Life
by Justin Gawel on March 21, 2014

shutterstock_156216794

From time to time, we’re all guilty of it. Work happens, sickness happens, hardcore Hasselhoff-ian binge drinking happens, and suddenly it’s been a few un-arousing, flaccidly dry days since you even attempted a quick power tug or bean flick.

Like a parent’s birthday, it’s just slipped your mind. You’ve only thought of it at the most inopportune times; namely, and oddly, a funeral visitation and the carpool on the way to said funeral visitation. Typically, you wouldn’t mind the inadvertent masturbating hiatus—you’re no longer the thirteen-year-old who considers eight waking hours a significant respite from their Cal Ripken Jr.-like streak. You’re a rational adult now. You’ve got structure, and, traditionally, a dry week just fuels a Saturday morning jerk-off fiesta. But, in a perfect orgasm-less storm, this is the weekend you’re visiting grandparents, going on a work retreat, or being coerced into some other situation where masturbating would be a serious faux pas.

Anxiety seizes you while leaving on Friday. Internally, you’re bargaining with yourself, speculating on how stealthily and swiftly you and your old pal friction could deliver you to Satisfaction Junction. You’ve finagled a time slot and penciled yourself in, but, alas, you realize that you’re an adult and you feel like you should be able to make it to Sunday night sans excursion to Self-Pleasure City. Simply put, the risk doesn’t outweigh the sweet, ecstasy-filled reward. A rush of endorphins to the brain would be awesome, but getting caught in the wrong situation would be one of those things that grandparents/acquaintances/coworkers/mailmen would remember for the rest of their lives.

Repressing effectively, you do what you can to take your mind off of your untended fun zone. At home you had full reign of the house; everything was at your disposal, just waiting to be used as a cum rag. Now, in foreign territory, you’re cursing the missed chances you foolishly wasted over the last few days. Obsession sets in; every song on the radio about heartbreak starts to speak to your personal situation. Truly, you didn’t know what you’d got ‘til it was gone.

Time passes, though, and auto-erotic urges dwindle in frequency. You find yourself concentrating your energy into activities other than figuring out the next time you can procrasturbate. Your body responds and the typical unyielding morning wood or tide pool of morning wet, respectively, begins to take on an al-dente or light-misting quality.

Finally, Sunday night arrives, yet there’s no countdown, fanfare, or frantic belt un-buckling upon your return home. But, an hour or so later inspiration strikes. It’s a pleasant reminder, akin to remembering, “Oh, awesome, I forgot I had leftover Pizza Hut!”

Returning from your sabbatical is met with much excitement. Reawakened, it has all the anticipation of a sports comeback without the worry or speculation about regaining one’s rhythm. The unintentional week off has re-sensitized you and this overdue eruption is almost too easy to muster. No matter; as the solo critic, the only one that you, literally, have to please is yourself.

Satisfied, your body still echoing with pleasure tremors, you snuggle back into your bed thinking, “Absence does make the heart grow fonder.”

Justin Gawel is an adult baby from Michigan whose articles appear on BroBible most Thursdays. Look for more of his writing, his BroBible.com archive, and his updates at www.justingawel.com or follow him @justingawel on Twitter.

[Image via ShutterStock]

Tags: ,

Justin Gawel

About Justin Gawel...

Justin Gawel is an adult baby from Michigan whose articles appear on BroBible most weeks. Look for more of his writing in his BroBible archive.