THE STORY SO FAR : He Grunted : I Laughed
A very quick entry out of pure, rabid emergency. Forgive the first-draft-feel (my writing is usually so fucking polished), but I’ve just been listening to a man have a wank.
It really was the most basic mistake of the toilet wanker; assuming that every slam of the door means one person has entered or left. This time, I had entered with a colleague who’d opted to piss rampant; I had gone into a cubicle, for a nice sit-down wee, and to try and complete Castlevania on Hard Mode.
So when the standy-wee man washed his hands and left, our hidden friend assumed he was alone, and that’s when the fapping began. (I had the volume on the DS turned down – the idea of a man having a toilet wank to a tinny-speakered rendition of “Dracula’s Tears” is pretty cool, but unlikely)
I know I couldn’t see it, but there is no other possible explanation for the duration and regularity of a sound that genuinely went “fap fap fap fap fap”. I put my head to the ground, and saw shoes. No porn spread around on the floor, just shoes.
I sat agog for a while, before scrambling for my phone or dictaphone. In my idiot contentment with the idea of playing the DS, though, I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t have either on me. So I ran out of the toilet, as silently as possible, to get them. I needed a sly photo of those shoes, too, so I could do a Cinderella on him, the cheeky bogfapper.
Immediately outside, I ran into a woman who was looking around in that lost, stupid way that can only make a sane human feel rage. “I wonder if you can help me,” she whimpered, and I stifled a snarl and asked her what she wanted. Then I ignored her answer, preferring to stare at the door. After several attempts to listen to this lump of lady, it turned out that she had an expenses form that needed to be handed in. And what she had done was to staple her receipts to the expenses form, and not filled it in. Like the form had a fucking notice at the top reading “just staple your fucking receipts to the top, we’ll guess the rest love”.
I told her to fill it in, and that I’d be back in a moment. I ran through the office to get my shit. No-one runs in our office. Breaking out of a sullen slump is considered ostentatious. But he could finish at any moment, and this was important to me. I’ve had too many (two) funny times in those toilets, and I need a dramatic development, something to keep me going in this place.
Running past the girl, who was still writing her dumb fucking name, I went towards the toilets. And found myself staring at the shoes, now full of man. It’s the guy from the office opposite me. He’s the guy who grunts, wanks, says “Oh God” while shitting, and now he’s smiling at me. “Hi Jon,” he says. “Haha!” I laugh in reply, before turning to help my new best friend with her form.
So where do I go now? I’ve got no mystery. I’ve lost the whole sense of adventure, and worst of all I don’t have any photos of shoes or wanking sound clips to put on the internet. Sure I could make my own up, but that’d feel cheap, and I simply can’t bring myself to lie to you beautiful tykes like that.
So what do I do? Where can you go after looking into the smiling eyes of a man whose shoes you have watched, as he noisily milked himself?
What a crazy fool – does he not know even the most basic rules of workplace toilet wankery? Gah! And “fap fap fap”? Pure and simple recklessness…
I am very impressed that he managed to greet you with a cheery “Hi Jon” as he came out though: partial detumescence, delayed last drop leakage and post orgasmic paranoia make it very difficult to talk to anyone after a bogwank… er… I’ve heard.
Put a sign in the toilet saying “no wanking – by ORDER”.
He showed no sign of wankst at all, he must be a strong and determined fellow. I feel inspired and am off to the bogs now.
Nobuttocks has it spot on.
A rapid insertion of Nintendogs into your DS would’ve allowed you to record the man’s self-pleasuring on the White Record. However, I’m not entirely sure how the pups would react to such a curious melody.
If you had enough time, you could probably train them to perform some cutesy trick on command when they hear the sound of fapping.
“That’s right, Fido… roll over… *fapfap*”
excellent use of onomatopeia, Log. you are to be commended.
Perhaps they would jiggle their lovely 2 pixels puppie teatowel holders for the wanking black man.
Ban this sick filth!
All is not lost! Now that you know who it is, you can make it your mission to ensure that you record him in flagrante manuale. As he is in the office opposite yours, you can observe him depart for the lavatory, and after a discreet interval, follow him silently as a ghost into the loo, fully armed with recording equipment. It can only be a matter of time before such a beast is compelled to return to his onanistic pleasures. Or would this transform a harmless amusement into a bizarre sexual obsession? In either event, I KNOW it’s what I’d do. Am I a ‘Carl’?
I don’t understand what the problem is. Wanking is no dirtier or offensive than shitting, so the toilet would be a good place to do it. It’s all about context; if we allow plop noises and loud farts, why not the noises of hand-relief?
If he were rhythmically pounding his hand against his desk, while browsing porn with his free hand, it would be out of place.
Which leads on to the interesting question of whether Wi-Fi has enabled people to masturbate with quality pornography while on the move; I can’t imagine Mac users masturbating. PC users are inherently dirtier.
It would be tricky in the average toilet cubicle because finding a stable place to put the laptop would be difficult. Taking a laptop to be repaired on the basis of dropping while wanking in work toilets is not dignified.
Maybe use a digital camera to catch him in the act. You could blackmail him into running errands for you.
Hmm. You’re right, Jack. And I can’t deny it – when I worked for Reed as a 22 year old trainee, I was young and vigorous enough to require daily relief. It would begin via a slow process of pushing my chair to and fro, rubbing my male penis into the bottom of the table. After around twelve seconds, this would create such urgency that I would make a hunched sprint for the single cubicle. The frenzied get-it-out approach to masturbation that I employed pretty much explains why I take about three seconds to get from “How do you do” to sorry mopping up.
I think the three minute problem’s solution is a matter of repetition. The recharge time is essential. I have had that problem myself a couple of times, when shit faced, but I recharge quickly, and have resorted to using other bits of my body in the meantime. It seems only fair, and I get to do it two or more times. So it could be argued that provided you recharge quickly, don’t just fall asleep, and are creative enough, 3 minutes could be the way of the future. Although I’d need to survey female opinion.
Jack, your post confuses me. I’m as liberal as the next guy, as long as the next guy isn’t Log, and I know all three positions dans la chambre. What on earth do you mean by ‘use other bits of your body in the meantime’ when you’re recharging? Using your arms to reach for the remote? Using your legs to kick the covers off if you get too hot? Help me!
Sorry Speedwolf. I was under the impression that last sentence of Log’s post just before mine was about real-sex. Unless he’s saying “how do you do” to his penis or was figuratively speaking. In which case I apologise. Kicking the covers off if you’re hot is a very good thing BTW. Does wonders for fertility.