“When I come to, it is pitch black and I am lying on the ground with my sweatpants around my ankles, foaming at the mouth and cranking it so hard that I wouldn’t have been shocked in the slightest if my penis detached itself from the rest of my body.”
Most of us are familiar with the expression: “Quitting Cold Turkey.” If you’re unfamiliar, it’s quitting something immediately, instead of gradually tapering off. It may not be the most effective way to quit, especially if your body is reliant on it on a day-to-day basis. The withdrawals can be unmanageable, and in some cases, can lead to death, depending on the substance and your addiction to it of course.
Let’s talk about me abstaining from masturbation for a minute though…
Quitting masturbation, when my body has been dependent on it for the last 18 or so years was going to be a sticky—ermm, tricky dance. Fuck condo developments, man, the amount of tissue I have gone through is the primary reason so many trees have been knocked down in the last two decades. And don’t get me started as to why I have so many mismatched socks.
I haven’t lived at home for many, many years and was going home for the holidays and staying with dad. Like a large majority of the population, I watch a fucking unhealthy amount of porn and masturbate, multiple times a day sometimes (haha, I still giggle like a child when I say ‘masturbation.’) So, I wanted to see how long I could go without both porn and masturbation.
Big mistake. Big mistake. Big. Fucking. Mistake, man.
This is a recount of the bravest 2 and a half weeks of my life:
Day 1: I can’t sleep. Fuck me and I don’t mean that figuratively. I turn on the TV and since dad only has basic cable, I am forced to watch Degrassi: The Next Generation. I would rather stick a glass bottle up my urethra and smash my penis on the ground than watch this garbage excuse for entertainment ever fucking again. I also can’t in good conscience ever listen to Drake’s music anymore. Nope.
Day 2: Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, so I go for an early morning jog. I barely make it to the end of the street before turning around. I am gasping for air and have an asthma attack. I don’t even have asthma. I head back home and collapse on the bottom of the stairs and have no sexual compulsions for about an hour. I never do jog again, like ever, but it was a wonderful distraction.
Day 3: The expression ‘Cold Turkey’ stems from the goosebumps that you get in the coming days of quitting that resemble the skin of cold turkey in the fridge. Ironically, the goosebumps on my testicles resemble a turkey’s neck.
Day 4: I have a sore turkey’s neck.
Day 5: Degrassi is getting intense. I hope Craig and Manny can work out their differences and make their relationship work. I love Degrassi. Can someone find me a glass bottle…?
Day 6: I feel physically ill. I might get sick. I am looking in the mirror and my skin has a green hue. Drake gets shot. Shit is gangsterrrr!
Day 7: Drake is out of the hospital now but is paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He becomes assistant coach of the high school basketball team and is a fucking inspiration.
Day 8: My sister said my name strangely. What does she know???
Day 9: I am talking to a girl on Instagram. She is saying I would need the jaws of life to extract my jaws off her booty. Simultaneously, a girl on Tinder is saying that her ass is the ass that has launched a thousand ships. I don’t know what the fuck that means, but she said “ass” twice and I am about to rupture like an appendix. I delete Instagram. I delete Tinder. I go for a walk.
Day 10: When you are going through puberty, you get unprovoked erections. There was no rhyme, nor reason and they were never fun, just uncomfortable. I call them ‘guilt-boners.’ I am walking down the street and a gust of wind hits me at a strange angle and without so much as a sexual thought, I am harder than the MCAT exam. Liam is 12 years old again.
Day 11: I am talking to a girl on OkCupid. She does Clown Fetish photoshoots and is setting up an OnlyFans account for people with a Clown Fetish. Clowns terrify me, as I’m only human, but I want to fuck a clown now. I delete OkCupid. I watch “It.” Pennywise will suffice for now.
Day 12: I am watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with my dad and siblings. Rudolph’s dad, Mr. Donner, sticks mud on Rudolph’s nose to hide the embarrassing glow. Rudolph’s mom then bravely rubs the mud off in an act of authoritative rebellion. I feel weird and notice I am gradually becoming erect. WHAT THE SHIT? Fuck you, Rudolph, and your shitty nose. There is a reason why all the other reindeer used to laugh and call you names. I will never watch this beautiful Christmas special the same again.
Day 13: It feels like my balls are on a steel bench vice with Cackles the Clown pressing as hard as she can. I am sorry for lashing out at you, Rudolph. I am glad your nose is so bright that you saved Christmas by guiding Santa’s sleigh that night. I am seeking your forgiveness.
Day 14: I am no longer Liam Peters. Even my iPhone Facial Recognition doesn’t recognize me anymore and I have to enter my passcode.
Day 15: I am crossing the street when I notice the “Pedestrian Crossing” sign of the silhouette lady holding a purse giving me eyes. She is with a man, but hopefully, they’re just friends. He has a briefcase, so maybe they’re coworkers. I am indescribably sexually aroused by her.
Day 16: I work up the courage to go back and talk to the sexy, silhouetted pedestrian crossing woman. I introduce myself and ask for her number. She completely snubs me. The man she is with doesn’t look happy. I think it is her partner…
Day 17: All hope has been unequivocally lost. I suddenly black-out in the bathroom and when I come to, it is pitch black and I am lying on the ground with my sweatpants around my ankles, foaming at the mouth and cranking it so hard that I wouldn’t have been shocked in the slightest if my penis detached itself from the rest of my body. I look like I am having an epileptic seizure and if I wasn’t too busy watching this MILF teach a 29-year-old ‘teen’ how to have sex on my phone, I would call the paramedics.
After about 7 and a half seconds, it starts feeling like I am being stabbed repeatedly in the testicles with a large sewing needle. I haven’t been oblivious to ejaculation since my first one, where similarly, I thought I was dying.
There is so much semen that I could supply a fertility centre for the next 25 years and they wouldn’t need so much as another sample from anyone else. They are going to name a clinic after me – “Liam’s Fertility Living Ability.” I am envisioning all these happy, infertile parents hugging and praising me because I helped them conceive a child after years and years of trying to no avail! Tears are shed all around and there is an article about me in the newspaper. I’m such a good person. 😊
When I snap out of my good Samaritan fantasy, I am lying on Dad's incredibly sticky, cheap vinyl, bathroom floor, paralyzed with guilt and shame. I am transported to a state of childhood paranoia, thinking I would miss cleaning a part of the floor where my spermatozoon lay and dad would step in it, immediately know what it is and scold me for jerking off, and how wrong it is to do so. The fuck??
I see dad a couple of hours later. He is looking at me differently. He is ashamed. He has no son. I think he notices my masturbation hair and no matter how much shampoo, conditioner, or product that I use over the following days seem to get rid of it and I am forced to wear a hat for a while, which makes me look even more guilty somehow. I can’t look Dad in the eyes for 3 days.
I’ll never miss a single day of jerking off again as long as I live.
Postscript: Spinner blames himself for Drake’s shooting and is riddled with guilt. I hope he and Drake can rekindle their tarnished friendship.
Happy Fapping!
Your ol' pal, Liam xxx.
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