Thursday, 10 November 2016

The Impending Splash

Yesterday was fairly terrible.

As a mass of disappointment, mundanity, grief, futility and fear, yesterday was not the best of days. The fact that Sainsbury's didn't have any Ben & Jerry's ice-cream sandwiches didn't help much, either.

I found myself at work in the evening, waiting for my two-hour shift and wondering to myself exactly where I went wrong. Recovering, steadily, from a bad cold that impeded my movement last week and having had surgery earlier (there's still a scar, if you look for it, which is a little worrying), the steady hum of background noise and heat from the radiators - as a contrast to the cold world outside - was soporific; even a little overpowering.

I was beginning to sense the danger of slipping away...

I know, I thought, I'll masturbate in the toilets. I had about 45 minutes before I had to start, and I've managed to wake myself up in the past by wanking (hey, if it works...). In any case, I wanted to have an orgasm.

When in doubt...

I made my way to the staff toilet, locked myself in and let the vague thoughts at the back of my mind take hold. With what seemed like a frankly gargantuan effort, and a few minutes of visualising things ranging from the sweetly romantic to something approaching utterly depraved, I managed to get myself nice and firm, and was just about ready to lose myself in the peaceful bliss of self-love when...

I stopped.

I just stopped. I felt tense and alarmed all of a sudden. I had work coming up and here I was, having a wank in a loo. Yes, I'd set up - yes, I'd prepared. In fact, one of the reasons I'd had time to masturbate was the fact that I'd gone in early and done everything first. This was just bonus time with which I could do whatever I pleased. So, with respect, why shouldn't I be masturbating? And, more to the point, why did I just stop?

In the time it took to complete this thought cycle, of course, my mood had vanished. And, as I glanced at the time of my 'phone, I realised that I had less time than I thought I did - spending time both wanking and debating with myself about wanking. What a wanker.

As I made my way back to the room to finish setting up, still sporting a semi which I'd managed to tuck into my stretchy pants, the residual dirty thoughts were nevertheless continuing to make their presence felt. A miasma of pictures, sounds, music and words is something I'm usually pleased to get lost in when orgasm is on the horizon, but due to my unfinished orgasm and the unexpected throwback into reality that accompanied it, clearly my brain had no idea what to do with it.

So it just hung there, like the faint, uneasy smudge of a mistake. And, in a way, it's been there ever since; the lure of a satisfying orgasm and all that it entails, against the backdrop that usually accompanies it. Waiting, waiting for me to jump back in, to fall forwards and tumble into the depths. The rage that it felt last night when I denied myself access, went off to work and then home on the bus to flop into bed and pretend nothing had happened, must have been immense, I'm sure.

And still I see its sparkle in the distance.

So take a deep breath, and dive...

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