He stood before the toilet and opened
his fly. At the same time he closed his eyes, concentrating.
There came no flow. Instead, he felt himself hardening in his own
hand. He locked the door, dropped his trousers to the floor, and
seated himself. At the age of ten, Matthew Locke had had the good
fortune of discovering masturbation. It had altered the course of
his life forever. For whenever he became distracted from his
studies, thinking about girls instead of geometry, he had simply
relieved himself. It was to this dedication that he owed his
success. It had enabled him to focus all of his energies on
important things. He had achieved autonomous coupling - a boy and
his hand. Even in college he favored this method. Of course there
had been girls, but none of them ever proved worth the time or
effort. Though this was the price he paid in order to come so far
so fast, he had never seemed to fully grasp its relevance until
the day he'd met Greta. The instant he'd laid eyes on her, her
hands, he determined it was time to think about marrying. It was
important to his career, and if he was going to do it, then why
not with a woman who's hands were more alluring than his own?
Were.
But hers were not the hands he thought of now, holding him,
stroking him. No, the hand he imagined in place of his own
belonged to another woman, a girl, really, who he told himself he
must resist.
Pages:
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167