In time to the beat

I’m back. Last month I got some new readers and I’d planned to invite a bunch of friends to start reading, and I think I scared myself. Which makes sense. I’m being very open and raw here, and partly I feel empowered and unashamed, but partly I feel horrified and nervous. But that’s okay. I think I’ve had my time in hibernation and I’m ready to come out again.

My roommate was gone for most of today, and I knew it was a great opportunity to get down and dirty (and, my favourite part, loud) before she got back. Thankfully this has become a habit – her leaving all day each Saturday – since normally we’re both home at the same time, and ... that’s awkward. Made more awkward because she’s actually said to me (re: partner sex) that it’s rude for someone to be loud enough that a roommate hears, that a person can have all the (partner) sex in their room that they want, as long as they’re quiet.

Well, hearing that back when we first moved in kind of concerned me. I can be quiet, I suppose, but loudness is directly related to pleasure for me. Maybe it sounds strange, but I think there’s a link between physically and vocally “letting go.” It’s hard to relax as much as you want to when you’re chanting in your head: “Don’t be loud. Don’t be loud. OMG did she hear that? Crap.” The effort and mental space you devote to that task directly affects the attention you pay to your body, and the physical rewards you receive.

Which is all to say: If I know she’s going to be out all day? Party time!

One thing I remembered this time (while blaring the radio to cover any stray noises for the neighbours, or in case she came home sooner than anticipated) was that I can match my orgasms to the beat of the music I’m listening to. I first noticed this a few years ago.

I was living in University residence and at that time I regularly employed music to cover up any sounds I made. I figured, it’s residence, there’s not going to really be any time when you can be certain the halls and rooms are empty, so you may as well blare music (like everyone else) and hope that takes care of any moans.

I even made a tape (yes, old school, a cassette tape) mix of radio songs to use. CDs suck at noise-covering due to the inevitable silences between songs (“I was just about to climax! FUCK”), and the radio isn’t much better. Climaxing while listening to an advertisement for winter tires? Not hot.

On the tape there was as little dead space as I could manage, and all the songs were very loud and full of energy. (How annoying is it when the next song is a quiet ballad, thwarting your sound-muffling efforts?) I ended up falling in love with a lot of the songs, as I listened to them over and over again – and with each “listen,” different lyrics would stick out to me. It was almost like trancing out, or a transcendental religious experience, when I’d feel horrible and hate myself and be crying into my vibrator, and the lyrics “IT’S GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT” would carry over to me, repeat rhythmically, and I’d let the words and pulse wash out over me, soothing me, calming me, comforting me.

The coolest part of listening to music while masturbating, though, is when your body and the music get in sync. When the climax of the song matches your climax, and the soothing calm afterwards reflects your own. Sometimes I notice my body eagerly cozying up to the beats. "Ooh!" it’ll say, “the fast beats are coming up!” And it’ll speed up to go in time with that. Sometimes my climaxes come earlier than I would have expected due to this. Or they’re sublimely drawn out, in a wash of soothing beats and rhythmic crashes.

Music is a perfect match for sexual activity. It engages the mind and invites the body, on top of providing the very real convenience of telling any passers-by you're just simply rocking out (with your cock out)!