On dusk and summer

So it has begun, the rainy season, and soon I will find myself complaining about the endless rain and how it never fails to bless our messy streets with mud and flood. Soon my sneakers will be impractical and my handy-dandy umbrella indispensable. Inconvenience aside, along with this season comes my favorite weather - cloudy with a chance of meatballs overcast but no rain, windy, and with tiny slivers of sunlight shining through the clouds like little rays of hope.

Gray makes a lot of people feel down but for me, I find it the perfect weather for falling in love; falling out of love; sitting on my windowsill with a cup of coffee by my feet and a book in my hands while staring out over the city; listening to Dashboard Confessional; and as it turns out, being horny. This week I've started getting into a habit I thought I'd finally kicked for good a few months ago - masturbation.

I discovered the joy of jerking when I was in grade school. There was no great moment. I wish I could tell a great first time story where my cute classmate sleeps over one night and teaches me about it and we start jerking off together all the time. Or one where I have a horny older cousin who I catch beating the monkey one night so he has to show me how it's done and then we have incestuous manual sex. But I'm so boring I don't have any such stories. In fact, I don't remember the first time I ever touched myself. 

What I do remember is that I did it a lot. I went through so many cumrags socks that eventually I learned to wash up after every use because my parents were wondering where they all went. My habit got worse when I began getting bouts of insomnia. Counting sheep never did work for me but jerking off always did the trick. By the time I got to college it was so bad I would jerk off every time I took a shower. Even when I wasn't horny. I would spend up to half an hour running all sorts of scenarios looking for one that would excite me (because by this time, all of my brain porn had been watched a million times) just because showering didn't feel complete without it.

And then two months ago I got a job and wonder of wonders the compulsion disappeared. It was as if the well had dried up. In fact, the thought never even crossed my mind - until two days ago. 

Like so many other stories, it begins with me getting on the metro. Funnily, I have no funny business on my mind when I get on that train. I am tired, worried about finances, and I just want to get home - I am so completely self-centered my arms and hands are awkwardly glued to my side. Unfortunately, I am standing at an angle to the guy beside me so that my left hand is right on his thigh. I don't think anything about this. He doesn't either. Or so I thought. And then he twists his body ever so slightly and now my hand is grazing his crotch and I can feel a slight bulge. I tsk-tsk in faux annoyance at this overt invasion and adjust my position. Now my hand is right on his bulge and it feels solid and warm. He pushes lightly into the back of my hand. Ever the master of disguise, I fake reaching into my pocket as an excuse to rub his bulge. For a moment everything else is tuned out and all I am aware of is that my heart is beating wildly and that my hands are hot and that the dick beneath his pants is hot. Then the intercom announces my station and for a second I consider not getting off and following the guy but the doors open and before I make a decision my feet are on the station platform and I've walked away.

Before falling asleep that night, I jerked off to that big bulge and the fantasy of what might have happened. Last night I did it again.