The Joys of Masturbation

Without getting into it, “things” are confusing. The sex I thought would be regular thus far isn’t. Geography’s a bitch. So’s reality. It is what it is, baby. But that’s all right.

I can always count on myself.

So, without adieu, the reasons I love to masturbate — some of the many, many reasons:

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  • I never have to schedule a visit. I always know when my hand is free.
  • Rolling over and sleeping is exactly the right move, every time. Unless you’re surf’n’satisfyin’ on the tube/’net.
  • No concern about who gets the wet spot. I do. (In theory.)
  • Doing laundry isn’t an automatic repercussion of experiencing the Big O.
  • I can always meet my own expectations.
  • Enthusiasm is a given.
  • I don’t have to dress up in order to get off.
  • The ultimate quickie: Satisfaction with a minute or so of effort.
  • It’s free.
  • It’s portable.
  • It’s fun.
  • When I can’t afford to pay for a massage, I can masturbate. Often.
  • Keeps me in touch with myself.
  • Reminds me that Catholic Church, for me, is like home: I can never go back. Sin is simply too damned fun, and remembering them all for confession would be far too labourious.
  • It’s a healthy outlet for all my repressed societal angst.
  • Nostalgia: The many, many times I’ve revisited that very same Happy Place, and every time I smiled.
  • It’s better than watching golf on a Sunday morning.
  • Stress management. They claim one orgasm has the neurological benefits of 10 Valiums. And cheaper.
  • Because my carpal tunnel syndrome hasn’t crippled me yet.
  • Because I can.
  • Because I get to play with toys.
  • Because.

I’m sure there are more reasons, but that would involve investing more time, and I could be masturbating instead. Priorities, right?