Today, we celebrate all that is fantastically comical and delightfully crass. We welcome a gentleman master of coordination and masturbation. Behold this month's Parlor Trick...
I’m not sure which is worse, roommates or a hot small apartment in July. It doesn’t really matter because the combination was my life. Even with my box fan on high and pointed straight at me I was sweating profusely. The fact that I was aggressively masturbating did little to help.
But I had to be efficient. My window of opportunity was so narrow. Any second the roommate would be home and the chance for privacy would be lost; like so many evenings in the past. Understand, I had reached a point where this was more a preventive health measure than pleasurable. It had been a long time.
So there I was sitting in my rollie chair in front of my computer with grim determination. I awkwardly worked the mouse with my left hand, like a starving man in front of food, not wanting to spare the time to switch his fork to the other hand. I blinked sweat out of my eyes and kept listening for the telltale sound of the key in the door.
It was with a sense of hope, almost deliverance, that I felt the end getting closer. That inexorable build up. My muscles tensed. All the metaphors for orgasm made sense at this moment and applied to me. My vision narrowed and I could hear my breathing becoming faster. I could hear the key in the door!
I jumped to my feet and stepped back only to have my foot catch on the rollie chair. And then I was falling. My right hand, still firmly in place, clenched in reaction. Physiology took over. My left hand shot out to the top of the box fan to break my fall. And here it was that I came very hard directly into my fan.
I felt rather than saw my own semen blown back onto me as I struggled with falling and thespasms of orgasm. Both seemed to last an inordinately long time.
Through a confused daze I could hear my roommate putting food away in the fridge, already talking at me from the other room. I regained my balance and quickly pulled on shorts while surveying the damage. There was some on my legs but nothing a tissue couldn’t handle.
But as I turned to shut off the computer the full horror was revealed. Like a monochrome Pollack of sperm, nothing was spared; my desk, the computer screen, the wall. In a panic I tore off my shirt to try and wipe up as much as I could. My plan was to say I had just been out running, hence the sweatiness and no shirt. He walked in just as I swiped the last of it.
I tried to sound casual as I said “Hey, dude...what’s...”
And then I saw the huge dollop on the ceiling slowly starting to drip. I had managed to reach new orgasmic heights. And hence, a parlor trick was discovered.