On Art and Masturbation

ON my way home . . . The clouds seem feeling upset today. I wonder what made it cry. I stopped in an ATM machine to get some funds. I need to restock my groceries. It's been a month since my last shop. I should get some now before it run out.

Upon checking my balance, I froze for a moment seeing my remaining balance won't be able to aid my needs for the next couple of months. When I ran away from home, I got nothing but my laptop and some of my important belongings. My parents cut off my funds, as they should do for their child who ran away from them.

It was a dreary night, as far as I recall, when my parents decided to let me leave. I decided at that point that they'd ask me if I'd be willing to change my gender for the sake of our family's reputation, as their only child and sole heir to their fortune.

I couldn't care less about their money, their fortune, or the future that would befall me. I don't want to live a life where I'm constantly under pressure and have no choice but to comply. I didn't get up at 5 a.m. solely to become their life insurance. By refusing to put my future in their hands, I will control my own destiny.

"You have nothing without my name, Damon," my father said, his voice so loud that it drowned out the symphony of rain outside our mansion as he spoke to me. You have the audacity to question my plans for your future. I am your father, and because you are still living in my home, you must obey me."

"You call this 'home'?" I sarcastically laughed as I stared into his shaking, angry eyes. "If this is a home for you, then I should get out of this place right now."

His remarks would leave an indelible impression on my future. "You brat, you won't be able to survive without me!" But I won't let it consume me. I won't let it happen.

That was the last memory I won't treasure for the rest of my life. Despite the hefty rain, I fled away that house. No one is preventing me from leaving.

It wasn't our first fight, but it will be last time.

"Excuse me, mister?" an old voice suddenly interrupted my momentary reminiscence of my darkest history.

"Oh, I am so sorry, ma'am. You must be exhausted for waiting me so long. Please take the—"

"No, no—It's not that. I just want to check on you since you're look like spacing out. Are you okay?"

I don't know how to respond to her kindness. I was too stunned to speak. How could be a person like her, who knows nothing about me nor have a hint of who I am, care about me?

"A-Are you okay?" she said again, her tone became more concerned.

"W-Why?" I know it is rude for me to respond a question for a question, but I couldn't restrain myself from asking her. "Why are you doing this?" As of the rapidity of my heartbeat, my voice was trembling.

"What kind of question is that, mister?" She seems astonished by my words. "I am just trying to help you; in anything I can offer."

My heart sunk, as if I had run out of energy to face her any longer. I'm too embarrassed for her. "I sincerely apologize for my arrogant words, ma'am. I'm just having a rough time right now. But I'm all right. Thank you for asking. Perhaps I should leave now."

I didn't take the chance to let her speak or do something for me. I walked away without turning my head back at her. I couldn't process the idea of someone in this world is actually have soft heart inside them. Maybe I was just drowned to the idea of no-one-can-help-me except on my own.

Who could that be?

I went straight home, and then I recalled I hadn't gone to the grocery shop since I didn't pursue withdrawing some cash after seeing my balance and what happened between our encounter with that strange old woman.

I took off my shoes and left them spread on the floor before going to bed. I dropped my heavy body. What I'm thinking about right now is I just want it all to go away for a second. But how can I sleep when my mind is racing with so many thoughts?

There's this technique I've been using since I started college. Masturbation is what it is called. Yes, it's a lot easier than forcing myself to sleep. At practicing this approach, I don't intend to please myself, but it will be simpler if the pleasure is more intense than any artworks you might find in a prestigious mini-museum from the school I studied.

No matter how hard I try not to use it because it will simply increase my tiredness, its efficacy is undeniable. I began gently pressing my crouch against my hand. Every contact elicits a different sensation. Up and down—repeatedly. The various pleasant pleasures that emanate from my genital flow throughout my entire body. My body is feeling hot, and my penis is getting hard. The acute discomfort caused by its steady growth to the point where it is difficult to fit inside my boxer became an extra sensation.

I can't take it any longer. I need to let it loose immediately before it gets terribly harmed. I swiftly unzipped my black slacks and slipped my right hand into my boxer. I can't stop myself from escaping with a loud moan. It's a good thing I live alone in this average-sized flat apartment. I have complete freedom to make filthy noises.

It feels fantastic. I need to get some rest, as much as I want to appreciate the overwhelming pleasure I am going through right now. I'm required myself to work at night. So, I took out my phone and opened the browser. Look for a pornographic video that I generally watch when I'm doing this.

"Gotcha!" I found it. Of course, it's that simple. At the confession booth, the Church Father Fucks Young Twink. I recall the title because I've seen it several times.

The next thing I did was take off my boxer so that I could freely ejaculate my penis with my right hand while holding my phone in my left. The video continues to play. The altar boy sucks the penis of the Father. I enjoy it when the top moans so loudly as a sign of the overwhelming sensation he is experiencing from the guy sucking his.

That was it; my right hand began to accelerate. My heart pounded incessantly as my body's warmth rose. I feel like I'm going to burst at any moment. My body senses the thrill since my mind is only focused on the sensations from the Father's face and moan, which also transmit or may be linked to my body.

I'm going to cum! I wanted to stop it so I could continue to enjoy the bliss, but I needed to get some rest before heading to my computer for work. It's finally coming . . . That was just as good as it had been.

My body gradually becomes exhausted from the energy I consume, almost as if I'm making a sacrifice to get the reward of slumber. It's all gone at this point.

Now I'm free to sleep.

Masturbation causes your body to release hormones that relax you. This is frequently the reason why many people (including yourself) masturbate before going to bed. You're telling your brain that this activity will be followed by sleep.

There are no two disciplines that appear to be more unlike. The one: the pinnacle of human achievement and one of life's most profound sources of meaning. The other is a pitiful, distracting obsession that has been condemned by religions and doctors until very recently, and is still difficult to bring up in any type of good or intelligent company. Masturbation, on the other hand, deserves to be recognized as a really creative action, a five-to-ten-minute work of extraordinarily sophisticated mental choreography that, in the best cases, draws on the same faculties that underpin great art.