Confessions of a Chronic Masturbator, Part 2

17 Feb

Wankjuries. The downside of beating your steak every five minutes.

As you may have read in my previous post on the sorry subject of my jostling problem, I am afflicted by what I call my dirty demons on a minute-by-minute basis.

Here’s another section of my wanking diary. It provides more proof that, yes, my daily existence is a nightmare of secretive self-abuse. But that’s only because I have what doctors call a ‘mega libido’. And that’s pretty good, isn’t it, ladies? I mean, while other men are wiping their tackle on your curtains and making for the door, I’m ready for rounds 2 – 67. (I know that sounds like excess, but it’s a chore for me too, so you’ll just have to buckle down and get through it.)

September 25th 2009

Today started well. Just a quick bash when I woke up and another at breakfast (Sorry, mother! Didn’t see you there!) and a couple in the car on the way in. Apart from that, everything was manageable. The receptionist with her damned tits wasn’t there, the girls in marketing were either out of the building or out of sight so I walked into my office untroubled. Pulled the blinds down and got on with some work – fine.

Then 11am came and I had to go and see Big Brian Humpage, our Sales Director, up on the seventh floor. All fine, but I got in the lift at four and there was Mick Prickle from exports showing a couple of new graduates round. One of them looked at me for fuck’s sake. ‘We’re going down’, she said, the dirty bitch. Things started stirring. They got off at two, and before I could close the doors, the cute Slovakian cleaner got in. NO! I chatted with her once at the Christmas do. ‘Hello, Dayfid!’ she said. Can you believe it? Actually, speaking to me? ‘Hello,’ I muttered, scrabbling for the buttons. At three, two secretaries from the notoriously dirty compliance department got in.(I say they’re notoriously dirty – they might not be. But the word ‘compliance’ gives me a Nelson, and there’s no smoke without fire, I always say.) On four, it was Sharon Bangor, the account exec everyone knows is trying to get into porn. And on five, for some fucking reason, three nurses got in. It was all I could do not to shout ‘I AM A MAN!’ and start strumming the pink plank right there. So, when they all got out at six, that’s what I did.

They’re quite fast, though, our lifts. So when the door opened at seven I was, shall we say, slightly behind schedule. And that’s why, much to my genuine regret, Sally Poll-Mee, our very, very strict HR director, was surprised when the doors opened to see me wanking like a furious monkey. That surprise, however, was nothing compared to the surprise she experienced as a stream of my DNA struck her in the eye, hair, nostrils, ears (both) and shoes. A pretty hefty glob went in her coffee cup with a gentle sploosh that would, on another day, have reminded me of the sound rain made as it dropped and dripped peacefully into the garden fish pond my father had been so proud of, and at which I would hold long, lost, wordless vigils after he left.

Something tells me I may be in trouble for this.

September 26th

Oh dear. Called to Sally Poll-Mee’s office to ‘discuss what happened yesterday’. (She put that very diplomatically, I thought. That’s why she’s HR director and I’m not.)

I was a bit early, so her secretary showed me in and I waited. Her secretary isn’t much of a looker. But she does have tits. (Why does she have to have tits?) Well, I thought. I’m early. I can’t very well sit through the meeting with a raging bulb-on, so I decided to have a quick purge.

I don’t know what it is about Sally Poll-Mee, but she has fucking terrible timing. She walked in to see me shuffling like a crack-addicted croupier. And, because I was sitting down and leaning back slightly, my manly expulsions shot over my shoulder and went  right in her…well.Let’s just say that if I’d ever wondered whether she spits or swallows, I now know.

September 27th

Sally Poll-Mee has apparently been signed off indefinitely. Phew! I was most relieved. In fact, I thought it was worth a quick biff, which made me very relieved. So much so, I had another biff after that. Life’s not so bad sometimes.

I am Dave Knockles! And I’ve had more yanks than the US of A!

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10 Responses to “Confessions of a Chronic Masturbator, Part 2”

  1. David Everitt-Carlson February 17, 2011 at 1:57 pm #

    Jeeziz. Next time you oughta use two hands. Then you can bandage up that little Vienna sausage of yours like that photo and hopefully spare the Chihauahuas of the world a merciless shagging!

  2. Barrel Bottoms February 17, 2011 at 2:36 pm #

    Dave, I’m disappointed. You have to wank it YOURSELF? Jesus man, haven’t you learned anything? Just get in some interns. Interview them. Tell them you’re looking for the right ass-ets for the job. They’ll be handling your bishop faster than you can say “can I have another claret?”. These cumtoilets need to be led by a firm and hard cock like yours and mine. To point them in the right direction. Just don’t make a tape of it. You know, evidence. Always bad in a court case. You are at the top of the world Dave. Now act like it and stuff your cock into some hot intern bristolas.

  3. Katie February 17, 2011 at 3:33 pm #

    It’s all your mother’s fault. And your father’s, even though he should just be called wanker. And for fuck’s sake, get rid of that Dr. He is a useless prick. Or useless cunt if it’s a woman. No surprise there.

    Have you booked your summer break yet? You should. I bet they make nice buffets as well.

    Yo Barrel, do you employ male interns at your place? These daft fucks need to be led by a beautiful and firm clit like mine. Or they will end up being blandly fucking pricks who need to drug women.

    • Vik February 17, 2011 at 3:57 pm #

      I see what you’re doing Katie. If you want a taste of le Barrel, just say so. I heard Pierre on the 9th floor does interviews with male interns. Maybe I can arrange something so that you can join in on the fun. About the drugging, I’m actually doing them a favour. They need to experience something different than those douchebags from the creative floor. The “oh-I-am-wearing-Converse-thus-I-am-cool” buffoons. I had a run in with one the other day. The EMT’s said they have never ever seen a face that deformed after a fight.

      • Barrel Bottoms February 17, 2011 at 3:59 pm #

        Damn you autocorrect.

  4. daveknockles February 17, 2011 at 4:20 pm #

    This post seems to have generated quite a pornographic response in my male and female friends alike. I think this is because my pheromones are powerful enough to be picked up over the internet. It’s not you, folks. It’s me.

    • Barrel Bottoms February 17, 2011 at 7:49 pm #

      Who are you kidding Dave. You don’t have any friends. Just admirers.

  5. Katie February 17, 2011 at 8:01 pm #

    Thank you Barrel. Are you the HR director by any chance? I need to know when considering my answer to your generous offer.

    Pierre on the 9th floor? It gets better, eh.

    The cool buffoons. I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about. His face after a fight? Don’t make me giggle. Good on you for smashing him. He’s learned something, finally.

    Davey, of course, it’s you tiger. Only you. And your pheromones. How did you know I’m participating in a clinical study? You’re damn clever. Miaow. http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20827834.500-with-this-printer-what-you-see-is-what-you-smell.html

    • Barrel Bottoms February 17, 2011 at 11:23 pm #

      No Katie, I’m not. I’m the Chief Officer of Awesomeness around our global conglomerate. Or so I like to think of myself while looking at all the videos of various female employees I’ve recorded during their “interviews”. And it so happens that I have a tape of Sheila, head of HR. I could make a deal, she gets the (copy) of the tape and gives you a fantastic new job. Company phone, car, and laptop. Your own parking space, personal assistant of your choice and so forth. Indeed I am fucking awesome and also awesome at fucking. Which brings us to what would be in it for me? Remember, I do “interviews” on a regular basis. Conscious or unconscious. What can you give the great Barrels that he cannot resist giving you your fantastic new life at Awesome Incorporated?

  6. Katie February 18, 2011 at 1:48 pm #

    Obviously, your’re sold already, Barrel. However, I do hope you are sitting. You should. I myself needed it this morning.
    I was in shock! Barrel, or should I call you Vik? I do have a phone, car, laptop, my own parking space and so on. The question would have been what you could offer me on top of that. Because let’s face it. That is all boring tat. But then, Vik, I read about Sheila, the head of PR, and it dawned on me that you are Vik in accounting. Accounting at the place where I am MD and Chairwoman – Ann K. Summers Incorporated. Vik, we are very open about sex at our place, you know that. But I think you need a punishment for your naughty behaviour. Get in touch with my assistent, he will know my schedule. But I think there will be a slot Monday morning. Bring the handcuffs and all the videos, you pervert. Sheila will be there.

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