Tag Archives: beating off

Nofap Diary

2 Jul
image stolen from echoparknow.com

image stolen from echoparknow.com

A gentleman by the name of Lawdogger recently gave up masturbating for 165 days.  This inspired me to revisit nofapping and attempt to match his insane feat. What follows are my results:

Day 1: OK, I can handle this. Not so bad. I’m slightly more irritable. Snapped at my landlady when she asked where the rent was. Noticing that the girl who works afternoons at the coffee shop has puffy nipples through her sheer top. How had I not seen that before. Normally I would head home and search “puffy nipple porn” and choke the chicken, but… let’s read a good book instead.

Day 2: Woman across from me on the bus was wearing a skirt. She was sitting under the air conditioning vent, and the air kept blowing the skirt almost but not quite far up enough to see her panties. I couldn’t look away. The bus hit a bump and I saw my reflection in the window. My face looked like Private Pyle right before he blows away Gunnery Sergeant Hartman. Need to buy a pair of sunglasses. Continue reading

I Beat The End Boss

4 Mar

GhostsNGoblins3

I’ve crossed the cock rubicon and I can’t jerk off to porn anymore.  For the first few weeks of my unemployment it was six to eight times per day.  When I discovered that Bing enabled perfect porn searches I was in a kind of heaven.  There was no hour unjerked.  My penis was beat up and scabby but it responded nonetheless.  Looking back now this was the penis Beatles.  Studio 54 in the 70’s.  Now nothing excites me. Continue reading

Reader Mailbag: Are You Dead or Something?

11 Oct

My 4 fans ask:

How come you haven’t posted in so long– did you die?

No, I just took a week off.

It was just such a weird week that I didn’t even beat off.  Or I did, but less than usual.  I have beat off just about every day for the past 26 years, but this week– the car was dead; I would have to take the bus home.  The 218 half an hour over Laurel Canyon, drop off at Sunset and Crescent Heights, wait half an hour for the 2– not the 302, which Google Maps had assured me in its public transit directions would pick me up and take me home toute fucking suite— the 2.  Because the 302, which is the bus that comes by two minutes after the 218 reaches Sunset and Crescent Heights, that one will just blow right by you as you stand hanging half off the sidewalk holding your briefcase like a jerkoff in a whirlwind of leaves and wrappers stirred up by the 302 and you’ll swear that the driver had a malicious gleam in his eye. Black guy.  I assume he’s thinking “Haha! Fuck you, cracker!” as he deliberately ignores my stop.  In reality, he’s thinking “Haha! Fuck you cracker!” As he goes about his prescribed route which does not include my stop.  Go ahead and think “fuck you, cracker,” by the way, black people.  None of us care. Continue reading

Diary: Gertrude Part One and a Half

11 Oct

You get a text on Monday morning from a girl you left at your house. The text is inventorying the contents of your jack drawer.  Notably there is an artificial vagina in it made by filling a plastic cup with water and flour paste, pushing a hole into it, and covering it with a condom.  You microwaved this creation while on cocaine and affixed it to your vibrating rubber duck and ergonomic airline neck pillow and it was the ne plus ultra of artificial vaginas; so far above and beyond the not inconsiderable amount of previous prototypes.  This is the one that flew.  It is has now taken on opportunistic airborne yeast and sat in the sun and become a perfectly formed uncooked dinner roll with a warped cast of your half-stiff cocaine penis in the center.  She’s amused.

She had written you a letter.  Like out of Bukowski’s WOMEN.  Dear so and so, I’ve read your blog and your OKC profile and blah blah blah.  We should have sex.  Well, yes.  Yes we should.

Still.

Still. Shouldn’t have sent her that second text this morning.  But no.  No.  Don’t overgame.  She’s a very straightforward person.  The larger issue is, making decisions about whether you want to hang out with a girl when you’ve been fucking her at night, receiving her unparalleled blowjobs, but not cumming.  Not cumming because she told you very matter of factly that your small penis could not get her off.  Also because you were fucking her and it got hot, she got into some position that was going to make you pop instantly; you stopped, and she said you should have gone ahead and cum anyway because your dick is too small to get her off.  You can’t tell if it’s because of this or just getting past that rubicon; sometimes you’re either going to cum prematurely or not at all.  Then you sleep with her all night naked and just keep making out with her in the morning; her little body… and you should have beat off in the shower, but you didn’t, so all day in the office your nuts feel like some swollen half-fermented fruit hanging overripe from the tree ready to fall off. You can feel your heart beat in your nut sac, painfully.  So you desperately want to see this person again but it’s just because you’re horny like an animal at your desk and you just keep seeing that ass, that ass, that ass, the way holocaust survivors must see the mule carts stacked with bodies flashing in their mind’s eye over and over again.
Continue reading

Protected: Weekend Journal 8-19-12: The Demon Cocaine

19 Aug

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Mysis Relicta

9 Aug

I’m horny, and I would like to beat off, but I can’t. The reason is– I buy these special shrimp for my fish. They come in a huge frozen block and I have to saw off one little chunk for them at a time. Today I figured I would cut up a bunch all at once, since it’s a pain in the ass, and put them in a Ziploc® bag for future use. The shrimp smell awful, like rotten clams, and it’s that oily kind of smell, like garlic and onions have, that doesn’t come off you even after washing. The best you can do is kind of cover it up. Continue reading

Protected: Nofappers

27 Jul

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