Wind Sprints

Ooookay. Today’s lesson, class, is NC-17, NSFW, quite possibly TMI, and maybe a few other acronyms I’m not terribly familiar with. This is your last chance to flee! Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!!

Still here? Glutton, huh? Okay. The topic is “masturbation.”

Wow, still here. I’m impressed, I think. Well, here we go.

I’ll confess. I do it a lot, so I can write from long and thorough experience. And why not? I have no religious compunctions about it or anything. It feels good, it serves as a physical outlet (wet dreams are fun but can be inconvenient and/or messy), and it bleeds off some stress. Don’t get me wrong, pretty much anytime I’d rather be with a partner. (And sometimes I am. Personally, I think masturbating with or for your partner is both intimate and hot.) But sometimes a partner isn’t available or in the mood. And so comes the self-lovin’.

Of course, I realized not terribly long ago that married masturbation ain’t the same as single masturbation. Yes, quite belatedly, I know. [Insert male-obliviousness joke here.]

When you’re single, you’ve got the house to yourself, and you can just let go and have fun. Relax, stretch it out, you’ve got hours to kill! Break out your favorite volume of Letters to Penthouse (I have several), your favorite bit of porn (ditto) or just fire up the ol’ imagination (never fails). In the mood on Sunday afternoon? Sure, go for it! Want to see how long you can hold it off? How many times you can go? Rock on!

With a wife and kid at home, though, not so much. First, you gotta snatch those moments of privacy when nobody’s going to be disturbing you. At least not unless you want your SO to disturb you, yum yum. So you more or less lose those marathon options and fall back to the occasional sprint. And, like Chris Rock once said, you get hyper-aware of every creaking floorboard, or at least until you’re, uh, too far gone to notice. It’s the crack of dawn and the house is asleep – it’s after the kid’s bedtime and the wife’s occupied for a while in the other room – whatever. You seize the moment (among other things) and go for it!

That doesn’t mean it’s not still fun. (If it’s not fun, well then you’re doing it out of compulsion, and IMHO that’s a problem.) But everything sexual can fall into a rut, and if you’re rubbing out a quick one over and over under the same circumstances, like every Tuesday night at 10:30 when the kid’s in bed and the wife’s at her lingerie bowling league, things tend to go downhill. Then suddenly you find yourself longing for single-guy-masturbation again. So you try to break out of the rut, try it a different way, try different things to stimulate your brain, push your boundaries a bit more to keep it interesting. Or, take that one blissful day when the wife takes the kids out of town and have a ball. Single-guy-masturbation for a day! Woohoo!

Truthfully, though, it’s still no substitute for a partner. It’s funny that way. I’ve told my wife time and again that I could masturbate three times a day and still be ready for another one, but one good bout of sex and I’m good for a day or even two. Not that I don’t want more, but that little urge isn’t there in the same way. Even having my wife there to participate and/or watch makes the whole experience different for me. I think the women of the world should be thankful for that, at the very least on behalf of the propagation of the species. Even if your own guy chasing after you every minute of every day may still annoy the hell out of you.

I will also freely admit that I’m envious of women who are capable of doing a true marathon. I occasionally rib my wife over this one. “Want to trade that whole peeing-standing-up thing? C’mon!” Some women can (or are forced to) just keep going until they can’t keep going anymore. Damn, if only. My definition of a “marathon” is more like wind sprints by comparison. And no matter how many wind sprints you can do in a day, it’s still not the same as a marathon.

Oh well. It’s still fun. And occasionally one can still surprise oneself with how long a wind sprint one can do, or how many one can do in a day and still not 1) fail to get it up 2) fail to finish 3) develop tendonitis 4) develop blisters 5) ejaculate nothing but air.

Yeah. Picture the little guys in the engine room.
“Holy begorrah, here we go again! All ahead full!
“My god, man, we need to stop and take on more fuel! And the stokers are all unconscious from exhaustion!”
“Well, break out the crank, Jedson, because word’s come down from the Bridge that the sex scene in Desperado came on again tonight and the Salma Hayek fantasy is in full swing!”
“All right, lads, you heard the man, put your backs into it! We’re bound for it again!”

[Thirty minutes later – oh, okay, fifteen minutes…fine. Five fucking minutes. Happy now?]

“Bridge, this is the engine room! Call it off, call it off, the stokers are falling out again!”
“Engine room, bridge. Tell it to Engineering, man, we’ve lost the helm and we’ve moving on momentum alone! We’ve gone ballistic, God help us!”
“Engineering, engine room! Abort, abort!”
“Engine Room, this is the Chief Engineer. If we abort now, there are two possible options: we could never get this thing running again, or the whole thing could blow!”
“We’re too low! We can’t maintain pressure!”
“Damn it, it’s too late to turn back now! Give it all you’ve got! Here we go!
“Bridge, engine room! We’re reaching critical pressure! Bridge? Bridge? Bridge, respond! Is there anybody up there?!? Damn it, Clancy, the bridge is out of commission again! Hold on!!”

“Engine room, engineering! Brace yourselves, here we go!”
“Home stretch boys! LOOK OUT!!!! It’s gonna BLOW!!!!


“‘Pop?’ ‘Pop.’ Goddamn it, Clancy, those bastards had us all worked up for ‘Pop?'”
“Aye, Jedson, now we better get some rest in the next hour. While we know we can!”


One Response

  1. Oh, Jesus Christ, I haven’t laughed that hard in awhile. I was beginning to think nothing would stop me from crying, but now I’m crying from laughing too hard.

    And I read your comment this morning. Thank you. It’ll pass soon, for a few days or a few weeks if I’m lucky.

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