However, as we all know - or should know - is that masturbation is not a crime. And if it is, it shouldn't be. It's one of the pleasures in life that is free and easy. There's no shame in exploring yourself - because if you can't have adequate sex with yourself, how are you going to manage it with anyone else? And yet some people, for whatever reason, feel like they need to fight this urge, for a sort of righteous cause. That's fine too, you know. If you want to give up masturbation, more power to you. I spent years repeatedly trying to give up, because something in the back of my mind told me I was wrong. Eventually it dawned on me... was I wrong? Why?
I'm finding it more and more difficult to self-love these days, though. When I was in a relationship, it was easy. I had in my mind the person I was having regular sexual intercourse with, and I loved her. I thought about her and I masturbated. My love of soft porn never abated and I had that most peculiar of fetishes, the desire to see other people pretending to have sex on screen, which also helped. I even knew where to find hardcore, if I actually wanted to see penetration happening. And I had sex blogs, which are often good at igniting a fuse, should I lay one out.
But now I am once again single, I feel like I am in a state of disarray at some points. Wanking is fine, but sometimes it seems as if I've lost the ability or the will, even if I do feel as horny as a rutting rhinoceros at points - and there have been times over the past few weeks where I've just been unable to finish the job at hand. Yes, I understand it is the journey, and not the destination. Yes, I also understand that occasionally, through the grace of God, I have combined that with cybersex - or retained logs of cybersex from three years past - and that is essentially pleasuring somebody else, so it's not just me. But with masturbation, the general aim is for an orgasm, whereas I've always maintained that during sex, one should really be concerned with the giving and receipt of pleasure, and that if/when the orgasm comes, that should be a spontaneous thing, the cherry on top of the icing... or mattress.
Anyway, there have been days recently where I've masturbated but been interrupted, say by my parents wanting to give me another amazing chance to break several bones doing manual labour in the garden (shovelling broken stones, really my sort of thing), my grandparents coming around for general interference, my sister wanting me to count her collection of dice, or general frustration generated by a huge amount of mess and noice, resulting in the inability to come and the urge to have sex replaced by the urge to saw my own arms off with the sharp edge of a softcore DVD.
And then there are the days when events get in the way. I'm not one to forego the chance to go and catch a film or see a play, or even drink Lemon Fanta at a local public house, in favour of spending an hour or two with Mistress Palm. I'm not that far gone, people.
So there are the times when I've not been having orgasms. They're nice but by no means necessary, and not having one doesn't mean I can't have another.
But the upside to this is that, of course, when I do have orgasms, they are incredibly intense. I had one the other day when I'd been teasing myself on and off for the better part of about eight hours. It started with me thinking I'd have a tiny wank, but then I decided it wasn't going to happen, and thus the mazy dance started. I was doing other things at the time, such as job applications and eating food, but I was turned on at many points throughout the afternoon, and when I finally ramped up to 11 and masturbated lying in my back until I eventually came, I temporarily paralysed myself and realised, with an unpleasant shock, that the situation I was in, with part of me holding the bedcovers tight, and the rest of me frozen in a single position, was scarily similar to what TD looked like following a session of oral sex on the very same bed. Only... more masculine, and less good-looking.
TL;DR? I'm not in any way advocating the act of abstaining from pleasuring oneself, far from it. I'm just slowly coming to realise the fact that it isn't a tragedy if it doesn't yield results immediately. On the proviso, of course, that it does... eventually. Because to just give up entirely would be silly.
Quite, quite silly.