Before you read on, ask yourself this:
“What is the most expensive wank you’ve ever had?”
By that I mean every conceivable situation that a nice hand job might throw itself into the mix to brighten up your day.
I’ve wanked pretty much everywhere. If I’ve been to a place more than twice, chances are I’ve blown my beans in the surroundings. In other words, I’m a man.
I’ve been wanked off by lots of different people too – female people. By different I mean, ugly, fugly, vugly and the downright vomit inducingly minging.
This is an actual photo of a chick that once had the privilege of changing my oil.
I even once got a devil’s handshake from an old neighbour with Parkinson’s, and it was as you would expect it the best shake break I had ever had, with minimal effort for both parties.
I’ve wanked in some of the strangest places too – Leitrim springs to mind as the top of the list. But I’ve done it everywhere. Every room of every house I’ve ever lived in, or visited. Every room of every place I’ve ever been employed in, or visited. A car. A bus. A phone box. But these are all stories for another time.
For the newest place that I have heard of to clean your pipes in public has even caught me by surprise.
The Adult Store
Now, I know it seems obvious to me now too. Of course they would allow people to whack off in there, that’s where they sell porn. And men buy porn for one reason and one reason only; to jack their beanstalk.
They sell food in restaurants, where people eat the food they’ve purchased. You borrow a book from the library and read it in there if you wish. It makes perfect sense when you think about it.
Ever been going about your business in town and thought; “You know what I need? A wank. But where can I get one in this crazy town?”. I have.
But I have to admit that, even this is beyond something I could do.
Just imagine going into the shop first of all, and nodding your “hello” to the Oriental clerk behind the counter as they eye you up accusingly. Then you have to navigate your way around the store, pretending like you’ve been there many times before even though you haven’t. Or pretending like you’ve never been near a sex shop before let alone in one, even though you spend so much of your time and money in there that you might as well get all of your post forwarded to the place, just so that you can keep in contact with the outside world whilst you engage with your daily “fun”.
Then you pick your movie and move to the counter, where the accusing Oriental clerk now has that all knowing smirk on their greasy face. “Watch or buy?”, he asks. “Watch”, you reply. Trying to sound as if this is as natural as can be. He hands you the movie, a universal remote control and a time card. “Number 3″, he barks. With the dynamic of the relationship firmly established, you shamefully scuttle to the rear of the shop to the private DVD viewing area.
As you get closer, the sounds of other men bludgeoning their beef gets louder in your head, as all that you can actually hear is the sounds of assorted filth turned up to eleven from the other viewing “booths”. You don’t know what worries you more, the fact that you know what they’re doing in there, or that their film sounds better than the one you picked out.
You open the door to booth number 3 and the seediness of what you are about to do doesn’t sink in until you grab the handle on the inside of the door to close it behind you and feel a stickiness that you can only pray is not the last visitors rancid man batter.
Inside the booth, you put your disc into the small 14″ TV/DVD combi and take your coat off as you wait for it to load. The place is so dark that you can’t see the buttons on the unfamiliar remote, with your trousers already around your ankles, you just press whatever you can find and hope for the best. Success. Grrreat.
The home menu of the DVD flashes onto the screen and you push the same button as before and voila, you have porn. To your surprise, you have a better hard-on than ever before. The situation has given itself a taboo element and is working wonders for you. Your own mother could be standing outside the door shouting at you and every other bloke in the vicinity, calling you all filth mongers and the like, it wouldn’t matter a fuck. You are in a shop in the city centre that actually allows you to batter your sausage in the privacy of a smelly, dark and sticky room. And all for the low low price of only €2.50 per minute.
Wait, how long have you been in there? You didn’t have much cash on you. You don’t think they take plastic in this shop. Shit. Ok. You’ve watched three scenes running at about 15 minutes each and the trailers (They always have the best bits). That’s about …………. €137.50. Bollocks that can’t be right. Panic immediately sets in.
If you were in a restaurant and couldn’t pay the bill, they might let you work off your debt in the kitchen washing dishes. What are you going to have to wash in this place to clear your debt, your name, most of all your shame? The shame of tickling your Elmo and not even having the funds to pay for the opportunity.
Composing yourself and rehearsing your excuse for the clerk that, who by now must have a pool going as to whether or not you are ever going to emerge, you step back out into the shop. Sure as your reading this, your face is bright red and flushed, your manner is one of complete disappointment in yourself, and you hope to Christ that your fly is done up.
There’s no one there. The shop is empty. How long were you in there? You check the door of the shop, your only way to freedom, and it’s locked. You couldn’t be locked in there. Surely they would check first? You weigh up your options.
Try to leave by force.
Call the authorities and tell them you’ve been locked in.
These aren’t very good options because;
Leaving by force causes the Gardai to turn up and find you breaking OUT of a sex shop.
The authorities are going to wonder what you were doing when you got locked in there.
Some men would love to be locked into a porn shop, and up until 5 minutes ago, that was you too.
You haven’t done it in years. Not even at your favourite granny’s funeral. But now, more than ever, you feel like you could just cry.
First things first, check around the place. The lights are still on so they can’t be closed. The radio is still playing, maybe the clerk has gone to the toilet. Maybe he’s in a booth himself having a quick shuffle. Either way, the fact remains that you haven’t got the money you owe the shop.
Fuck it. Putting the DVD, remote and time card behind the counter, you wander around the shop hoping that if you pick up the correct DVD or dildo that it might open up a secret passage to the world beyond the smut. Suddenly the locked front door swings open and in walks a different clerk. He takes a look at you, sums up the situation and asks; “Oh shit did someone lock you in?”. Before you can reply, “I told the other guy not to let customers use the toilet without telling me. I just nipped out to get a coffee. I’m really sorry about that. I never usually take that long, the queue was hell in the coffee shop.”
Now you are faced with the kind of dilemma that shows what kind of man you really are.
Do you;
Confess everything, hoping he appreciates your honesty.
Kick up a stink and walk away with your head held high.
No prizes for guessing which one you go for. After all, do you really want to have to wash some dirty old guys crusty cum off the floor to clear your debt?
Having suitably chastised the clerk for being so stupid to have locked a valuable customer into the shop and after threats of suing for false imprisonment, you walk away with a free film of your choice.
Bravo!
So, have you thought about what your most expensive wank was?
I’m still trying to think of mine.
Because that story never happened to me. I don’t care what you think.
