If you can’t find a partner, there’s nothing wrong with “knocking it out” so you can get on with your day. As long as you don’t turn that into a freak fest, that is.
Since I don’t know how a woman thinks about pleasuring herself, I’ll give you the male view. It’s bound to be more accurate and funnier.
Before I get into this whole dirty business of “self-love”, there’s two things that every guy in this room shares…
1. Sometime as a teenager, every guy has bent over and tried to give himself head. We have. You never know, you just may be able to do it.
2. Most guys can improve their sex lives with either a bigger pinga or a smaller hand.
Some people have a real problem with this type of behavior.. like the Catholics. Pronounced cat-licks. I went to Catholic School so I know. I did a five year sentence at Our Lady of Festering Hemorrhoids. The nuns would tell us that Hell was full of “murderers and masturbators.” That’s quite a club.
Our homeroom nun would tell us at least once a week that if we masturbate, we’ll go blind. Luckily I found a loophole… just turn your head. I can’t hear for shit in this ear… but I was happy, damn it.
And there was no sex education back then. Dad was no help. The penguins were no help. I learned everything I know from the last place I would have thought to look for information… the library.
I was looking for a book on Babe Ruth. As I walked by a shelf of books, a title jumped out at me. “Sex and You.” I left little skid marks as I stopped to look at it. So with my Babe Ruth book covering this ancient porn novel, I read my little heart out. And I got really paranoid whenever someone got within 50 feet of me.. “Go away.”
By the time I left the library, I had a severe porn buzz going. “I can’t believe people really do that.” I remember I didn’t believe some of it. Like the part where it said when a man has an orgasm, only about a tablespoon comes out.
As a future scientist, I felt I had to check that theory out. So one weekend, I had some free time so I whipped out a spoon, whipped out a fantasy and went to work. Well, when the work was done, I looked down… and my spoon was empty… apparently it ricocheted off the spoon… and hit a guy in the next pew…
My puberty was brought on early because of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman. Pure goddess.
And looking back on it, it probably looked so obvious to the rest of the family. Wonder Woman would be doing the opening scenes and then go to commercial. I’d run into the bathroom and lock the door. “Be right there. Don’t change the channel.”
TV was a great way to understand how lust works. If you were a pre-teen, you either wanted Wilma or Betty on The Flintstones.
When you got older, it was either Mary-Ann or Ginger on Gilligan’s Island. There was a lot more room for fantasy on that one but first you had to knock all the men into the volcano. And only after the Professor builds you a still.
Forty years later, that’s still a great fantasy. An island, a couple cutie pies, and some hooch. I’d die a happy man.
I think I might be a bit of a prude though. I think sex should be done behind closed doors and masturbation behind bolted doors. But have you seen those commercials late at night for those phone sex lines. You pay four dollars a minute for a girl to talk dirty to you over the phone while you “yank your ripcord.”
There are lots of them. I just think it’s incredible that guys would pay for this. And there’s nothing for women on TV like this because, well, they don’t need it… If a woman is thinking about getting laid, they go out and get laid. If a guy is thinking about getting laid, they go out, get shot down, look for a hooker then come home and pay four dollars a minute while they fuck a pillow.
They should put a little truth in these commercials, “For the best piece of ass you can give yourself, dial 1-900-you-loser.”
Sex is a BIG business. There are stores that sell everything you need to become a sexual guru… except talent. That’s just practice.
So how many of you have gone into these sexual emporiums? You can’t miss them. They’re usually all pink with three big X’s on them. One day, I’d like to see if they sell any double X movies.
You’ve been in one of those places… no??? Just Buffalo Morgan, huh? Why you lying mothu… you should add it to your bucket list. Sit in the parking lot, have a few drinks and go inside.
They have everything. Dolls with shocked looks on their faces, 55 gallon drums of love lube, all kinds of pinga enlargers from the three dollar brick and a rope to the thousand dollar Sweeba Swaaba 3000. And that comes with a 95% guarantee that it will not rip your organs from your body.
They have costumes, whips and chains. They have dildos that double as Sunday morning softball bats.
The store I went to was out in Vegas and it was so big, it had a little theatre in the back. At the time, I believe they were playing a bestiality movie called, “Our Fine Feathered Friends.” Sex with ducks… that’s right… duck fucking.
The guys looked like rednecks doing it for beer money. And the ducks… were ducks. Cute, innocent, just looking around, “Say, there are a lot of people here. Is that a camera? You guys making a movie? WHAT THE – quack quack quack quack.”
Those kinds of movies must be an acquired taste.
The oddest thing I saw in there was for when you were done doing whatever depraved act you were conceiving, they sold pubic hair shampoo.
They had one called, “Gee, your pubic hair smells terrific.” They had another one called, “Spurt.”
And if you had dandruff down there, they had, “Head & Testicles.”
And we go all through this in the name of love…
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