Masturbation just isn't the same anymore

Read Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven and Eight first...

Single, unsure whether I’d made the right decision to leave my husband, financially insecure and unable to buy new shoes, I was stressed.

Internet dating was a disaster, cyber sex not really my forte, and worst of all, I’d given up whisky.  There had to be other ways to de-stress.


When my husband was around, it was easy to sneak into the bedroom for a self satisfying quickie. He would often do the ballet run or take the boys to judo; I had plenty of time.

But now I was on my own and frantic - either cleaning or cooking, doing the school lifts, picking up underwear, weeping over vegetables, or fighting off carpet cleaning promotions.

I had no time to masturbate.

But my teenage children clearly did.

They couldn’t drink whisky and definitely couldn’t engage in cyber sex. They were obviously stressed and masturbation seemed the answer for them too. 

Whatever I put my hand on, whether it was a door handle, or a duvet cover, it came away (no pun intended) with white sticky stuff.

Every set of underpants I picked up were icky.  Socks seemed to be heavier than ever, filled with a similar gooey substance.
I can only assume this, of course, I did not do close inspections.

I took them out for dinner, to talk about masturbation. How completely normal it was, what a wonderful thing it was, and how no-one should ever make them feel bad for doing it.

‘But for fucks sake', I yelled,’ do it in the bathroom only, or your bedroom, and for the sake of Jesus Christ, clean up after yourselves’.

They grinned, grunted and ignored me. I felt relieved that we’d spoken, cleared the air, and turned to sorting out my own stress relief.


Early mornings became me time. I organised school lifts for the kids and as soon as they were out the door I’d jump back into bed. A blissful five minutes before my ever important coffee dates with girlfriends.

In five minutes one can have a few orgasms. 

A few orgasms, a shower, a spot of lipstick, and I would head off to the local cafe. And then, one morning, halfway through my eggs, I realized that I had left my Jimmy Jane on the bed.

Cecilia was going to find it. I would never be able to live this one down.

With my girlfriends laughing their heads off, I raced to my car.  Speeding home, I ran into a car guard.  He ran into me, or I ran into him, I’m not sure, but there he was, lying in the middle of the road, drunk or dead.

But I had to get home quickly to clean up, before Cecilia came in.

When I got home, the dog was on the bed, eating the vibrator. And there was Cecilia, standing with her hands on her hips, staring at me and at the buzzing thing in the dog’s mouth. Shaking her head.

The dog destroyed my favorite toy. Cecilia never looked at me the same way again. And the car guard was apparently dead.

Masturbation never felt quite so good afterwards.

To be continued...

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