Mandate July 1996 Magazine

Men
9 Live In-Sex Addict
17 Daniel: Out-of-Town Nephew
29 Fabrizio: Student Body
43 Dave Brooks
53 Troy Thoroughbred
65 Jeff Austin and Steven Marks
71 Phillip S.
77 Gerard
Fiction
24 Emergency Fuck
38 Dripping Wet
60 Policeman's Balls
Features
5 Editor's Note
6 Mandata
16 Man Mail
70 Book Nook
84 Man Video
90 Tennessee Williams

Editorial Note
Consuming Passion
Just in case you haven't guessed it by now, I'm consumed by masturbation. Occasionally, while I'm jerking off, just the thought that I'm jerking off can make me cum. Solo, mutual, anyway, anywhere—that's my motto. And when I'm not actually doing it, I'm either talking about it, writing about it, or reading about it. That is, of course, the great thing about this job. Masturbation is not only my life, it's my livelihood. And I love the idea that I work towards making you guys jerk off.
My interest in all things concerning masturbation extends to other people's practices—especially my readers. I've written a few editorials asking for your input on the subject, and seeing no reason to repress this particular obsession, I'll probably write a couple more. I realized soon after I put out the call for your jerk-off experiences that I had hit a nerve. That particular column elicited more fantastic mail than any other to date. I've printed a few responses in this month's Man Mail column, and there are a few dozen more filled with enthusiasm, not to mention ingenuity, that left my mind stimulated and my shorts stained. Apparently, I'm not the only masturbation junkie at the table.
In an interesting twist, no pun intended, not only are people writing to me and telling me about how they do it, recently a couple of guys have insisted that they show me. I was happy to oblige. At a photoshoot last month, the model asked if the photographer or I would mind if he "finished himself off ' after having to keep it up and glistening through a grueling forty-five minute set. He was just about ready, but had to lay back on the couch with his knees pulled back and his feet raised. Unabashed after our evening together, he explained that lie could only get off when looking at his own feet. Cool, huh?
A few days later, after an evening of looking for "talent" with a different photographer, I ended up at an after-hours club that is known to turn a blind eye to what goes on in the basement. It was a sparse night and as I sat by the pool table this dark-haired, hot guy in his early twenties started chatting me up. So I did what any red-blooded pornographer would do—I gave him my card. Apparently a bit of an exhibitionist, he seemed especially excited by the thought of a professional voyeur leaning against the opposite wall. In no time his right fist was flying. I was a little surprised, and more than a little intrigued as I watched his left hand edge up over his belly and chest to his mouth—where he inserted his thumb and started sucking. If anyone had told me beforehand that I'd be turned on by watching someone suck his thumb, I'd have said he was crazy. But being privy to the oral fixation of a gorgeous jock in a public setting was making me really hungry.
What intrigued me most about this guy was that he never took his eyes off me, or his thumb out of his mouth. That is until he came. Then I watched in awe as he carefully caught his load, lifted his hand above his mouth and licked at his knuckles as his cum leaked between his fingers. He didn't miss a drop.
This reminded me it had been a while since I'd tasted my own cum, so I pulled my dick out and started yanking. After the show I'd seen, it didn't take long. I got my hand cupped over my dickhead and caught a real handful. Then, following his example, I lifted my hand up and sucked down my load. Not bad.
When some other guy came up and asked if I'd like to eat my own cum a second time while he watched, it was tempting. But with my dick poking out all hot, red and sore—well, I guess it's like one of those things that pops out of a self-timing turkey: I knew I was done. For the time being, anyway.