JACKING-OFF

The house is mine. Is there a substitute for absolute silence, which I'll soon shatter with Stevie Ray Vaughn? I put my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling. The Apostles are getting their beauty sleep. It is during respites like these that I succumb to the apprehensive belief that my rational mind has defeated my irrational mind and I no longer have to endure the pain of these petty tortures. Petty tortures! They're destroying my marriage. No! They have destroyed my marriage! Reminding myself that I have escaped my tribulations plunges me back into my travail again. "When I would visit my aunt in Mexico City, he would take me to his apartment," echoes Fabiola's voice. "He was ten years older than me. At night he would take me to his roof overlooking the city and take off my clothes. He would make me sit on a stepladder and eat my pussy. One time we were making love dog-style and a man sitting on a rooftop across the street was watching us have sex. That really excited me." Nothing has given me more consistent pleasure or enhanced my imagination like masturbation. There isn't a woman I haven't fucked. When I was eight or nine years old, I used to play strip poker with my parochial school classmates. One of my friends informed me that if I touched my penis in a certain way, I would experience an irresistible sensation. "How did you learn that?" I asked him, surprised by the unexpected excitement. "My cousin taught me," he said. "But when he does it, white stuff comes out." And thus commenced an exercise that continues to this day. During the three years that I resided in a limbo state with Iliana, I seldom masturbated. There were months that I went between strokes, but Fabiola has returned me to my old habits. I'm masturbating five to ten times a month, occasionally twice in the same day. The sexual double-edge sword has its drawback, but it also has its benefits. I'm living in a constant state of sexual arousal. I'm coming as much now as when I was 20 years old. I worry that I'm not as erect as I should be, but then I remind myself that shooting a wad two and three times a day may undermine the firmest of intentions. I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I put my head under the stream and play with myself. My stiffening joint gives rise to my imagination, but it's Iliana who captures my consciousness. She goes to the young weightlifter's apartment. He begins to kiss and bite her neck as he runs his hands up and down the side of her body, embracing her tightly so she can feel the swollen member against her loins. He sweeps his hands against the outside of her breasts, kissing and biting her neck with greater intensity. He settles his hands on her breasts and squeezes them, narrowing his fingers until he is pinching her nipples through her blouse and bra. Her quickening breath convinces him that she is going to offer little resistance as he unbuttons her blouse. Once opened, he squeezes her breasts again before reaching under her bra and gripping them with both hands. He drops his head to her tits, kissing and biting them. He reaches around her back and unclasps her bra, both her blouse and bra fluttering to the floor, his own shirt settling over them. He guides her to his bed where he lies on top of her humping and grinding. She responds by pinching his nipples. He can't remember the last time that he has been this hard. He is gripping her pussy through the jeans after directing her hand to his groin; she is responding with an equal frenzy. He tongues his way southward, unbuttons and unzips her jeans, pulling both the panties and pants off at the same time. Her black patch is bringing him to a bursting point. He spreads her legs and buries his mouth in her hairy pussy. As he slurps hungrily to make her come, his cock is twitching in anticipation. In a matter of moments he will be inside this pussy for which he has been lusting for weeks. She is trembling with pleasure until her cunt can't take it anymore and she pushes his head away. She is soaking wet. He moves upward with his cock in his hand. Face to face, he rubs the head inside her swollen vulva, the engorged pecker sliding in up to the hilt. As he comes, I shoot three or four thick streams toward the shower drain.