Have you heard?
"Rubbing one off" is the new "pinching a loaf."
Piles and piles of
wads of cotton, latex, and spent spermatozoa lie dormant in landfills across
the Western World. Sometimes, they
freeze amongst the shattered glass, construction debris, and assorted neglected
plastic items. Other times, the rain
melts the cotton, washes away the seed, discolors the latex. When the summer comes, it is all left to
fester in the heat.
The innovation and
mass production of disposable phallus sheaths, female contraceptives and
abortifacients, coupled with various government rulings demanding the availability of these innovations produced some awkward distance between fucking and
family.
Nowadays, to even say
words like “erection” and “family” in the same sentence sounds deviant and even
a little disturbing. We've come a long
way from our primitive village farmer roots.
To further demonstrate
what I’m talking about, I’ll display another group of verbal associations to fit
together. Try mixing the words “Father”
and “Mother” with the phrase “blew a huge load inside.” Sort of a weird combination of words to fit a
sentence around in our modern minds, but the truth is, for thousands of years,
families have quite literally come from cumming.
The best kept secret
of our day and age is that familes still come from cumming.
If you’re reading this
right now, chances are about seven to nine months before you were born your Dad
gave your Mom a big gooey cream pie.
It is also possible
that your faceless father opened his trench coat and shot his flesh cannon into
a sterile vial for eighty bucks, and a few weeks to a few months later, your
Mom thawed out the snake yogurt in the microwave and studiously poured it into
the harry gash of your other Mom.
Perhaps she used a turkey baster to squirt it in. Now that’s Robert Heinlein space age
post-family fuck fantasy right there.
The 20th
Century was a time of industrial innovation in the field of pregnancy free
fucking. But the creation of this
technology has changed the way we get to know carnal knowledge. And the way we handle our baby gravy,
too.
Don't get me wrong,
the hedonistic element of busting a nut has always been closely intertwined
with the whole babymaking side. But now
that it's not about babies at all for many people, it seems to be moving beyond
the hedonistic phase and into the realm of bodily urges, like urination and
defecation. At least, that's how it is
for me.
These days, I don’t
even get horny. I just get this physical
urge. It’s not to ravish and
fornicate. It’s simply this bodily need
to release tension. It feels more like I
have to take a shit, except the gigantic turd isn’t in my colon. It’s in my scrotum.
Strangely, this is not an urge I get so much
when I see an attractive woman as when I say something awkward in public and
everybody subsequently ignores my poorly expressed comment.
The times I want to
free the royal oats the most are when I get letters from my landlord. Unlike many other occasions, such as when my
boss sends me an urgent email or when I am questioned by law enforcement
personnel about something, I’m alone in my apartment, so I don’t feel
inhibited. When I see these letters in my mailbox—which are invariably benign bullshit
sent to me by the rental association—I get that full feeling in my balls, like
I need to empty them.
At the same time, I climb the ladder of associations and begin to imagine
what terrible news could await inside. I
think about what it would be like to live in my van when it is below freezing,
how I would need to steal to survive and probably turn to hard drugs to deal
with the shame of being homeless. But I
mostly just want to splatter my batter.
I used to get the urge
to urinate when I was in terror. Now I
just want to jack off. I don’t know
about you, but that’s what I call progress.
i dig it
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