Emphasis on Master.
I've been doing things to my crotch since I was nine years old, when my parents caught me rubbing myself on the living room floor. My escapades have been far reaching ‒ from dry humping the bathroom stall in church ‘cause I hadn’t figured out how to jack off yet, to rubbing one out on a construction site when I was 17.
I know. Church.
As long as guys have been choking their chickens, every one of us has embarked on the age-old quest to discover the best way to handle it. Everyone has their specialized techniques. Of course, having someone else do it for you is preferable, but sometimes your lady isn’t handy, she’s got a “headache”, or the blowup doll sprung a leak, so you resort to the only girls that’ll never let you down: Rosy Palmer and her Five Sisters.
Nevertheless, after years of perfecting your craft with the only tools available to you, getting some "strange" is key to keeping the magic alive. I've tried ALL KINDS of shit - from fucking a watermelon to dipping my stick in a tub of butter to sitting on your left hand until it falls asleep - and any of you lying motherfuckers out there think that you're gonna step up and say you haven't, you can burn in a hell that doesn't allow you to touch yourself.
Enter the Fleshlight.
The Succu Dry (or, as Fleshlight not-so-subtly entitles it, “Sex in a Can”) was given to me by my wife’s hairdresser and his boyfriend (don’t ask) as a Christmas gag gift.
I’m on the couch playing Playstation when my wife comes home with a nondescript brown box and a grin the size of the Lusitania.
The key to wife-acceptance of a masturbatory tool is to show her, first hand, that it poses no threat. So we take it out of the box and she can’t stop laughing about it - shoving her fingers into the mouth - getting the biggest kick out of the vampire teeth and how creepy it feels from the inside. I'm playing all nonchalant, like I'm Mr. Cool, but in reality, I’m already planning my attack: now, she’ll go to bed around 10:00 or so. I'll play Playstation until 11:30 and by that time she'll be asleep! Commence Whacking!
So, I put it back in the box and put it on the counter. And wait. And wait some more. My daughter gets to bed. I'm looking at the box. My wife stays up on the computer for a while. I'm playing Assassin's Creed II. I look at the box. The box looks at me. The Vampire bitch on the outside of the can winks at me. I wink back. Wife gets up and stretches. The moment is near! She gives me a kiss on the forehead. I can see the box from over my wife’s shoulder. She tells me not to stay up to late. I tell her I won't, that I’ll be in bed soon. The box grins at me. I give the box the shut-up-don't-get-us-caught look. The box shuts up. Wife goes to bed.
GAME TIME!
45 minutes later.
Kid asleep. Check.
Wife asleep. Check.
Playstation still on, just in case she's listening for fapping. Check.
Curtains closed. Check.
Goo rag ready. Check.
... I once stood on a maintenance walkway under a bridge watching people bungee jump off. I was too smart to do any of that bullshit, but I stood there in horror and fascination as these people tied cables to their ankles and leapt off a perfectly good bridge. I never thought that I'd one day feel the exact same way while sitting on my couch, in the safety and security of my own home, with my underwear at my ankles.
When my wife and I were messing with the thing earlier, she was asking the obvious questions to which neither of us knew the answer: Does the insert come out? How do you clean it? Do you take it out of the can to use it? Can it make coffee? What if you get bite marks on your wang? Am I going to wake up one morning to find you drunk and passed out on the couch with this can on your dick?
Those answers are as follows:
- Yes.
- With water (and rubbing alcohol every now and again if you need to...)
- Don't think so?
- That'd be cool.
- Teeth are bad, so let’s hope not.
- Without a doubt. Bet the farm on it. Guaranteed.
The instructions recommend that the insert is to be removed and placed in warm water "until the desired temperature is achieved." I admit that I didn't see the value in this suggestion... until later. Makes sense though, right? My issue was all the prep that went into this: the removing and the heating and the re-inserting and the lubing and the ... this was getting super complicated and I’m starting to get impatient.
Nice guys that they are, they ship the thing with a little tear-tab full of lube. On the outside of the lube package it says "for single use only". I didn't see that part. Kinda wish I had, but what's done is done. Nonetheless, I squirt some lube down the hole, on the teeth-and-lips part of this virginal oddity, and well... sit there blankly staring at my dick. I'm too scientifically enthralled in this process and the pressure has gotten to me. I have no wood.
Segue - I'm not the kind of guy that just sports wood at the sight of a vagina. I've had girls tell me that I'm a weirdo, but dammit, you gotta do something to it to get it to go. It's not like you can just jingle the keys at the car to start it, you know? At my bachelor party I watched two strippers re-enact the final scene from Requiem of a Dream. Nothin'. Strip Clubs? Good luck. After years of bashing it to splinters, gently rapping at the chamber door isn't going to cut it.
So I have a dilemma. I gotta get busy here, 'cause the sauce is in, the girls could wake up at any time and I simply haven't devised an escape plan. So I did what I thought was right: I pretended it was my wife. She does... things. Very well.
Anyway. On initial insertion, it felt remarkably like the moment your dick goes in an ass, that little *pop* and slide that always accompanies entrance into the holiest of holies. I was like, "whoa. Ok." At this point, any issues with wood are gone, so let's fire it up and see what she can do. Based on initial access, the Fleshlight wins this round. Score: Fleshlight - 1, Me - 0.
Oh, wait, now I understand why they recommend the warm water - otherwise it's like getting blown by a hooker with a popsicle, and we just don't realize how sensitive to temperature penises are. That changed quickly, though, 'cause this Super Skin material they use heats up with friction and my penis is a sword of fire. So we'll call that a draw, but Fleshlight is still ahead. Score: Fleshlight - 2, Me - 1.
Those little nubs on the inside kicked major ass... until I realized I hadn't used enough lube ‒ there’s a LOT of area to cover in there, and lube isn't naturally rejuvenating like pussy, so a quarter of the way through this, I’m all, "uh... hmm. We have to make a call here. Re-lube or power through?"
POWER FUCKING THROUGH. Are you kidding me? It dawns on me later that if I’m not willing to stop to re-lube, Fleshlight wins that round for fucking sure. Score: Fleshlight - 3, Me -1.
At this point, I'm being defeated handily. Awesome on almost every level and I'm trying to drag this out as long as possible. (Which brings up an important point, and I'm entirely serious about this: Guys, if you have issues with blowing your load too soon, get one of these immediately and use it as a trainer! Every now and then I get all woobly in the head and have to stop before it's too late. This thing could make us all GODS!)
Ah, but the tables turn as I've discovered the weakness of the Fleshlight: As awesome as this is, I’m having to do all the work. I’m trying to pretend that I’m getting head, but the arm movement? Not cool unless it's on the back of a real head, and that's something not done in this household, so I'm distracted. Yes, it's awesome. Yes, it feels bizarrely realistic - I should qualify that as the most realistic masturbatory device I've ever used - but I'm basically and repeatedly shoving a can into my groin. Going limp... going limp!
Before we continue, Ladies and Gentlemen, I want you to know that I’m not proud of my actions on this fateful evening, but you must understand that … well, what’s done is done. Let history be the judge.
See, I'm sitting there with can on my junk, starting to lose my stiffy and I just... snapped. This... This isn't supposed to be the way it turned out! I've waited all night and for fuck's sake, I'm totally turned on and something's gotta give!
I don’t know what came over me, but the couch had been sitting there all night, staring at me, looking pretty good, making these faces and I just reared back, smacked it in the upholstery, ripped apart two cushions, grabbed the armrest and just... it just happened. As the furniture gasped, inanimate objects all throughout my house turned and gaped as I held the cushions down, Fleshlight pinned between them fucked the living shit out of it.
That was it! I'm on my knees on the living room floor, blissfully railing away at the cushions when all of a sudden I hear movement. My heart jumps, bile seizes in my throat and flip my head around to see the dog staring at me from her bed, eyes wide with horror! Fuck off, you BITCH! She rolled her eyes and turned around the other way, plainly disgusted. The couch? I swear I heard it weeping, hoping it'd be over soon.
It was. Once I found my method of attack, it was pure carnage. 20 seconds later, load fully blown, I’m frozen in a spasm of fear and revulsion. I think I just our couch. The dog saw me do it. Is my wife still asleep? Did I scream the couch’s name? Can the couch prove it in court? I've gotta get outta here fast! But shit! The cleanup!
I figure I've got all of 3 minutes of cleanup time allotted to me without tempting fate. So I pull the insert out of the can and go "ewwwww! That’s disgusting!" at the rubbery, freakish thing in my hands. Can't get distracted! Must put on underwear, but must put this down!
This is where things went horribly wrong. I hadn't thought this far ahead. Where do I put this thing? If I put it on the table, is that sick and wrong? If I put it on the couch, I’m just rubbing it in, poor couch. And where the fuck am I going to clean this thing?? Oh... SHIT. I've. Gotta. Wash. It. Out.
When Rosy and Dicky tussle, Rosy always gets the upper hand and Dicky goes down puking. Usually she's cool and helps him out with a towel or a napkin or some sort of other cleaning device, but this time, Rosy wasn't involved and Dicky got knocked the fuck out, that bastard. No good for anything. And here I am, completely out of my element, standing in the middle of the living room with my underwear around my ankles, a pale fleshy tube in my right hand, a silver canister in my left and absolutely no clue what to do.
Quick! To the last bastion of teenage masturbatory hope!! To the bathroom!
Lock the door. Check.
Grab that t-shirt off the bathroom floor. Check.
Wipe lube off hands. Check.
Uh, make sure the t-shirt is yours. Check.
Turn on the hot water. Check.
Shove the Vampire Mouth - the one that was just around the base of your dick - on the faucet in sink. Check.
TURN THE WATER OFF! IT'S SPRAYING EVERYWHERE! Check.
Shove the faucet deeper into the Vampire Mouth THEN turn on the water. Check.
Watch in fascination as... nevermind. Check.
Turn off water. Check.
Listen for sounds of life beyond the safety of the door. Check.
Pull up underwear. Check.
Turn off bathroom light. Check.
Slowly ... SLOWLY! …open the door and creep into to the hallway...
Nothing. Faint snores. I peek into my daughter’s room: she has both arms above her head, fast asleep. Across the hall, my wife is out like a light or doing a damned good job at pretending to sleep. Either way, I'm not testing it, so I sneak back into the living room where I see I’d left the empty grey canister on the coffee table. Wow. I’m starting to realize how close we came to the apocalypse. Disaster Averted!
I took all the parts into the kitchen, laid out a kitchen cloth and patted dry the apparatus, per the instructions. I laid the flesh tube on the towel with its canister and slowly backed away.
I stood there in my kitchen, legs shaking, all parts of the Fleshlight laid bare to the eyes of heaven and had no idea what the fuck just happened.
When I sat back down on the couch, I did what any freshly blown man would do and picked up the Playstation remote. I probably shouldn't think about this right now, I told myself. Now's not the time. That was... that was really fucking awesome!
NO! No. You're gonna play some Playstation, then you're gonna go in there, put the pieces back together, you're gonna put it right back in the spot where the wife saw it last and you're gonna pretend like nothing ever happened. Yeah. That's exactly what we're gonna do. Great plan. Glad we got that worked out. Always good when a plan comes together.
Hey, wanna do it again?
Assassin's Creed II had to wait, but I just couldn't bring myself to violate the couch again.
Final Score? Fleshlight - 10 to the power of 23. Me - owned.
____
The next day was decorated with a gorgeous blue sky, crisp winds off the ocean and the smell of coffee in the air. I stumbled into the bathroom with over-drowsy eyes, the kind that are still trying to figure out how to make a break for it before the girl asks if you want to go have breakfast. I turned on the shower, climbed in, breathed the steam deep into my lungs and exhaled into the morning.
The Furniture Police still haven't come to the house so I think I'm in the clear. The dog? She won't look me in the eye. My wife jokingly asked about it and I while I admitted to it, I nonchalantly waved it off as no substitute for the real thing, but that's not what it's supposed to be, is it?
I haven't seen the Fleshlight since. It's in my underwear drawer in my room, right next to my porn DVD's and what's left of that lube. I can feel it though. Whispering to me. Calling to me. Now that I know of its powers, I have to figure out a way to control them, use them for my own nefarious purposes...
... but my wife did just go to bed right now...
