Saturday, October 25, 2008
The masturbation bit
His penis. He places his hand on it, against it. His right hand. He cannot hold it as he once could. His fingers are thick as if fresh from sleep. He is separated from their fragile grip, this peice of meat on the end of what was once his arm. He must nestle his hips against the dead flesh and it feels like someone elses hand laying heavily on hi. He folds the fingers around it. He has less of a grip than he once had.His movement is restricted. His fingers curl but there is a point where he could no longer force them into any kind of shape. They are stiff. Resisting the insistance of his moulding. Still there is enough contact here to provide some kind of feeling. It is a simple thing to lift his left hip, push it against the heat of his hand, a succession of lifts. It becomes a rubbing. This is the kind of exercise that his OT would reccoment, gentle repetative movements and it does indeed feel better. It is a gentle stirring, not the quick explosiveness that he remembers from the before time, but it is a distraction and he continues to push his penis against his unweildy hand, surprised by the little ejaculation when it comes, a quick climb towards the edge and a spilling over. An unexpected reward for his furtive exercise.