Monday, 3 October 2016


In my early 20s - both before and after I'd started writing ILB - I gave myself a time after which I could do the sexy things that I used to do: watch porn, watch more porn, masturbate, shower, feel regretful, watch more porn, feel better. This time, which I selected completely arbitrarily, was 9pm. I coudn't so much as touch myself before 9. The only thing I could do was blog.

I don't know either.

I'd come back from university where I'd spent three years in a bubble of soft porn and sex chatrooms. As long as I wasn't doing anything else - and considering that my degree involved seven hours of teaching maximum per week - I considered that open season. Living with my parents, single and jobless, there was very little to occupy my time with - not even the essays about Julia Kristeva and Luce Irigaray I'd been writing one year prior. I couldn't masturbate all the time.

I really couldn't.

So I set myself a time limit. I'd wait until nine o'clock and then set to being as dirty as I liked (which usually didn't amount to much past having an orgasm and slinking off to bed, although I had my moments!). This had its advantages:

(i) less likelihood of my dad wandering in to ask if I wanted a cup of tea
(ii) some sort of reward for managing to make it through another day alive
(iii) er...

I made allowances for the cat. She could stay in the room; she probably wasn't watching me masturbate. She was asleep most of the time, in any case.

This worked well enough for a while before I stopped thinking of 9pm as a limit that I'd put on myself and started to think of it as more of a rule. I was trying to stave off sexual cravings until that crucial time hit - although quite how I can't recall, I didn't really do much - and feeling like I'd failed if I surrendered to temptation and made a mess at any point before it. Before long, the instant 9pm hit, I was a ball of raging horn with a rock-hard erection merely because my body had come to expact that at the time.

Of course, the orgasms I'd had were incredible. But then they always were. They still are.

Fast-forward to 2011 and another long period of no employment. At some point, I had abandoned the watershed I'd set for myself and started masturbating whenever I felt horny, which - in hindsight - seems like the obvious thing to do, as opposed to just... waiting. As a result, I masturbated a little more than I had before (because I had the opportunity to do so more than once a day...!), and although my orgasms weren't perhaps as good, they were more of a treat than what you'd get from a routine wank after hours.

I suppose I knew what I was doing at some point in all that. Although these days, of course - ten years on - I hardly have any time at all... so I'll take whatever I can get!

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