Andy is seriously fucking up my sleep schedule because he wakes up at a normal time regardless of how late he goes to sleep. Last time I fucked him, the next morning he insisted, “One day I am going to fuck you in the morning and you will realize that all this time you could have started your day liked this.” The problem is he wakes me up so early. Like, I’m never going to have some epiphany and be like, “Goddamn, all this time I could have started my day at 11 am!” If only he would let me sleep in and get off at 3 pm, when I normally wake up, maybe I would think, “Gee, isn’t it nice to get off in the morning.” I mean, let’s come to our senses here: Even a red-head’s dick isn’t more enticing than sleep after I’ve only gotten four-to-five hours. Although, I do like the narcissistic implications of his thinking that he could fuck me to my senses, as if fucking could ever evoke sensibility in me.
I used to never be horny in the morning because nothing is preferable to sleep. But then I stopped waking up in the morning. Problem solved. It was never even a problem; I just lacked interest entirely. In the morning, I do anything possible to prolong sleep regardless of how much I’ve gotten. I fucking hate mornings. That is why it only takes me ten minutes to get ready in the morning. Not because I hate hairbrushes and matching socks—because I love sleep.
Since I started grad school and have no obligations, ever, except six hours of class per week at night, I have become abundantly in touch with my bodily functions (pun intended). For the first few months, there were the daily deliberations. I would wake up and ponder, “Should I get off or go back to sleep?” Repeat the process multiple times, groggily rolling over my hand, intermittently reassessing the situation. I’d say I’d go back to sleep an estimate of two times before the next question arose: “Should I get off or eat breakfast?” It was slightly more confusing to arrive at the answer to this question, because either option entailed action—demanded it. Sleeping versus getting off is easy if you are lazy. Sleeping just happens. I mean, it doesn’t for me, obviously, at night, but in the morning, I am always good to go—back to sleep. And you can kind of play with yourself while half asleep for a while, so it is a win-win situation. I like groggily fumbling.
But at some point action is called for. You are hungry and start feeling faint. You realize that you could have gotten off half an hour ago and you would have already been satisfied and fed. You could have avoided the faint-feeling altogether. Getting off is slightly unpleasant when you feel like you are going to faint. You need to get it over with as quickly as possible so you can get on with the rest of your life. On the other hand, the more quickly you attend to food, the shorter the amount of time you will continue to feel faint, and the better getting off will be once it happens.
You can debate and debate with yourself all you want about the relative merits of sleep, getting off, and food consumption. But over three months of self-discovery—the type and degree of which can only be promoted by the grad school lifestyle of leisure and inactivity—a consistent pattern emerged; I have a definitive body-priority hierarchy, consisting of: 1) sleeping, 2) getting off, and 3) eating. Drawn out philosophical debates aside, they will be taken care of in that order. If it is between sleep and getting off, the answer is always sleep—it just happens. But getting off trumps food, which means I have to get off in a timely manner in the morning if I want to avoid feeling like I am going to fucking faint in the shower. Part of the food-getting off prioritization paradigm is a product of sheer convenience. I am a firm believer in efficiency, and you can get off in the shower, but you can’t have a sandwich in the shower. If you could dine in the shower, I might seriously reconsider my options. Another part of the efficiency issue—along the lines of combining components of the morning routine—is that if I shower without getting off and then eat breakfast, I have no appetite for the food, or else lack the ability to focus on the process of eating, and I’m like, do I really want to get off now that I’ve just showered? It seems illogical to shower, eat, and get off, sequentially, when you could easily take care of the showering, masturbating, and masturbatory clean up, in one shot. Also, playing with yourself while eating is a little gross, even for me. I would like to keep the vaginal fluids out of my food and the food out of my vagina. I don’t think that’s too much to ask given the infinite amount of options when you have almost limitless time on your hands.
This is why I have stopped playing mind games with myself in the morning. The longer you postpone, the more unpleasant each option becomes. Optimally, getting off should be done at peak horniness, and horniness doesn’t increase with postponement past a point. You can only build yourself up for so long before you get bored. Getting off isn’t great when you are famished–when you lack energy, strength, and the will to survive; to be dorky about it, when your CNS has used up all the glucose stored as glycogen in your liver and you have to turn to long-term and less accessible energy reserves, i.e., fat and muscle. Even going out to get food becomes more laborious when you are out of quick, usable energy.
There came a point where I realized, as with every other facet of my life, I have to stop rationalizing and get shit over with so it doesn’t consume me. I am incapable of making decisions once I am in debilitating situations and ultimately it doesn’t matter either way, so it is not subject to debate. Decision making is the anxiety-provoking and paralyzing part, not the getting off. And part of the paralysis I face upon contemplating such situations is due to the fact that the outcome is so inconsequential; the difficulty level, of distinguishing between that which is so similar in meaning and value, ascribes a false sense of importance to the actual outcome. My masturbatory deliberations are over with and the verdict is out: Not that I have to get off every morning, but when I do, getting off is never a bigger waste of time than rolling over my hand, endlessly debating the relative merits. And I never really regret getting off if I do it only once.
At some point, out of context, I will have to sit myself down and have a serious conversation about my other continuing masturbatory dilemma: In the same way that getting off should always be completed promptly upon the decision to wake up and getting off should always precede food consumption, getting off should never happen more than twice per session. As a sexual utilitarian, diminishing returns are of the utmost importance to me. And after getting off three or more times, I feel depleted, like I do if I’ve postponed getting off for an hour and don’t have any food in my system. When your body is thoroughly used, you can’t even enjoy getting off. Which is why it is imperative that I continue to remind myself: Sleeping trumps getting off, getting off trumps eating, and the second time is always the charm!
charlie: hahaha 3 PM god thats nuts
me: the thing is, i know guys’ testosterone levels are supposed to peak at 10 am and andy said girls’ peak at 9 am. i’m not sure about that. i will have to do further research. if my testosterone peaks at 9 am (shortly following the onset of my sleep), i hope i am dreaming of chuck bass.
charlie: hahaha i mean
me: by 3 pm i can get horny. it’s like the end of a school day. i was def horny by the time i got home from school.
charlie: i just feel like who cares, just get off whenever it feels right, and thatll be when its the best
oh yeah absolutely
some of my best jerking off memories
are like 5th, 6th grade after school sessions
me: ha ha. i still get to have homework break masturbatory sessions. how precious.
charlie: haha i mean i work from home
me: oh, i didn’t realize that
charlie: most days ill be gradually rubbing myself, getting hard, then getting soft again, working myself up, getting somewhere, then going back to working, etc etc till i just say fuck it and get off
getting somewhere, like im saying, as i work on whatever it is im supposed to be doing
me: how motivational
charlie: haha i know right
well back in college
when itd be like 6:30 AM
and a 10 page paper was due at 10 AM
and i hadnt started it til like 2 AM and id had like 8 red bulls
somehow itd make me masturbate like a fuckin jackrabbit
like, 30 seconds or less to orgasm
and id hit like 12, 13 times in a row
totally shooting blanks
me: wow, i aspire to be able to masturbate like i did in high school.
i think my decline in number is mostly due to the fact that back then it was more clitoral and, therefore, less satisfying
did you really dry orgasm?
charlie: ah yeah
i dry orgasm whenever i hit more than like
ehh 4 times in a day
me: ew, gross
charlie: haha you love cum so much that the thought of its absence is disgusting?