jerking off
by brian cleary
I masturbate a lot. Often. Daily. The step before
constantly. I just masturbated in the shower five minutes ago. I
came. I masturbate too much; I don't come half the time. I play
with it for a long time, but find myself thinking about TV shows
and just plain losing interest.
I don't get blue-balls. I never have. I don't believe they
exists. It's just something horny pricks tell their catholic
girlfriends to get some guilt-sex. It'd be sort of Darwinian if
blue-balls actually existed; men develop this ability/condition
which naturally activates the guilt gene in every catholic school
girl's elbows to lift the knee-length skirt high enough that the
boy can see the remedy to his suffering. She lifts it thinking
he'll have the manual dexterity to stick it in on his own. Here
she is, freshly coerced, and now she has to grab the shaft as
delicately as she can--herself gripped by the fear of causing pain
to the unfamiliar member. Her concern is ironic in the fact that
she is blindly guiding it into that place where nothing but a
doctor's unappologetic fingers have gone before, and however
uncomfortable that experience was, it doesn't compare to what
she's about to feel. Some girls told her about the pain, other's
have lied. He's ready to poke her thigh or ass-whole or navel;
he doesn't care -- he's already taking huge thrusts. She does all
the work so her flesh can be torn apart. She'll scream and ask
for him to stop. He'll mumble some shit about it being all right
because he can't feel it and wouldn't care anyway. Or maybe
she'll fake it and try to smile or make happy noises while choking
down the sobs.
I guess that gave a pretty clear insight to my feelings on
sex. No wonder I pull it so much. And it's not a homosexual
thing to my knowledge either. Tearing open an orifice that's
either blocked or just too damn small for some poorly shaped
appendage to be forced in is common to both teams.
I was standing in the shower five minutes ago with the water
turned off. It's after three in the morning; I don't want the
pipes to disturb the people down stairs. After, I turned on the
taps and rinsed off quickly and used the water to get the come to
go down the drain; I don't want to actually touch it with any
part of my body. Before the shower I was on the couch fantasizing
about a girl in one of my classes. In the fantasy, I was rubbing
my hands all over her, favoring her nipples, but not touching her
clit. Like-wise in reality, I was avoiding touching my dick.
Once a guy involves starts touching the clit or if she touches his
dick, then he makes them the focus of all his energies. Then the
encounter go too fast or get tiresome. I imagined it for a while.
A couple different places. Various states of dress. I'm not
sure, but I think I eventually rubbed my pants a little and thus
the fantasy broke down.
I think I want to ask her out. I'd like to think that it's
totally separate from my use of her in a fantasy. I think it is
separate, because I've used almost every girl I know in the
shower, and with most I'd never want to go out. It's only when
I'm really desperate for an orgasm do I use a girl in the shower I
don't like -- just for the newness of someone I haven't overused.
I thought about asking her out yesterday and thought it to be
a reasonable idea. I don't plan to simply approach her from
behind and start feeling her breasts as if that were a sociable
way to begin a conversation. Nor do I intend to get her into bed,
but I obviously can't deny that the thought has occurred to me.
She has finally developed an impression in my mind which warrants
testing. That is, I've formed a positive opinion based on what
scattered contact I've had with her and it is my interest to find
out what about her is true. Plus, we've begun making sexual jokes
in passing including one shocker on her part: "Make it thirty and
I might sleep with you." I really don't know this girls well
enough for such direct stimuli, which is why she's so captured my
interest. Sex is becoming the basis for the humour between us.
Of course when I saw her in the hall this morning, not
surrounded by throngs of theatre mouths, asking her out failed to
occur to me at all. It was the return of that intention and the
realization of the missed opportunity which led to my auto
eroticism a short while ago.
Coffee. Talk. Why do I want to know her? She's an actress.
Is she experienced? What are her goals? Why would I care?
Because I don't have a good reason to know anyone and more and
more find myself listening less and less. I don't know why I need
people and currently feel that I don't. But at some point I
might, so I shouldn't discard them yet. Why her? Because she's
there. She appeals to me in my own arbitrary ways as well as
culturally recognized physical ways. I don't know the real
reason. No reason, sex reason, some reason meant to mean
something years from now. It's probably something.
(
geocities.com/soho)