I've always loved wanking. Ever since my fingers first connected with my dick in the right way, jerking off has been my favourite past-time. Sometimes, it's just a biological function, like taking a shit - you go into the bathroom or stay in your bedroom, whip it out, do the duty, clean it up then get on with your life. Other times, it's like the only thing that matters in the world. Wanking becomes a ritual - you plan the time, the place, the images. Porn is fine but I like books better. More room for the imagination. You can put yourself into the place of the person who's getting blown, laid, butt-fucked, whatever. You get to create your own image, instead of a force-fed one from the TV screen.
Sometimes I think I'm with a girl - that way you get all the sweet pussy odours, the nipple licking and biting, the tongue on the clit and that crazy sensation when your dick slides into her cunt for the first time and you both groan in ecstasy. Other times I'm with a guy; for sure it's different, but it's not worse and it's not better. Just different. Being with a guy is all about knowing what you like and doing exactly the same thing to him. There's a point just below where my foreskin was chopped off that makes me fucking crazy every time a tongue goes anywhere near it. And there's also a hardness, a type of brute strength that materialises when two guys get it on. Get it off. Whatever.
I wonder, but only occasionally, what it would be like to be a lesbian, or even just to be a chick, with breasts and a cunt and a clit, and I think of how many different ways I could get myself horny. That' the thing - guys only get to cum in a few specif ic ways, with the same actions. Girls get a cunt and a magic button to go with it. So many fruits and vegetables, food textures, ways to move their fingers - it's fucking amazing. But they have to suffer every month for 30 years and that' a pretty ratshit compensation if you ask me.
The best orgasm I ever had was one night when I was stoned and jerking off. Forty-five minutes I was tugging away at the old joy stick and my whole body was on a fucking cloud, six feet above my well-stained mattress. When I finally came, it felt like my right hand had fallen off and my dick had shot itself straight into the Southern Cross. I was covered in cum, splattered with the stuff over my eyes and chest and I was puffing and panting for another ten minutes. I couldn't believe it. Neither could my flatmates when they walked in, wondering what the scream was about. But they were cool; they'd seen worse. The guy who lived in my room before had one wall covered in photos he'd taken of naked chicks on tombstones. More than 300 and he'd fucked them all. Each to their own, I guess.
Anyway as I said, I love to wank. It' the safest sex around - you don't get anyone pregnant, you don't get any diseases and you don't get all the "Maybe I'll call you" or "When will I see you again?" bullshit the morning after. The way I see it, we should get paid to wank. The world would be a better place for it.