Arse Addict

Often, right here, I end up chatting in DMs with guys. Strangely enough, their profiles often look a lot like mine, in their forties, married, living a pretty normal life. We talk about everything and nothing, send each other posts, talk about our favorite models. It often goes something like, “Fuck, look at Raissa’s ass, it’s incredible.” “Yeah, absolutely. I’m jerking off to a Minka video right now, actually. Do you know this one?” It’s not exactly high philosophy, but it’s healthy, it’s fun, it’s fraternal. We understand each other. We live similar lives, so we often have similar desires. It’s our little space outside of everyday life. Somehow, it helps us deal with all the everyday bullshit. Jerking off is simple. It’s free. You don’t need anybody else. It’s good for you, it helps release pressure, sometimes helps you sleep, and above all, it gives you a kind of pleasure that doesn’t need to be negotiated, synchronized or successfully performed. There is something almost meditative about pleasuring yourself like that, about making yourself the center of your own pleasure. Your brain goes quiet. Work disappears. Emails, bills, responsibilities, all of it leaves the room for twenty minutes. But through these conversations, I realized something else: a lot of wives simply forbid their husbands from watching porn and masturbating. What selfishness. What cruelty, to put your husband’s libido under a glass dome that only gets lifted when you decide it should. I understand and accept the expectation of fidelity, but forbidding your guy from getting off in front of a screen is one of the best ways to make sure he eventually looks elsewhere. Locking desire inside a pressure cooker is a fucking mistake. Obviously, every couple sets its own boundaries. But turning that private space into something shameful, forcing the other person to hide in the shower like a teenager, is how you manufacture secrecy and guilt where there could simply be trust. Giving your partner a sexual space that belongs to them takes nothing away from love. It may even help stop love from turning into a prison. So yes, sometimes the real luxury of a married man is not a watch or a car. It’s an empty house, two hours to himself, the living room all his, some good huge-boobs porn on the screen, and nobody asking him for anything. Gentlemen, let us firmly grab our dicks, put on videos of our favorite models, and celebrate that wonderful thing called masturbation.