Lets face the facts, man. You jerk off. I jerk off. She doesn't jerk it because she abhors the feeling of her vag contracting on her finger. Then again. Her friend jerks off (don't argue the semantics.) Oh and we laugh and laugh at all the stories that are drunkenly spilled (pun) about past incidences, almost getting caught, getting caught, so on. 

     The world is too weird for us sickos. The happy drunk we had last year has worn off, and we now must face the hideous woman lying next to us on the couch. Her teeth are green, her lips are chapped, and her breath smells of a thousand men's inebriated mistakes. However, not all of us penetrated this hideous sow while full of liquor. oh NO! Most of us are too strange to drink around such malicious creatures. I'm talking of course, about the experience of fucking up a nice masturbation session. It sucks, and like a drunk we will forever live with the mistake, on the edge of our memory for the rest of our days.

     Maybe you were on your stomach and miscalculated the buildup of the day, and shot yourself in the face. Possibly a very satisfying session spent over an internet video of a chick, turns out to be a tranny. You came home one day and that devious sock was gone and never seen again, (did the dog get at it or something?) Maybe straight hand work was getting old and you decided to manufacture some homemade orifices. Between the mattress and bedspring, or the couch with a plastic bag, a glove. Did you wax organic and carve up the cantelope? Dees and gentlemen, here is my story.

    9th grade, my mind is ripe, body frail but willing. The sun is high, I'm visiting friends in the states. As it turns out, D's rents are gone for the day and he has a school engagement. Ah, sweet fate. I humbly offer to stay at the house and chill for the hour or so alone. But where, you ask, is the antagonist? In this seemingly innocent situation. Rags. Sinister feline hellspawn, straight from the seed of the unclean one.

    I set up for a nice session, in the tv room. I don't like all the windows around, so I close the blinds, they face the backyard anyway. I pull some paper towels and spread them out infront on me. Im planning an on-the-knees jerk today. Rags is chilling infront of the tv, projecting an aura of indifference. Man, I'm built up, I just broke into the wonderful world of cock-stroking a few months beforehand. The bounty sheet will be tested, they get spread about 2 feet infront of me. I basically just make an educated guess that I won't shoot farther than that.

    So I get on my knees and start surfing the boob tube for some material. I assume every guy on the planet knows the mindset. When, all of the sudden, as luck would have it, I stumble across The Devil's Advocate, uncut. Perfect timing, right at the last scene where keanu's sister is naked and all horny. Rags' aura of indifference has changed. What is this boy doing?

   I start the workout, I'm getting close, it's going to be a nice big one. I feel it. Rags, devil, had secretly siddled himself closer, curious. Here we go baby, let's do it, oh yeah, thats your sister and she's hot and wet and ovulating and she's half demon. Oh yeah, man, do it, do it. Rags, closer.

   Im close man, here it comes, there's no stopping it, (I point downwards kind of to hit the p.towels.) Rags, darts like a lightning bolt towards my cock. WHAT THE FUCK. He misjudges his speed and the distance between us and tries to stop short but it is no use. He bumps his nose right into the head of my cock. This all happened simultaneously, the impact of his nose, right when I'm gonna cum. KABLAAAAAAMO!

   He darts off scared and abused. Fuck, man. I got to clean up now. But wait, where's the pay dirt. There's none on the paper towels. Maybe I missed and shot the carpet? Nope. None there. Maybe a pant leg? Try agian. That fucking cat absorbed the whole fucking load. And it was a big one. In that split second that shiteater had hit my cock and managed to take everything all over it. Didn't miss a fucking drop.

   Queue the chase scene. I couldn't catch that fucking cat, for over an hour, chasing that motherfucker all around the house. He spreads my cum on almost everything. The couch in the sitting room, some of the beds. fuck. fuck. fuck. I gave up after a while.

   D's rents come home first, then d. AFter a day or so, weird conversations full of eerie vibrations start floating through the air. "What is this stuff on the couch? Looks like glue." "Why is table leg sticky?" "What is wrong with Rags, he's been hiding under the bed for the whole day?" "What is all over Rags? Did he get in a fight?"

   Luckily no one ever found out the truth. Rags and I returned to society changed forever. Alittle older, a little wiser. What always stuck in my mind the most, was the image of Rags cleaning himself. After that day he was totally clean, that fucker lapped up a whole load of cum.