My favourite food item in the world, even more so than sherbet lemons, is the cheese sandwich. It tastes good, and is satisfying and comfortable. It's cheap, quick, and easy, and suits pretty much any occasion. Cheese sandwiches are, basically, the reason I'm overweight. They are glorious in their simplicity.
What I'm trying to get at here, really, is to provide via example some sort of proof that the simplest things can be the best. (I'm drinking very cheap tea from Lidl here, made with two-days-expired milk and reboiled water from a kettle, and it still tastes like tea.) And recently - over the last week, in fact - I've been re-affirming that the same can be said of masturbation. Although not always... still... sometimes.
Much as I like masturbation to be a lengthy experience for me - it takes me a while to settle on something, and then a while more to get into the mood, plus I have stamina, so it takes me a pretty long time to come - my simple wanks have come as something of a necessity. I've recently started a new, second (third? fourth? probably technically fifth?) job, because I am a millennial and just one job would probably result in me dying quietly in a ditch somewhere near Slough, which takes up a fair chunk of my time. Add this to the fact that I've been doing more shifts at my regular job, saying yes to everything because I am a fucking idiot, and doing all the admin that my clients have to do because I want it done properly, and it's pretty clear that, at the end of the day, I'm pretty much in need of some sort of stress relief to stop me cracking under the strain.
Hence the functional wank.
I enter the room and find that my girlfriend is still at work. Curtains get closed; side light on. Off go the clothes, work shirt and smart trousers no more than a crumpled heap on the floor, possibly overlaid with sensible grey knitwear if it's been cold. Satchel (yes, I have a satchel) discarded on the floor, pants and socks lying nearby. Bedclothes hastily assembled and I'm lying flat on my back, cock rigid and held firmly between my thumb and index finger, working my foreskin back and forth. Grasping through headspace for something sexy to get me off, taking deep steadying breaths, peaking when I can, coating my hand and stomach (and chest and neck if I'm superhuman enough) with creamy mess, and finally juddering to a halt.
If I'm tired by the time I get back, that's nothing compared to how I feel afterwards. I've noticed a tendency to crawl straight into bed after cleaning up, although there's something to be said for the notion of falling asleep while still covered in my own cum (this isn't a fetish - it just involves less movement and I am a lazy ho). Either way, I end up dozing - which is, frankly, all I really want to do after what feels like 4,201,510,975 hours of standing up.
I even have a blister on my big toe, which is odd, because my shoes are rubber - you'd think they'd be flexible.
It's a world away from the excessive compulsive flickering or spiritually transcendent vainglory of my usual wanks. It's not intended to be An Experience, a prayer to the altar of internet soft pornography, or even something to generate content (although I'm writing about it now - hooray, content!). It's a swift, functional, down-to-earth, honest-to-Glod dirty wank. Solid, easy, and - crucially - shorter.
The rest of me's too fatigued to do anything else, anyway.