"Where 'unf' isn't just an expression...it's an exclamation! An Introduction from Doc by Cub 'Doc' Lea, the sex therapist that time forgot Last updated 01/06

01/06: This is the second of what seems destined to be a series of attempts to introduce this section of the site. And while I don't think it's quite "there" yet, this introduction is certainly one hell of a lot closer to the real truth than the verbal diarrhea below originally posted in July of '05.

I will never forget the day I first knew I had reached puberty. Yeah, I know...that's not something anyone forgets, but in my case there was special significance to the date in more than one respect, and it bears directly on the existence of this material.

The fateful day occurred in 1972, more precisely in September of that year, and even more precisely on a Sunday...and even more precisely on a Sunday which will be forever etched in the minds of most of my fellow countrymen, particularly the males of the species. The day was the Sunday of the fifth game of the Canada-USSR "summit series" in hockey..the date of Canada's third and last loss in the series before going on in bona fide Horatio Alger style to take the last three games in Moscow and win the series by a single goal.

I awoke on the basement sofabed at my grandparents' home where the family was staying for the weekend. I usually slept late on weekends, so I'd commonly awaken from a morning dream with the expected erection, or "piss hard-on" as a friend had taught me to call it. No big deal, except for the fact that for some reason it felt considerably more pleasant to play around with my dick than it had in recent weeks and months.

And play with it I did, as it felt better and better the more I rubbed it. After a while I even noticed my face getting flushed, and not long after a few drops of piss leaked out...at least, I thought it was piss. At a certain point the intensity reached a peak, and the expected result occurred...expected to you, of course, but not to me.

Without warning, my crotch went into spasm. I'd had sex education by this time, but in those days not even the masturbation discussion had prepared me for this...I was utterly clueless, and the spasms kept going...pushing - my god, it's pus! - great gobs of pus oozing out of my dick. And it hurt like hell. I can't quite remember why, either...maybe I was clenching to stop the spasms and stem the flow of pus.

After twenty seconds or so the spasms stopped, and the pain was nearly unbearable. Panic struck me...what had I done to hurt myself like this? What the hell was wrong with my bladder to cause this kind of eruption...and this much of an eruption...more pus than I'd even see come from a large lanced boil!

Worst of all, how the hell would I ever explain this to my parents? "Well, Mom, I was playing with my penis...you know, how I always do when I wake up in the morning, and I just rubbed it really hard and a bunch of pus came oozing out."

Yeah...unh-hunh...like I was ever going to tell anyone but a doctor about this. And wait a second...this doesn't quite look like pus, either...it's too white and thin and watery, not yellow enough...but then, it had come from way inside my body, so who knew? I tasted it to be sure, and I knew then that it wasn't pus. Pus didn't taste like stale sesame snaps.

What happened next has stayed with me ever since. As the panic subsided, the afterglow came with the most peculiar horrible feeling...a deep, intense and profoundly difficult sense of shame.

So there you have it: unexpected, pleasure followed by shock, terror and a lingering sense of shame and regret. That was my introduction to male sexual function...not much to distinguish me from any of tens of millions of my generation.

Correction...that was my introduction to my sexual function. And as I only learned later, it was not at all like that of my peers. The shame lingered, and for no good reason. Yes, I had obviously hurt myself...but if I could hang in until Monday and see a doctor, I'd be okay. And it couldn't be that I had done anything particularly bad, could it? Hell, no...what reason did I have to feel particularly dirty other than the fact that I'd been whacking my wiener?

But this shame...this awful feeling inside...it was so horrible that it grabbed me by the pit of the stomach and made me feel twice my weight. And the taste...the taste filled my mouth and would not go away. I laid in bed for nearly half an hour and still felt terrible. Finally I got myself up, headed upstairs, poured myself some cereal and milk and ate, conspicuously avoiding everyone in the house.

But not even sugared cereal cleared the nauseating rancid-nut taste, which by then seemed to fill my whole mouth. The sense of wrongness and guilt would not let up, and I felt so bad that I couldn't join my family in the TV room for the hockey game when it came on around noon. I just sat alone in my grandparents' livingroom, feeling like shit and not knowing why, for nearly two hours...right through almost the entire game before I was able to pull myself out of my seat, buck up my spirits and take part in life again.

What I didn't learn until almost twenty years later was that this unexpected sort of sexual emergence had been accompanied by a shock sufficient to evoke a powerful "body memory". The shame I was feeling had nothing to do with what I had just done, and I knew it. And by the third hour, I pretty much knew that the terrible aftertaste wasn't lingering that long by virtue of its chemistry.

Mine wasn't a family in which such things could be discussed with any degree of safety. So as the pain in my crotch subsided over the hours that followed, the sense of shame clotted over and eventually dissipated, and the foul taste became little more than a memory, the incident was largely forgotten. It was early in the school year, and in a couple of weeks I had overheard and made sense of enough schoolyard hearsay to figure out what had actually happened.

Yeah, I know it's a bit of a gut-grinding story in the more-information-than-I-really-wanted category, and not a terribly interesting tale at that. You can probably guess where it leads next...years later, after hitting rock-bottom in my own life and entering therapy, our hero discovers that this experience was what is known in the trade as a "body memory", a physical expression of a repressed experience whose nature I am sure you've guessed by now...yadda yadda and many boxes of tissues and thousands of dollars in therapists' fees later, it's just another tedious tale of tragedy and loss, and forward we all go.

But that's not what happened. It was eighteen years before I made the connection between this experience and repressed memory, and it happened alone in my apartment, not in a therapist's office or encounter group. Today, more than thirty years later, all I have is a vague recollection of a boathouse at the beach where the family rented cottages for a few weeks each summer, and not much more. The sad fact is that what I've learned in the intervening years has had far less to do with my personal experience and wellbeing than with sex and sexuality as a whole.

We've come quite a long way in the last century. But we still live in a world in which the nature, purpose and value of sex, sexuality and sexual expression are grossly misunderstood, repressed, exploited and neglected in ways that still only a very few of us really understand. In fact, the situation is so bad, even in "advanced" nations such as my own, that I truly believe that we still lack even a basic shared vocabulary for discussing the subject.

That puts people like me in a particularly difficult position. Because between the lines of the sordid little tale I've just related lies a devastatingly brutal implication. What isn't discussed here is how my family responded to my particular situation. September 22, 1972 was truly one of the worst days of my life. But nobody else in my family knows that, or even particularly cares to know. As for the date in 1964 when I got my actual introduction to adult sexuality, well, that was just one in a long line of sad, pathetic events in my life. Think of it...I was literally forced to suck dick at age five and keep it secret under threat of seeing my parents killed by the perpetrator. And nobody in the family at that time noticed much more than little ol' Cub just having another blue day and dealing with yet another bogeyman under the bed. Seriously...this wasn't the worst stunt that an adult ever pulled on me by that point in my life, not by a longshot, and it wasn't even close to the last time I'd have to endure that serious an emotional shitkicking.

We've been inundated with tales of child sexual abuse and exploitation in the last quarter-century to the point where it has become almost trite. In some circles it's even seen as self-serving to "come out" as a victim of incest or pedophilic exploitation. As damaging and destructive as this kind of exploitation is, it's nowhere even close to the worst that happens to kids in this world. It's likely that worse has happened to you. And you probably don't even know it.

What you'll find in this section is a collection of pages on sex-related subjects that are of particular interest to me, and there's enough here to easily earn me a reputation as one seriously bad-ass pervert with a frighteningly warped perspective on sex and sexuality. But what you'll find here doesn't even come close to presenting an accurate picture of my true spectrum of preferences and attractions. All you get here is what I feel morally and legally comfortable telling you about.

As unusual as this material is as a body of work unto itself, I've learned over the years that I am by no means a particularly unusual individual in terms of my perspectives and responses. If there's anything unusual about me, it's that making this material public isn't particularly difficult for me, because it doesn't represent the worst or most shameful aspects of my personality.

"Position open; only those without experience need apply"

Fifty years after Kinsey, we still walk around blissfully unaware of just how perverted and deranged most of us are. And here's the dilemma for me. I'm neither particularly attractive nor particularly likable. In fact, the less people know about me as a whole person, typically the more tolerable they find my company. And I'm not exactly rolling in cash from my patents, patrons, publications and personal appearances. Few things in life are more deeply satisfying than finding someone with whom we can share an unusual interest or an uncomfortable secret. Yet few things are more emotionally and materially risky than revealing such interests or secrets.

And few things are more difficult to acquire than the experience necessary to have learned how to make such connections easy. Some perversions are actually healthy appetites unrecognized as such by unhealthy cultures, but most aren't...they're leftover emotional needs from a time of life long since past. So connecting with individuals who share a particular perversion is exceedingly difficult without a guide or an existing framework for making those connections safely, because even the acknowledgement of most perversions entails significant risk past the age at which such interests and appetites are considered unhealthy or inappropriate. Those who have managed to make such connections tend to remain hidden in plain sight, and recognize each other through what appears to outsiders as almost a secret code or hidden language. Find a guide, and you can learn the language at reasonably low risk. Find a framework and you can practice the language on your own until such time as you meet someone who's been doing the same homework.

But what if you can't even get people to give you the directions to the bookstore? That's the kind of dilemma that a surprisingly large number of people live with even today. We're barely at the stage in our cultural evolution where we can allow people with genetic variations to recognize and associate. Gays, for example, still risk life and limb by giving off more than the most furtive signals of their deepest social interests, and Asperger's people still aren't even encouraged to recognize subtle expressions of mongoloidism as possible signs of a deep genetic kinship without risking self-loathing for having made such a grotesque assumption or accusations of bigotism from others for even wondering if such a suspicion might have merit. (It does, by the way, whether or not those elements of mongoloidism come from conditioned physical development from years of hypersensitivity or actual genetic coding for face and body type.)

We're addressing these gaps in our tolerances and collective understanding, slowly but surely. And as we do, it will become increasingly apparent that the next gap to be addressed encompasses a vastly greater percentage of the population than we had ever suspected. Homosexuality and autism-spectrum anomalies are relatively easy to accept (at least for those of us who are humane and sane enough to realize that we don't choose our parents or preselect ridiculously cruel social challenges at the moment we're conceived as people). Less easy to accept are those challenges which living has handed us...challenges which can, under ideal circumstances, be fully and completely overcome.

Let's be clear with language and meaning if we can't be clear on anything else. Autism-spectrum and homosexuality are deviant. Only about a tenth of us end up gay, and perhaps a twentieth of us with an autism-spectrum anomaly. These are anomalous enough that while they're normal, predictable variations in human construction, they are in fact deviant from the norm, and while "deviant" has more sinister connotations to most of us (as does the word "sinister" itself, which also means "left-handed"...yet another human deviance), the word "deviant" is a better expression than "different" for these conditions. So are we clear? "Deviance" is not a bad thing...but nor is it always (or even usually) an avoidable thing.

And let's be serious about this...there are very few acquired social and sexual deviances which can't currently be cured, whether that deviance is learned shyness, a rubber fetish or arousal in the presence of the dead. Some deviances are more easily cured than others, but under ideal conditions any learned deviance can be cured. Oh, if only it was that easy...the quality and availability of treatment is so deplorable at this time in our history that for all but the most dangerous or trivial of learned deviance, you may be better off learning to live with it than trying to cure it. And as we should all know by now, repressing our deviances is inherently destructive. Repressing a genetic deviance dehumanizes the individual, as tens of millions of older gays and lesbians will surely attest from their own experience. Repressing a learned deviance is at best an uncomfortable discipline and at worst can be deadly dangerous. Entire industries of destruction - tobacco, automatic weapons and Catholicism come immediately to mind - exist solely to feed our desire to discipline and repress deviant urges.

I may live to see a day when even homosexuality can be "corrected" through genetic modification and occupational therapy. Which will be a great thing for the handful of unfortunate gays and lesbians who find themselves loving opposite-sex partners to whom they aren't physically attracted. I'm sure I'll live to see "neurotic" deviances of every description fully and reliably curable...which is far from the case at the present time. But as I've learned through very difficult and costly experience, we're a long, long way from achieving that promise. But for now, if you've been saddled with some interest or desire that sets you apart, no matter what that something might be, it seems to me that if you can satisfy that urge safely (i.e. with the most serious harm from indulging being emotional, specifically guilt or shame from acting on it), then it makes far, far more sense to do that than to endure a lifetime of self-denial, repression, frustration and needless misery. If the chance is really there to eliminate a deviance that is costly, uncomfortable or otherwise troublesome or risky, who wouldn't jump at the chance? Almost no one. But if the odds of success aren't great, or the .

And believe me, I know misery. Some of us .

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07/05: This is the first of what will inevitably become a series of attempts to adequately preface this section of the site. How you choose to interpret this is your business, but here are some suggestions in case you're at a loss.

• I'm vainly trying to convince myself that I'm still "hep with da young people, yo"
• Several years of therapy haven't brought me any closer to owning my homosexuality
• I must be really pissed off at an old girlfriend...or perhaps just Mom
• Not even Viagra works for me any more
• I'm actually a woman...a very pissed-off, very confused, very ugly woman
• I've run out of decent material, and will inevitably build an archive (and even a new site section) around past introductions to the Sex Section
• I simply have no clue what the rest of the world does when it wants to get laid

Hi, I'm Cub 'Doc' Lea. Sure, you all know me as a failed writer, amateur humorist, vanity publisher and one-time unemployed songwriter, but up until now, I've never drawn much attention to my one true calling and great love in my life: sex.

When you really think about it, is there anything more important in life? Without sex, there is no future generation...no "tomorrow" for humanity. Without sex, an entire half of the human species would undoubtedly be preoccupied with competitive sports and playthings, and the other half of the species would have no weaponry for reining in those preoccupations.

"Nothing is more important to us than that which we lack most acutely, which makes the lack of content on this site devoted to sex such an egregious oversight."

For these and a hundred other excuses, I decided it was time I corrected what I consider to be a serious oversight. It may be a cliché, but it is nonetheless true: nothing is more important to us than that which we lack most acutely, which makes the lack of significant content on this site devoted to my favorite subject - sex - such an egregious oversight. So this section now exists to address the lack of any significant content on this site devoted to the one subject in my life more important than any other.

It still amazes me how surprised people are when I tell them that in addition to my other careers, I was also a trailer park sex therapist, and dreamed of one day becoming a small-town sex therapist. For several rewarding weeks in the early part of the century, I wasn't just the second smartest guy in the trailer park - the "go-to guy" for neighbors with problems when Lenny was at his mother's or in hospital having stones removed - I was also the person that the couples in the park would have relied on for advice and help with their sex lives if in fact they'd chosen to rely on someone in the park for that kind of help, which none of them did, but had they asked, I am sure I'd have been ready to help.

As you can imagine, I had plenty of time to think about what kinds of problems these people would come to me with, and how I'd handle them. Over the years I amassed a great deal of knowledge and experience preparing to deal with these kinds of problems if I was ever called upon to do so, but eventually my career pulled me in a different direction and the sex therapist's shingle that I'd planned to put up once I'd gotten permission from park management went from the top of the refrigerator into the shed, very likely for good.

But while my days as a would-be counsellor and therapist may be over, I still have the knowledge and experience I had then, and the desire to share it with others who might want it, which is why this section exists.

The idea for this section actually occurred to me a couple of years ago, shortly after I stopped offering my services to the residents of the trailer park and Lenny agreed not to press charges or ask the management to evict me. As those of you who know me already know, it's often hard for me to tell which voice in my head is speaking to me at which time, but in this case, the voice was strong, clear, and sufficiently threatening to the others that they all shut up while this one spoke, and it said to me in very clear terms:

"If you build it, they won't come, but they might get a little excited."

At first, I didn't understand the message, so I waited for a moment, hoping the voice would be patient enough to repeat itself. Eventually it did.

"I said," it repeated, "If you build it, they won't come, but they might get a little excited." I didn't wait for any further confirmation...the voice was taking on a snippy tone and I didn't want to push my luck. After all, it was coming from inside my head, where my brain is, and I happen to value that particular organ.

Well, what the hell, I thought...I wasn't getting any at the time, so it's not like it would ruin my reputation. Oh, who am I kidding...I was a virgin at age 32 and again at age 34 when, after breaking up with me, the only woman who ever wanted to see me naked for purposes other than winning a bet up to that time renounced ever having slept with me. Hey, I know I'm homely and irritating...how many other touring rock musicians do you know who've gone a full year on the road without once touching a member of the opposite sex who wasn't family? (I wish I was joking. Intelligence and wit are aphrodisiacs, it turns out...I've turned on an awful lot of women, and gotten a lot of thanks over the years from the guys they ended up sleeping with.)

And don't get the wrong impression. This is not going to be a boyfest. Nothing against those of the like-attracts-like persuasion, but no matter what the rest of the website seems to suggest, when it comes to sexual preference I'm as straight as an Interstate highway (which means that I do allow for a 1% deviation from point-to-point over longer distances, but then, hasn't science proven that nobody's 100% gay or straight?). Why I get so many e-mails from visitors complaining of the gayness of this site has eluded my comprehension since '93 when it first went up.

Yes, I know I have a certain appeal to gays...especially older gays with alcohol and weight problems, which I've never quite figured out. But from the age of five when a kindly neighbor first introduced me to the delights of fellatio I simply haven't had any physical attraction to men. I swear to god I've never gotten wood from anything that doesn't produce eggs, but somehow even psychics seem to foresee boyfriends in my future. Even my landlady is certain that the porn tapes and Hustler screensaver I accidentally left in full view during a premises inspection were only there to convince her that I'm not gay.

So if it seems like I'm not interested in the "hetero lifestyle", then believe me...please believe me...nothing could be further from the truth. It's the lifestyle that hasn't been interested in me, and this section of the site is simply my way of convincing myself that it's the lifestyle's loss more than mine...which means that you can expect one hell of a lot of convincing in the months and years to come.

So really...what did I have to lose? The Sex Pages are now a reality.

I hope you find in these pages a small fraction of the wonder and enjoyment that I had researching and assembling this material, and I hope that you too can find the same comfort I found in this knowledge, the comfort that only comes from knowing more about how something is done than the people who actually get a chance to do it. "Those who can't do, teach", as the old saying goes...so by all accounts, this site should become a veritable wealth of information, entertainment and enlightenment as I develop it, because by that definition, I probably couldn't have much more to teach unless I was a virgin.

So where do you, the visitor, fit into this equation? Well, it's my belief...hope...nay, prayer that you'll find this section to be a goldmine of enjoyment and gratification, both immediate and acquired. .

And if there are by chance any women out there who might be interested in some personal attention and training from the ol' Doc, well, let's just say that what I lack in experience, I make up for in knowledge and years of rehearsal. As for the cost of this privilege, well, I realize that's likely to be a limiting factor in who I can accept at this time...I can pay, but not very well. I do, after all, live in a trailer.

I was told once that if I have to be such a geek, I should at least be an amusing geek. Considering the growing lengths of time between random beatings since I began applying this advice, I must be having at least some success at amusing people.

1. Why this rating? Well, I couldn't really decide how to rate this page, so a friend suggested these values. "Doc," he told me, "any girl who thinks they might someday run into you is definitely going to want to be reminded of this page." >>Back>>