe slipped inside a soft, wet mouth. "For sure, this is hedonist's heaven." I thought.

When we reformed the circle, fourteen mouths started running all at once. Finally the room settled down and Al spoke first, looking ten years younger without his dark-rimmed glasses. His white hair was messed up, and his face pink with excitement. His 25 years of anger toward an alcoholic wife was temporarily forgotten. "You know, I've always felt intimidated by homosexuals," he confessed, "but I don't feel that way now. When I look around the room, I don't care who's straight or gay. We're all just human beings."

Dick, our minister asked who the third guy was that massaged him. He wanted to know so he could propose marriage! The group broke up laughing. Carl said there was no way he could tell who was straight or gay and admitted that he might end up considering bisexuality. Jim, my happily married man, said he had learned a lot about different masturbation techniques. He'd never thought to add anal stimulation with a dildo while he masturbated, and when someone did it to him during the massage, he'd experienced one of his biggest orgasms. My fixed heterosexual Gene had a big transformation. He agreed with Al, saying he would never again be afraid of homosexuals. No one hurt him, and he could see gay men as "regular guys." Then Alan said that he was in the gay world most of the time, and it was great to get in touch with men who were husbands and fathers. Fred thought they were a wonderful bunch of men and it was really too bad the whole world couldn't be as nice as everyone in the room.

At that point, Danny spoke up. "It's terrible that gay and straight men never get to interact," he said. "It leaves everyone with fixed ideas about each other. This group has been a fantastic experience for me. It's the first time I ever functioned in a social setting without a sexual label." He still never told us what his sexual preference was.

Jorge spoke passionately. "We've just proved that we can all be together, enjoy each other, and not be afraid or even care who is straight or gay. We're just sexual beings."

"When I left yesterday," said my harshest critic, Robert, "I was extremely disappointed with your group, Betty. I thought you'd made a grave mistake trying to bring gay and straight men together, but I was wrong. You're a skillful facilitator who somehow managed to pull a diverse group together that allowed us to experience our mutual humanity. I want to thank you."

After everyone shared, we took a break. When I saw Robert in the back room with several other guys, I went over and we shared a warm, naked hug. Standing there together, I realized we had a lot in common: we were both old Queens who were aging well.

After many hugs and kisses, everyone left. I went over all the different professions that had been represented in the group: a postal clerk, minister, garment center entrepreneur, printer, corporate executive, computer programmer, actor, a United Nations employee, businessman and an actor. What an incredible range, plus a total sexual mix! Maybe I could run a Bodysex group for the heads of government and achieve world peace. However, that was my last men's group.

After cleaning up, I sat down and counted out the cash and checks, making little piles of twenties and tens with a few fifty dollar bills and a couple of hundreds. I pressed out folded corners and straightened each bill now that I was in the habit of handling money with respect. I folded the checks and put them in the ivory box that had always sat on Mother's dresser, one of the few keepsakes I'd brought from home. "Happy Mother's Day, Bessie," I said out loud, smiling. "We're still going to take my bad reputation all the way to the bank. I just made three thousand dollars after expenses."