Onan Revisited
The weird thing about masturbating is, IT’S SUCH FUCKING HARD WORK!
They don’t tell you that in school. You gotta just learn it on the streets. Just you and your hand(s)/finger(s). No one can help you. No one tells you how long it should take, and if you should go really fast or sort of slow (the old hare/tortoise conundrum), or how to make all parts of it equally enjoyable. You just somehow put one finger in front of or beside the other and pray for a big sloppy mess. Because that’s the most you can hope for. Then some other time when you’re feeling at your masturbatory peak (acme, climax, zenith, crest) you’ll straighten that mess out.
Thing is, in the straightening of it, you make another mess. Like my old film teacher once intoned, in his Russian accent, “There is no end to the beginning.” I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I wrote it in my notebook. Now I understand it, as they say, only too well.
It’s hard to concentrate sometimes, when the mind is pulled hither and yon by deep metaphysical questions:
- Am I doing this right?
- What’s the point, again?
- Does anything have a point?
- What if I spend so much time masturbating that I forget to go grocery shopping and then I run out of food and they find me on the cusp of life and death, my fingers stiffened into tell-tale claws?
Every so often you find you can confide in another person, and this can be helpful. Last night I was talking to Johnny N. “What the fuck! Why is it so hard?” and he made all of the obligatory coos of empathy, or whatever the masculine form of coo is.
I don’t know if there’s a connection, but today I got off so hard, at long last all the bits of hazy fantasy coalescing into something I could really latch onto. Well. Probably means I’ll be off my game for weeks. Anyway, I didn’t ask to be born, so whatever.
My jerk-off tip of the day is P.G. Wodehouse. Consider this writer the ideal ally for your masturbation-addled brain. Nimble, effervescent, pitch-perfect, he will leave you refreshed for your next session of self-sex, without insinuating himself into the scenery. Whether you are man enough to get it up, again and again and again, is a different story.
One Response to “Onan Revisited”
1 Pistol Whip 5 September 2007 @ 12:33 am
My masturbation problem is this: I am so fucking focussed on the finish… it gets me all spooked.
Because: WHAT IF I DON’T DO IT RIGHT? What if it takes too long? What if it’s wimpy? What if everyone laughs at me?
And: WHAT IF I CAN’T DO IT AT ALL? Isn’t it possible to go on rubbing and rubbing forever, and never get to the end?
Or: WHAT IF I DO IT AND IT HAPPENS AND IT’S PERFECT, AND THEN I CAN NEVER DO IT AGAIN?
And so on.
My lawyer is always trying to get me to focus on the wanking process rather than the product. Like those times when you’re on the train or doing the dishes or whatever, and you find your hand has strayed and you’re not even thinking about it at all–not the why of it or the what of it or any of the other wh questions–you’re just DOING it, and it’s great.
Sigh.
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