How to Make Masturbation Almost Fun Again
Has masturbation lost its luster? Does it now just seem like another chore, like taking out the trash, or calling your estranged daughter on her birthday? Well read on, and restore a great pastime to its former glory.
Remember how great masturbation used to be? How you would ask to be excused from the dinner table because you had a “stomach ache,” and then rub one out furiously in the pantry? “All better,” you’d say, as you returned to the dining room with a suspicious look of satisfaction. How you would randomly leave the classroom to go pleasure yourself in the largely abandoned special-ed wing of the high school?
And then when you got back, you’d tell your students there was an emergency in the faculty room, probably something to do with coffee cake, or an incident down at “central.” Back then, your day would not revolve around eating and sleeping but around whacking and tossing. “Should I go to the movie with Jeanette at eight,” you’d ask yourself, “or might that conflict with my ten-thirty spank session?” Invariably, you’d play it safe and stay home.
Now, unfortunately, things are different. Now masturbation is just a perfunctory exercise in self-loathing. You never want to do it—or rather, you never want to want to do it—but still, it happens somehow. And it barely even feels good anymore. Every underwhelming release feels not like the magical fulfillment of a primal physical need but rather the merciful end of a self-imposed punishment, the sad punch-line of some big goddamn cosmic joke. “Well, I guess I can stop now,” you say, wondering how much a pistol and one bullet would cost down at the pawn shop.
Well, friends, don’t reach for that pistol just yet—but don’t get rid of it just yet, either—because I’ve developed these ways to turn back the clock to the golden age of masturbation. Or at least turn masturbation from something you dread into something you might kind of look forward to.
Because the fear of being caught will inject excitement into even the most lifeless sexual activity. So go buy yourself a nice trench coat—you’ll find it in the “Exhibitionist-wear” department at JCPenney—and search your neighborhood for nice, thick shrubs that will offer a serviceable screen for your sordid, pathetic activity. You may even want to cut a hole in one of your pants pockets so that you can do the deed while at, say, a local pizzeria, or a lecture about compost and green living, without anyone else being the wiser. Well, your audience might suspect something’s up when you’re about to climax (which you should aim to coincide with the culmination of your speech)—“So in conclusion, I believe, oh shit, that, uh, the use of compost, oooh shit, is, oh God, oh my God I’m coming I’m coming fuuuck, related inextricably to, uh, green living”—but they’ll tolerate it, as long as the rest of your lecture was informative and well-structured.