On Thursday, a fellow blogger asked me what happened to our blog.  I replied that it still exists – the fact that you’re reading this post is proof of that – but that over the last few months I’ve had far too many obligations to post much, let alone blog on a daily basis as we did in 2012.

These days, my desk is cluttered with a variety of writing projects – spec screenplays, in-progress novel manuscripts, short fiction, non-fiction works, and even a commission.  I am buried in work, much of which sits undone because my stay-at-home Dad schedule kicks my ass every day of the week.

However, one thing I have conscientiously pushed myself to do every single day, at least for the last month, is masturbate.  I know that some of you reading this are scoffing at the pride with which I tout this accomplishment.  For you, masturbation isn’t something one somehow manages to do despite various other responsibilities.  For you, masturbation is the top priority.  I know; I used to be just like you.

Being a parent to a toddler, as I’ve mentioned elsewhere on this blog, can put a serious crimp in one’s masturbation schedule.  Toddlers are unpredictable.  They’re always on the move.  They’re vocal.  They’re needy.  It’s easy to compulsively masturbate when your child sleeps most of the time, or at least naps once a day.  My child, however, doesn’t nap.  She is independent, but at the same time she likes to be able to see me.  If I leave the room for too long she comes to find me, and there is no lock on our bedroom door.  Even if there was she’d simply knock, yell, and cry until my erection not only deflates but retracts into my body cavity like a frightened turtle.

So while I used to be very proud of my busy masturbation schedule, I’ve accepted the fact that most of the time it’s just not going to happen.  Frankly, if by some miracle my toddler actually naps, I’m usually too busy decompressing to even think about having an orgasm.  Under those circumstances masturbation is the sort of thing that I tell myself I’ll do later, after I’m finished decompressing.  Of course, the last three years have taken such a toll on my mental health that I’ll probably never finish decompressing.  I acknowledge that sometimes I just need to say to hell with decompression – it’s time for an orgasm.

And make no mistake, were I allowed an hour – hell, thirty minutes – of uninterrupted “me” time every single day, my sanity wouldn’t be stretched thinner than a worn rubber band.  As my child sometimes grants me a bathroom break, I suppose I could excuse myself and go jerk off in there, but the last time I checked I was a full-grown adult, and not a deeply ashamed thirteen-year-old.  Other than on occasion when the mood strikes me during a shower, I’m no longer one to masturbate in the bathroom.  I’d like to think I’ve outgrown the practice and, dare I say, I deserve better.

In the past, when my daughter was content to play in her room with the baby gate denying her egress, I might have ventured naked onto our balcony, sat in a patio chair and stroked myself to a very satisfying climax, likely while conversing with a sexy friend on Twitter or some instant messaging app on my phone.  It didn’t matter if the sun was shining, or if it was pouring rain.  Being outdoors afforded me a minor exhibitionist thrill that invariably intensified my play.

But you know what didn’t intensify it?  What nearly brought it to a screeching halt, in fact?  The eventual nagging worry, as I got lost in my pleasure, that my child might hurt herself in her bedroom, and I wouldn’t be able to hear her cries because the glass door to the balcony was always inexplicably closed.  But our across-the-hall neighbors would have heard.  Unbeknownst to me, they would have called the police who, upon hearing a hysterically-crying child inside our unit, would have kicked open the door and come to her rescue, finding me on the balcony mid-orgasm and inhibiting me sexually for the rest of my life.  In case you skipped the second paragraph, I’m a writer.  I have a very vivid imagination.

Eventually my kid outgrew the baby gate.  Letting her roam free throughout the house while I retreated onto the balcony meant there was no way she wasn’t going to come knocking on the glass.  So the balcony eventually lost some of its appeal as a masturbation location.  These days, the only thing that’ll do me is to stretch out on my bed, read sex blogs (or Twitter) on my phone, or fire up some porn on my tablet while focusing on my goal of all-encompassing pleasure.

Yes, I’m watching more porn than I was a year ago.  No, I’m not proud of this.  Make no mistake, I’m not ashamed of it, either.  I like porn.  But I’m also the sort of person who prefers to be stimulated mentally:  Some intense flirtation, a sexy chat, whatever.  I’m as turned on by a hot visual as I am by a good blow job, but I prefer to let my arousal build gradually, whether I’m masturbating or having sex.  I love the anticipation that comes from waiting for an instant message that I just know is going to be hot.  I love the sound of an incoming video call on Skype.  I love progressing through a sexy chat, knowing the other person is every bit as aroused as I am.

However, I’m not always afforded the luxury of time.  That’s why, at least half the time, when I am looking to get off I simply select a favorite porn clip and get to work.  If my child is awake elsewhere in the house, occupied perhaps with a few books or a television show, I am aware that she may come running in at any second.  If she does there’s no chance she isn’t going to climb up on the bed where I have hopefully wrapped myself in a blanket the instant I hear her approaching footsteps.

The smart thing to do, of course, is to wake up early and get it out of the way while she’s still asleep.  However, given my penchant for late nights I find it difficult to haul myself out of bed before my daughter wakes up and comes wandering into my room.  Additionally, while I know that a quick orgasm first thing in the morning will help me stay focused throughout the day, and thus be a better dad and generally more productive, I realize that there are no guarantees.  Arousal dogs my every step.  There’s no rhyme or reason to it.  One minute I might be perusing legal documents, scrubbing the grout in our bathroom, or preparing lunch for my daughter.  The next minute I may well be contemplating my sudden erection, wondering why it seems to be mocking me.

With all of this in mind, the fact that I have managed to masturbate daily throughout May – that’s right, every single day of Masturbation Month – is actually quite impressive.  In fact, most days my body has cooperated fully, granting me my usual short refractory period and allowing me another orgasm or three, time permitting.  Some mornings I have one.  Other mornings I have none, and must get creative in order to manage one later in the day.  Some mornings I have five.  And let me just say that at age thirty-six, the volume of my fifth ejaculation over the course of an hour and a half is much greater than I would have thought it would be.

Sometimes I wonder if position has any effect on ejaculation.  Masturbating on my back is a relatively new thing, and I really enjoy it.  Not only is it fun and relaxing, but it also facilitates my orgasm when Jill is riding me, something that has been fairly elusive in the past.  On the other hand, if ejaculation is affected by position, it stands to reason that masturbating on one’s back might lessen the volume, given that the semen must flow upstream, as it were.  It seems like ejaculation would be assisted by gravity, meaning that kneeling or standing might result in greater volume.

On the other hand, I’m relatively certain that when I masturbate while kneeling, sitting, or standing up I rarely observe my ejaculation.  I’m not sure what my eyes are doing – probably rolling back in their sockets, if I had to guess – but I generally don’t focus on my cock as it’s erupting and I therefore can’t accurately describe my load.  On the other hand, lying supine affords me a better vantage point, and I can admit that as I’ve been utilizing this position my eyes are generally drawn to the epicenter.  I enjoy watching myself ejaculate, and am generally content to let it fly, rather than inhibiting the flow of semen as I might when on my knees or perhaps sitting in a chair.

To those that might worry that stay-at-home parenthood – or parenthood in general, for that matter – must in some way limit one’s sex life, specifically one’s masturbation regimen, I am here to disprove the rumor.  Yes, my relationship with my cock has evolved over the last three years, but we aren’t estranged.  My urgent need for regular sexual release has caused me to alter my masturbation habits, and in my opinion that’s always a good thing.  Routine is the enemy of anything worth doing.  Little Jack and I are rekindling our relationship, finding new ways of keeping the fires lit, and just because Masturbation Month is drawing to a close I see no reason to lessen the momentum.

I will leave you with a link to last year’s Masturbation Month post, wherein Jill shares her thoughts
on self-pleasure and a sexy video wherein she brings herself to climax – and ejaculation – with her Eroscillator.  If you haven’t yet checked it out, now’s your chance.