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Sep
11

come with me

Unlike my usual offerings this time I am offering you the reader an opportunity to go on a journey with me. For those who wanted just a quick read before returning to your empty and meaningless lives I would suggest you wrap it up here and move on. This will require some work but I promise you will find it very rewarding. I invite you into my masturbation ritual.

First of all let me say this. I am not a fan of the typical male masturbation session. Hunched over a magazine or clicking websites furiously is not my idea of a good time. My routine has been refined over years and years of careful post-ejaculation reviews to the point that I think I can now offer this formula up to any male who feels they are not getting everything they deserve from their special time alone. My newest wrinkle has been starting the entire session by tying on a hachimaki headband, a traditional Japanese symbol of mental resolve. Plus the red dot makes me feel sexier.

A critical part of the process is to make the soundtrack that will be playing in the background beforehand so you don’t have to switch CDs when your hands might be otherwise engaged.

Like so many of my gangsta friends, I like to acknowledge females who are no longer ‘with me.’ They choose to show their respect by tipping out the first few swallows of the malt liquor. Same with me, except in this case it’s my pre-seminal fluid (or Cowper’s fluid). To get the party started right you’ll need a National Geographic magazine (preferably pre-1985) and your high school yearbook. This is your cue to start up your musical soundtrack and the first song I recommend is Same Old Lang Syne by Dan Folgelberg. It’s a little slow but remember, gentlemen, this is a marathon, not a sprint. You’ll want to keep your strokes gentle and nostalgic. Tip out the first few ‘swallows’ and feel free to let your mind wander a bit over past encounters. You shouldn’t feel the need to be anywhere close to full attention.

“The beer was empty and our tongues were tired And running out of things to say She gave a kiss to me as I got out and I watched her drive away Just for a moment I was back at school And felt that old familiar pain And as I turned to make my way back home The snow turned in to rain…”

OK…as the last strains of Dan fade out we’re ready to move forward. I always like to light a candle at this point, before the ‘heavy lifting’ begins. Might I suggest Lemon Verbena or a nice Mountain Laurel? Cilantro will just make you think of that slut who cheated on you in college and if you want to suddenly remember that incident in Jamaica with that crazy stoned hooker then by all means feel free to light up a little Coconut Lime. Otherwise I’d stick in the melon family. Some of you might ask if some sort of fragrance diffuser is required. Absolutely not! We’re looking for ambiance here, not the overpowering scents of a whorehouse.

Hmmm, where were we? Oh yes … song 2. Time to switch gears and put the past behind us, right guys? We’re no longer that guy who was known for disappointing his partner. Now we’re a man! In keeping with that spirit, by now Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry should be blasting out of your speakers. Now of course this song is exploitive in nature and does not show much tenderness in talking about the act of making love. Exactly.

Now is a good time to apply whatever lubricants you feel are necessary. Myself, I’m old school and like the feel of a handful of Manglide but I’m not opposed to K-Y or even a little Sliquid Sizzle in a pinch. Personally I’ve found that Vaseline starts strong but fades fast and might leave your dick looking as red as a baboon’s ass when you’re finished. I know some of you swear by spit, olive oil, pie filling (what male didn’t get curious after watching American Pie? I should have waited myself until I had a pie in the fridge other than pecan), or butter, but I value my junk too much to risk irritating it.

Now that friction concerns are behind me I’m usually having at it by the first chorus. It’s usually at this point that I remember to either sit down or move away from the bay window. Be careful what you’re looking at during this phase of masturbating as whatever it is will immediately be whisked away and placed deep into your sexual subconscious. I don’t care if it’s a crime drama on TV, a box of donuts sitting on a nearby table or the neighbor’s parrot suddenly squawking, it will forever make you somehow horny down the line. I’m not trying to explain it, I’m just warning you. Don’t believe me? Just ask the girl behind the counter at Dunkin Donuts. I’m telling you, you never know how strange your brain is wired until something happens to remind you that we’re all just a bunch of chemicals sloshing around in our head. To prove my point, next time you’re in the shower let the water hit your teeth. I started doing this as a way to make them extra pearly white (no, it doesn’t help) but found out that when I do it somehow makes me feel like a vampire. lol Really. Laugh if you will but I defy you to try it and NOT want to bite someone. Anyway …

If you’re anything like me, by now you’re ready to bring this baby home. Now that I’ve embraced the truth of sexuality thanks to my friends in Buckcherry, it’s time to go even more primal. The next song is in all respects the money shot and you must not deviate from it. The artist is Stewart Copeland. The song is off the album The Rhythmatist. I like to start with the first song, Koteja (Oh Bolilla), because if I’m feeling particularly strong I can then rush headlong into Brazaville and even, on the rare occasion, last as long as Liberte (yes, I see the irony there). It’s not unusual that I get so worked up that I’m forced to peel off my sweater or even remove my shoes at this point. I’m talking getting into it! I like to have both a box of Kleenex and a few 1″ pine breaking boards handy as I get closer to finishing as it seems equally likely that at some point I will either fly into a crying jag or feel the urge to punch through wood. I like to be covered both ways, and no, neither of these activities in any way take away from the total enjoyment of the experience.

Liftoff. All that remains is the question of how to catch this salty discharge. I think I spent more time deciding which word to put in front of discharge than I did writing the whole damn blog. Originally I went manly, then stuck in creamy, then gooey, and then even toyed with magnificent. I even switched discharge to payload once. Anyway, to answer the question, I’m a throwback. I go tissue. I have a friend that tells me I’m crazy and that an old sock is the way to go. Nah. You can keep your moist towelettes as well. You think at a time like this, my forehead damp with sweat and my legs twitching involuntarily, that I’m really concerned with the benefits of an antibacterial wipe? I just spent 15 minutes wrestling with my own baloney bayonet, give me the tried and true tissue to collect my payload (there … I got it in anyway) and be done with it.

So there it is. My little ritual. I have thrown open a little window into my life for you all to peer into. Your feedback is strongly discouraged.

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