Blog: CockTALES

Cocktales, T-A-L-E-S, was a project inspired by the Vagina Monologues.  We used their process to create a counterpart and compliment from a supportive perspective.  We were lucky to work with our community’s Vagina Monologue’s chapter, earning feedback from show director’s, performer’s, and producers.  Our premier performance was as a benefit for the area’s Vagina Monologues production.  Our thought was that the world would be better if we were all brutally/delightfully honest.  VM has shown the world how painful and therapeutic honesty simultaneously creating an opportunity to help others who haven’t been able to address certain topics publicly or fully.  

Our core group was about 8 guys who met weekly, and most of us hung out regularly.  We had frank discussions about being a boy, a man, having a cock, sti’s, bedroom or bathroom snafus, successes, failures, dreams, what it was like being raised by men, women, married couples, hippies, in religious circles, etc.  We laughed, cried, and said things aloud that we, and others, had potentially never said aloud.  It was an honest process and we did not shy away from the places the conversation went.  Nothing was taboo and there was no judgment.  

Because the VM had interviewed women around the world we sought to do the same with men.  We created a list of questions and our core group found willing interviewees ages 8-88.  Questions we asked were: if you could change the color of your cock what color would that be and why, who would your cock say has been his favorite, does your cock have a name, what would your cock do if it was the last cock on earth.  We asked these guys to draw a self-portrait…of their cock..if they were willing.  I had these in a box for years moving from city to city.  I think I eventually shredded them.  Art is impermanent…

Each of our core members then wrote a monologue using one of the questions as a prompt.  Stories could be true, engorged for good storytelling, or a tale from one of our interviews.  My monologue answered the questions how old were you when you first realized your cock got hard, and how old were you when you first masturbated.  My tale is true.  Some things in life are traumatic, others memorable for good reason.  

I don’t remember how old I was when I first realized my cock got hard.  I do remember living in a one bedroom apartment with just my mom and my bed was in the living room.  I woke up one morning, mom would wake me up before school, and one morning I’m standing there in just tighty whities, picture me if you know me, this guy, with a massive little boner.  So I go “Hey Mom, what’s this?”  So Mom goes “Steven, follow it to the bathroom and pee it out.”  That’s my first experience with a boner.  

Now we are going to jump ahead a few years.  I went to a summer camp, an all boys camp in Booneville, CA.  I was probably 12 years old.  We were all in our sleeping bags, all in our bunks one night when some said “Hey, let’s masterbate!”  All I knew about masturbation at that age I learned from the TV show Roseanne.  There was a certain episode where the youngest son, DJ, was spending a lot of time in the bathroom and his sisters were making fun of him.  Once again, I turn to my mom and ask “Mom, why are they making fun of DJ?”  And she says “Well, DJ is masterbating.”  I ask “what is masterbating?”  Mom tells me that it is touching yourself in a way that feels good.  

Now let’s cut back to camp here where all these pre-teens are whacking it in their sleeping bags.  I do something that could be considered masterbating a clitoris but not a penis.  Holding it steady with my left hand I stroke the shaft towards my belly.  It’s a funny visual.  Needless to say, I did not masterbate to completion in that cabin but I get an A for effort.  

  A few years later I’m in my room late at night.  I was 13, 14 it was the right time.  It was summer and it was hot.  No air conditioning hot.  I was watching my favorite late night show on MtV, Singled Out, where the glorious Jenny McCarthy kicked ass and looked good.  I thought, I’m gonna go for it.  Tonight is the night.  Technique had been improved since summer camp a few years earlier.  I knew what to do.  

I checked the hallway.  No lights on, no one is up.  I grabbed a half box of kleenex which I heard was essential, and I started going for it.  It felt alright.  A little of this, a little that way, mind the stepchildren, a little faster, feeling confident I closed my eyes and, and, and, oh, what?  That’s strange.  I feel like I have to pee.  Oh, that’s unfortunate.  Well, shake it off, we’re doing something here.  Closed my eyes again, a little more this and that, and it was feeling good, but dammit here’s that feeling again like I have to pee.  

So I stopped and pondered because I had asked more questions before this fateful night.  Mom said everyone masterbates and there’s nothing to be ashamed of.  But could it really mean that everyone pees all over the place when they do it?  

I thought about it, and said I’m going for it.  Whatever this is, it’s feeling good and it’s working.  I’m going really fast now and keep my eyes open so I can make sure that whatever comes out lands on that half a box of kleenex I laid out on the floor in front of me, crouching.  Faster, faster, faster, OH, OH, oh.  Hunh.  It wasn’t pee.  I’m not sure I enjoyed my first time masterbating because I was so fixated on the process and what was coming.