Masturbation and the Wayward Brain (or: Jilling Off to Dental Perturbations)

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Lest the title NOT tell you everything you could possibly want to know: It is possible — probable, even, given this morning’s oddness — that I am sinking my teeth into a suppressed fetish.

Picture:

3:47am.

I’ve been awake for over an hour (and will remain awake despite my efforts to masturbatorily lull myself back to sleep).

I think, “I should try having an orgasm.”

And so I kick my covers about a bit so I can sprawl without suffocation but still be cozy while I shove my hand down my PJ pants (Grinch pajamas, in case you’re wondering; fuzzy Grinch pants) attempt to apply my fingers to the task.

And what to my wondering wandering mind should appear, but visions of…

Toothbrushes.

Oh dear.

*laugh*

So basically I thought, “I’ll jill off to try to get back to sleep” and in the process ended up thinking of brushing my teeth.

Like, I can’t believe I am awake and I have not brushed my teeth yet.

(I typically brush my teeth when I get out of bed, even if it’s just to pee. I can’t stand morning mouth.)

And then, I wonder if I should get a Waterpik.

And of course — of course — the masturbatory exercise was going NOWHERE. Not with fantastical scenarios of dental hygiene galumphing through my imagination.

And so I pulled my thoughts in other directions. (And when I say ‘pulled’ I mean ‘yanked like I was playing tug-o-war.) I tried colors. I tried thinking of nothing. Blankness.

Which was a bomb, because that blankness was longing to be filled. With teeth.

I attempted to dredge a sexy memory. To think a sexy thought.

Only to be met by my mind with, Perhaps you should shave your legs this morning. After you brush your teeth.

GAH!

Now, it took some doing — and some memory-fantasy interspersed with screech-braking the mental meanderings and a bit of, oh yeah, there *is* THAT — but I *did* eventually get there, ifyouknowwhatImean.

But egads.

TEETH.

Note to Self: Maybe an electric toothbrush has a dual purpose…

Reigniting Desire (to read)

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Have you ever felt like maybe your interest in a thing that is/has-been very much Your Thing was changing/waning… Only to discover something new (or new to you) that reignites the flame?

That was me, with reading, in 2022.

I think that most people would consider my ‘body count’ where books are concerned to be pretty high. Between Jan 1, 2017 and December 31, 2021, I averaged 63 books per year. But for the last two of those years (2020 and 2021), my yearly total was less than ‘typical’ (again: for me) and I was starting to feel like the kinds of books I *liked* — the authors/genres/storylines/content I gravitate to — were just… Not being written anymore.

And then came 2022.

And I discovered — not with surprise exactly, but definitely with pleasure — that {1} there were Golden Age writers whose catalogs I had barely skimmed the surface of, and that {2} there were contemporary writers who were doing delightful New Things with/about my Old Favorites.

Which led to a significant increase in [a] the amount of reading I did, and [b] my enjoyment of the reading did.

So if you happen to be in the same boat, happen to enjoy mysteries (which is my #1 go-to pleasure read), or are just looking for a ‘maybe I’ll try it out’ type of book rec (but not a *real* book rec, because I don’t do that), the following examples might be of interest to you:

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Hot Date

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coffee photo via Pexels

It’s Friday night. Dinner hour.

And the cashier at the grocery store — yes, we were buying groceries on a Friday night; can I get a WOOT-WOO! — who might be all of 19 (if that) asks us, “Do you have any fun plans for the evening?”

Do we have any fun plans for the evening?

Having already put over 300 miles on my car during the day and knowing that Home is still quite a drive away (and having been awake since 4:44am and going since 5:05), I think to myself Did she really just ask us that? Can she not SEE what we are doing with our evening? We are buying groceries! And then I think, Going to bed sounds pretty damn fun right about now.

I don’t say that though. (She might take it the wrong way.)

In fact, I don’t say anything at all. Because my spouse is saying, “This is it! This is what our fun plans are! We’re on a hot date!”

Which leaves the poor girl dumbfounded.

But f’real: This is how we ‘date’.

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No Regrets

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image sourced from Human Unlimited

On my previous post, one of the commentors asked the question: Any regrets?

And y’know…

I don’t really think regrets are a thing for me.

Not that I’m never double-thinking my decisions after they’ve been made or that I don’t tell myself I should do/be better. Not that I’m never sorry for things I’ve done that have caused harm to others —

always, to be clear, without malice aforethought; I don’t get any joy from hurting people’s feelings even if they have previously hurt mine

— or that I’ve never said to myself, “Self… Let’s NOT do that again!”

Because of course I have.

But to me, regret is something beyond feeling apologetic about something. Regret is a second-guessing of self. It is a wishing-and-hoping mentality applied to decisions already made; it is the idea that if I would have chosen X instead of Q, I would have been in a better place. (Would you? Really? Because *I* think you’d probably be a totally different person if you made different decisions, right? And ‘better’ is subjective.) Regret is too much woulda-coulda-shoulda for me. It’s about the past.

And that’s not where I live.

I prefer, instead of regretting what I’ve done (or not done — those of you who are familiar with the standardized concept of religious confession will know just how important the words ‘and by what we have left undone’ can be), to own up to it.

To take stock.

To say, “That didn’t go so well.” And to ask, “How can I do better next time?”

Because that, for me, is a combination of grounding myself in the moment — here we are now, and this is why — and of looking toward the future.

It’s not regret because it’s not about the past.

In the famous lyrics of one of my favorite Aerosmith songs: The past is GONE.

THAT SAID

The one time I wander into ‘regret’ territory is when I’m grieving.

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