Darkness and Drama leads to Masturbatory Madness

This is the first of many. It isn't the answer to all the questions you have. You will learn more as this sulphorous burp of an entity takes form and becomes who knows what. I feel I should voice some sort of disclaimer at this point, but this would be futile.

I resolved not to make this blog an irreverent retelling of events in my daily life somewhat like a diary; but, here we are. . . . . . .

Boo Hoo, I am having a shocker. As we do when things don’t go quite right we reflect on times when things have really not gone down the way we want. I am in that place right now. In so doing I have brought to mind, somewhat painfully, sometimes hilariously, events from my past that were relatively catastrophic social, mental or personal disasters to make myself feel a little better about todays trivialities.

I’ll wade into the filth straight away and set the benchmark high. I masturbated a lot at college. I had a girlfriend but I also had unlimited hardcore porn on tap. Not just run of the mill in out in out porn, but witty, funny social commentaries that allowed me to learn life lessons and enjoy the show. And how I watched.

By far my most memorable, if not my most enjoyable, porn viewing moment occurred on a day that was like most others of that era. I rose, slightly hungover from a snake-pit session, around mid morning to waddle naked through the hallways of our college blocks to the communal shower. I enjoyed a relaxing shower while listening to music that flowed from my room down the hall. It was about this time that I felt I deserved a bit of, “me”, time. Still wet and naked I headed to my esteemed colleagues room down the hall (opposite and at the opposite end) whom I knew to be a motivated and conscientious physio student who would surely be attending his lectures like a good young man. Being owned by a good student, this room was equipped with a plush computer, perfect for blasting high quality hard core entertainment my way. I found some suitable material and settled into a nice rhythm. It is probably a good time to also point out that we were on the second floor of a series of 2 x 8 room blocks arranged in a square around a central quad.

I have quite lazy eyes, not like dope fiend lazy but pretty chilled out. Sitting naked in my friends room, slowly rocking myself to climax, I m pretty sure my eyes nearly popped out of my head that day when I heard him trying the knob on his door. I could feel the cogs of his confusion turning; he left his room unlocked like usual but now it was locked and he could hear a nasty American college slut asking him to do unthinkable things with his big fat cock. He got a little vexed. He huffed and puffed about how he knew it was me and how he was going make me pay for deflowering his innocent bedroom. I did some quick mental arithmetic at this point and this is what I got:

Me + nude + porn + capture + angry moustached mate = naked erection male beating and massive, possibly career ending embarrassment. The vision was motivating.

In a moment of supposed clarity I saw my escape. So out the window I went, bare arse naked, aroused and very, very scared. I lowered myself out the window, which under the strain of my engorged weight broke, shattered, showering my naked self in glass on the fall down to the quad below. This scene sees me holding a broken window frame, naked, bloody and still hard lying spread eagle in the quad. I rallied and ran around the other stair well into my room and slammed the door. Safe. Undetected. Of course my esteemed colleague knew full well it was me which he screamed at my door for a good ten minutes. After I deflated myself and surfaced we had a mature discussion about why I shouldn’t beat it in others rooms and how windows cost money and that an erection does not give one a licence to kill. I eventually came (to see the point of his argument)…..



Back to reality. I have matured (?) and grown into a monkey doing a job like everyone else. It has been 8 years since I was last caught in a compromising position touching myself. I wonder if that is an appropriate measure of success? Why do I feel like a part of some niche group therapy session; “Public Wankers Anonymous”.

But I digress; the day is still young and hopefully with luck will improve. Fortunately for me there is still time for telling new stories, sharing new ideas and new spurts of thick creamy insight.