09.
I can’t stop masturbating.
(content warning: this piece is a graphic detailing of exactly what the title describes)
My penis is still stinging and red from my last rough rub, and I’m thinking about doing it again. I’m not sure I’m horny, or if it really matters. Get on with it already, and I’ll have nothing else to worry about for a little while.
When hard and stroking, I cut through all pretensions. I’m nobody at all, just one more cockstroker like everyone else with a cock. Pleasure, convenient at hand, consumes time and energy, no outside equipment required. Release.
How many times, in just these last few moments, have I wanted to get up from this desk, head to my bed, pull down my pants, and beat my dick. It’s so much easier than writing. But this overmasturbated penis has no new tale to tell. Diminishing returns hint at its boredom.
I’m no kid anymore. Gone are the days when a bumpy bus ride or swift wind might arouse my dick to full attention. In younger days, thick sperm would build up in my balls without me doing anything to goad it on. I could touch its swell with my finger, feel the dull heavy buildup weighing down, threat of full-on groin ache, simply from being 21, with a penis, in underwear and jeans, walking down the street. I’d make a pitstop at the closest coffeehouse with private bathrooms and jerk one out right there, for comfort more than anything.
Wait, is that an eddy of sensation in the spot behind my cock. I feel it stirring, deep. Then it stalls, anxious in wonder. Will this be a full erection. The mind kills the body, asking it to justify itself again and again, one more show of power. A merciless fist, demanding constant proof. Have I still got it.
Or maybe that is just an urge to urinate. I rise and head to the toilet, on the way anticipating how I’ll touch my penis while I’m peeing. It will be soft and spongy, but wouldn’t take more than a couple suspect squeezes to entice a gradual engulfment, more blood flow, flattering half-mast, a great look in pictures.
My therapist suggested I give my dick a break. He’s probably right, though even the suggestion of keeping my hand off my dick makes me think of my dick and putting my hand on it.
After I piss, I start to rub the spot above my pubic bone, where crotch gives way to belly, and feel an inner twitch. My flaccid cock grows slightly bigger, just enough to dangle on my ball-sac. If, say, I were to jump up and down, my cock would hit against my balls, making both feel good, making my cock start to gradually stretch, making it hit my balls with ever more force, making both feel even better, and before I’d even know it, I’d be standing with my nuts on the cold porcelain of the sink and my hard hairy penis in my hand and familiar scripts running through my head.
I return to the computer, where I now sit, trying to get back to my writing. Who are we kidding, I can’t really focus on anything other than how badly I want to jump back in bed and jerk out a load. I’m ending this piece here.
the in-between*
© 2020 Barry Perlman