The last time I had an orgasm was yesterday afternoon. Lying on the bed in the spare room with my jeans and knickers round my ankles, rubbing one out to the sounds in my head – of leather smacking on skin, and grunting, and dirty words.
The time before that was the same: spare bed, knickers/ankles, sounds of leather and grunting and dirty words.
And the time before that, too.
And the time before that.
At least I’m consistent.
What I’m not, right now, is sexy. Or varied. Or creative. Or interesting. The closest I come to variety is switching between my Doxy and my Zumio. The Ambit dildo is a constant, but sometimes instead of lubing it up with spit I’ll use CBD lube, if I decide that this time I want to try and feel something.
But most of the time I wank like I eat: functionally.
Orgasms aren’t about sex. At least, not right now. Perhaps one day in the future they’ll be sexy again: moans and twitches and grunts that make me feel good about my body, my self, my fantasies, my life.
Right now I’m just grateful that they make me feel at all.
The last time I had an orgasm, it was about giving myself something to do to break up the day. Procrasturbation – when my brain won’t let me write, because my heart is hurting, an orgasm can be dishonestly logged as ‘research’.
Like biscuits, orgasms accompany a coffee break. Unlike biscuits, they don’t leave crumbs in the bed.
The last time I had an orgasm, I did not feel good about it. But I didn’t feel bad about it either. I felt a brief, hard kick of pleasure – just enough to take the edge off the rest of the day.
Orgasms are something I do because I do not know what else to do. I have them three or four times a day.
Perhaps I have them to keep me from going mad. Or perhaps I just have them because I worry that if I don’t, I’ll forget the knack of it forever.
The last orgasm I had accompanied a coffee break, yesterday afternoon. Lying on the bed in the spare room with my jeans and knickers round my ankles, the last wank I had was a means to procrastinate from the work I cannot do, the ideas that will not come. Rubbing one out to the sounds in my head – of leather smacking on skin, and grunting, and dirty words.
It was a memo scribbled on a post-it note: don’t forget this. You like this. Remember?
Some of the links on this page go to my sponsor companies. They didn’t pay for this post though because honestly, who’d pay for a weird one like this? I’m just writing this for full disclosure, because I don’t want you to think I’m being a sneaky fuck.
If you were hoping for something sexier on National Orgasm Day, here are a few orgasms you might prefer to read about:
Forced orgasm (me forcing a guy)
Ruined orgasm (a woman having her orgasm ruined)
Fake orgasms (faking orgasms for sexy purposes)
6 Comments
Thank you for this post. I operate almost exactly like this. Some weeks I’ll edge every day for hours without orgasm as a means to just keep me going with the rest of my life. Some weeks I’ll ejaculate or get anal orgasms or prostate orgasms or …. multiple times a day for the same functionality. And most of the time it’s fun, but there are plenty of weeks where I actually get as much or more “feelings of pleasure” from eating or drinking or doing mutual back-scritching with my partner.
blessed be.
I relate so much to so many things you write (your entire second book was painfully familiar), and this has really hit home. I struggle to remember the last time I had an orgasm that wasn’t basically functional – to help me sleep, switch my brain off, feel in some way connected to who I was.
I hope you find your way back soon.
Oh I loved this. Functional wanking reminds me I’m alive in the very best way.
Great post . Sending massive love. No pressure ❤️
I hadn’t really thought about whether my jerk off orgasms were fun or functional until I read this. The fact is, all my orgasms for the last twenty years have been of my own doing, my wife having lost her libido long ago. I struggled with being in a sexless marriage for a long time, hoping that my wife would get her mojo back at some point, but it never happened. We did discuss it, but that didn’t help. Even in the ten years prior to it drying up altogether, the frequency of our sexual activities had gradually reduced from several times per week when we were first married, to once a month for several years until it stopped altogether.
Even when we were sexually active, I’d wank on my own from time to time, just to relieve the sexual tension and as Spike Milligan once referred to it, to ‘clear the custard.’ I’d wank in the bathroom. I’d wank when I was home alone which wasn’t very often. I’d wank if my wife had gone to bed and I’d stayed up to watch something on TV. But I still held out hope that she’d get her mojo back at some point.
It never happened. I resigned myself to being in a sexless marriage that was in other respects a good partnership, but at times it was depressing and very frustrating. I’d got into the doldrums a bit, until the internet came along and gave me new stimulus. I’d heard that there was porn on the net, but didn’t know how to go about finding it. I just tried a few searches in Yahoo, and there it was. People fucking on camera. And hand jobs, and oral and all kids of other stuff. It was mostly short clips of around 30 seconds, but I soon got quite adept at wanking with my left hand and hitting the repeat button with my right. It was pretty slow to load on dial-up, so I worked out how to download the ones I liked so I could play them one after another. When broadband came along, things improved greatly. Faster loading, after running, and the variety was getting better and better.
So now in my mid sixties I still stay up after my wife has gone to bed on most nights, and functionally wank at least five days per week. They say that porn ruins relationships. That may be true for some, but it’s probably one of the things that’s saved my marriage.
Mine are very much a mix of the two. Sometimes it’s just for the enjoyment, sometimes I need to come before I can get on with just living.