Girls v My Own Right Hand

Girls v My Own Right Hand
by ron provine

Times there are when I simply must jack off.  The
sexual tension gets so great that it threatens to
erupt suddenly into something productive, such as
going to lift weights or write some long past-due
papers and I simply must squash such productive urges.
I admit, there are even times when I will go into a
public bathroom, if no other place is available, lock
a stall door and occasionally make grunting noises to
imply I am taking a shit while, in point of fact, I am
hot and heavy in the middle of self-love.

Not ten minutes ago I was in precisely that situation and I got to thinking (when some jackass came in and used the next stall--thus forcing me to stop what I was doing until he was done)--I wonder whether I actually prefer sex or jacking off.
I'd liken it to seeing a band live vs listening to a CD. Let me explain--when you see a band live, there is some sort of thrill because you're *there*, supporting the band, seeing a show that inferior creatures to yourself will never ever see. In some cases, with some people, you establish some sort of credibility (hereinafter known as "cred") for attending a live show of some bands. And a really good live show is unequalled, unparalleled--sitting in a dorm room listening to a CD pales in comparison to being able to smell the sweat and (especially in pussy emo shows) see the tears of the guys who wrote the songs.
More often, though, a live show involves paying 5-10 dollars you could have used to buy 4-8 King Cobras to go stand in a hot, uncomfortable room full of high school kids and punk rock cliches to listen to a tired, road-weary band try to overcome a shitty PA system and blare out the one or two hits that the suburban dicks turned out in groves, girlfriends firmly in their arms, to see. In these cases, I yearn to be in my room, listening to a CD and surrounded by 4-8 King Cobras.
Sexual activity is sort of the same way. There are times when you find yourself with a good fuck--some chick who leaves you drained, elated, feeling like a MAN. But for the most part, real sex involves going out (or at least back to your room) with a girl who, once she begins to talk, begins to get less and less sexy. The more she bores you with stories of her father, sister, friends, former boyfriends and (god help you when this happens) her insipid views on world affairs, until you are forced to view her as an object of sexual desire only. (Objectification of women isn't cruel, as feminists assert--in most cases it is the only way to redeem an otherwise worthless creature.) You go, have uninspired sex, deal with the pre and post game chatter--and all for what? So you can tell your friends the next day you were with a hot chick. To establish some sort of pecking order in your little clan. And don't get me wrong--that's important. Some girls are like Superchunk--the show's shitty, but if it comes anywhere near you you've gotta get in on the action.
With masturbation, on the other hand, things are different. YOU are the master of your fate--no inepitude on the girl's part can come into play--all she has to do is be an image in your mind. Even women can handle that. You write her dialogue (if any is needed), you design her clothing (outlandish leather outfits that no girl except a porn star or prostitute would ever really wear? Nothing at all? No problem--it's all up to you, sport!), you decide what she does. A quick hard fuck? An elaborate bondage scenario? An outerspace scene featuring Buck Rogers costumes and munchkins singing Pavement songs? Sure thing! Whatever makes you happy--because the only peson who truly lives only to make YOU happy (that would be YOU) is all in control.
Masturbation is cheap, easy, convenient, fun, and allows for your sexual imagination to really run its course. It even makes you better, for those girls who truly *are* good fucks, so that when you are with them you can be more insightful and artistic as you make love to them (don't forget that those all to rare worthwhile girls deserve your ALL). It relieves stress and cleans out your prostate.
So all in all, sex is nice, but often hard to find, expensive, and not worth all the effort. Like all too many shows. Self-love is, on the whole, a far preferable option for the man of taste, imagination, and a true appreciation for the simpler pleasures.
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