Horizontal Lives

True Tales of the Infamous Courtesan: Persephone N. Hades and her Horizontal Life underground. How she got there, her mis-adventures and her struggle to re-surface.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

What's the deal with Men and Orgasms?

I know it’s a question that’s been asked before and probably a question that runs through your head—both your heads—the upper and the lower—quite frequently, but I will risk redundancy and ask anyway: What is it with men and orgasms?

Recently, and sadly, I heard that a client of mine passed away. I know, I know. What does this have to do with orgasms? I’ll get there.

This client was not old. In fact, he was only in his early forties, so his death scared me. What could have taken him away so soon?

I recalled the last time he and I were together. After we had played and were lying side by side in my bed, he let out a loud, long exhale and proclaimed: "Just kill me now. Kill me now and I die a happy man."

I laughed and then asked, in all seriousness:"Is that really the way you’d want to go? Post-orgasm?"

"Mid-orgasm." He corrected me.
"What better way?"
"That wouldn’t be too much fun for the other person ya know."
"And kinda undignified."
"True. But it’s my death, so hey."
"When I die, I hope I go in my sleep. Painlessly and without consciousness of it."
"Where’s the fun in that?"
He had a point. I’d never thought of death as a possibility for a good time.

Through the grapevine, I heard my client died alone in his hotel room, supposedly of a drug overdose. That struck me strange, as I have been around clients who party and he was not one of them. Nor did he ever speak about drugs or appear to have any interest in them. I was puzzled and when I become puzzled, I become a sleuth, a.k.a. nosy.

Because I worked so many years in hotels, both in the Room Service Department and in ‘room service’, I came to know many of the hotel managers. I called a manager I knew and asked him if he knew the manager of the hotel in which my client met his demise. He did and made the call. It seems my client was practicing the art of auto-erotica.

For those unacquainted with this obscure art, I will enlighten you to the best of my knowledge, which, I admit, is limited. Apparently, if you are jerking off and want to heighten your orgasm, you can tie something around your neck to cut off your air supply momentarily and when you cum, this causes an even better explosion.

Strangely enough, this was not my first encounter with this dangerous practice.

Years ago, when I was an actress and doing repertory theatre in Virginia, all the actors were housed, dormitory style, in a large building near the rehearsal halls. We each had our own room but the kitchens and many of the bathrooms were shared. Since I was the lead in two of the shows that season, I felt I had the right to ask for a room with it’s own bathroom. I asked the artistic director but he said all those rooms were occupied for the time being. Yet, at the end of the hall, was a corner room that no one seemed to be using. The room was locked and no one had seen anyone coming or going from it. I called my agent to intervene and he too, was given a definitive, harsh ‘No’ regarding that room. Puzzled again, I began digging for clues. I finally got the story from the town’s newspaper files.

Sitting in the darkened office, pouring over micro-fiche data, I read that an actor had once stayed in that room. It seems, he did not show up for ‘half-hour’ before curtain. ‘Half-hour’ is the time before the show goes up that all actors must be signed in and accounted for. The stage manager went to his room and with the pass key, opened the door to find the unfortunate actor naked, his hand wrapped tightly around his now, literally very stiff cock, swinging by his throat, noosed by a necktie. There was a tipped, fallen chair beneath him. I imagine what happened was, the orgasm was so strong, he accidentally kicked the chair out from beneath himself and that was that.

Many people in Virginia still believe in ghosts as they have so many of them there from the Civil War. Having spent a year there, and having met a few of these ghosts, I now believe them. So the room was cordoned off. That’s that for the room with the private bathroom.

And so it seems, this is what my client was doing when the house came down.

My client was a good man. He was bright and warm-hearted, with a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor that I reveled in. He was a successful businessman with a good firm. He loved his work and, from what I could gather from our conversations, treated his clients fairly. I know his family and friends must be devastated. I know his secret hide-a-way girl, me, will miss his visits. It’s difficult to accept I will never again get to laugh at his ironic humor and play, and romp, and chat with him again. For weeks after he passed, I felt a hum of sadness that played like bad elevator music through my days and nights.

But weeks later, when I actually thought about it, it occurred to me, he’s probably in Heaven right now, singing that ole Frank song: "I did it myyyy wayyyy…" And although he died too soon into his journey, he died exactly the way he said he wanted to.

To date I now know of two deaths caused by auto-erotica, both of them men. Also to date, I have never heard of any women even talk about this unique adventure, much less die of it.

Personally, my orgasms are fine the way they are. Leave well enough alone, is my motto. But hey, what do I know. This is only my profession and I don’t have a penis.


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