johnny's jackoff journal
© 2002 by john e

now that i've been keeping these official records haha for a few months i've forgotten why.  maybe i should have started the thing with a mission statement or something.  i've forgotten why i started and maybe why i started writing these blurts was for an understanding of why i'm so overly-obsessed with sex, and why it's been that way since i was a kid.  i mean about jacking off.  no.  about getting aroused.  sometimes the radiant pale of an ankle will do it.  or hot sun mocha mixed with beauty marks on a face of less than soft skin.  just a flash of something seen at the right time and i can't wait for privacy.  i'm writing this and getting horny from the reminiscences.  and i say i'm looking for understanding.  i'm jacking myself off here even writing about it.  and it feels good.  but there's no understanding.  just a bunch more questions.  i should have dated these but i'm not going to bother starting now.

*

she must have been 20 years older than me and my equal in weight.  and all i can remember now is the curve of her ass.  that's not true.  i can remember a lot but parts only.  if i try to put her together it doesn't work.  she was something though.  the curve of that ass.  and full lips and lots of perfume.  cheap clingy dresses on her full-figured self.  rock bottom.  that was the name of the store.  depressing little junk store.  went in just to watch her stock shelves.  part of the excitement was that i was barely out of my teens watching this older woman slaving away in this dusty store.  bending over low.  i got a lot of hardons in that store.  once she brushed against me as she walked by.  just her elbow against my arm.  but i remember that day at home, in privacy.  it was my cock pressed into her ass.  it was her hesitation as she passed me and i swore she pressed back.  on my bed naked.  spit on my hands and closed my eyes.  me pressed into her ass.  lots of perfume.

*

woke up horny.  did myself standing in front of the mirror naked.  thought about that woman i saw a few years ago at the opera.  nothing special mostly her voice.  that husky voice in the dark of the theater.  is this seat taken? the word seat and the sound her nylons made brushing together.  i swear i heard it.  it's not an embellishment.  seat and that swishing glide.  but now years later i can convince myself that i heard it first and then remember it.  but did i really hear it? did it happen? how much of my fantasy is fantasy? i came in the sink.  afternoon a fast one just a bunch of images who knows.  maybe before bed i'll pop in a tape.

*

amazing.  i whack off like i breathe.  most of my life.  in and out of a marriage.  only made it better maybe.  nothing to do with love though.  so real.  maybe that's why i feel it like air.  but these bits and pieces are starting to bother me.  early afternoon break at work i snuck away because of the shape of donna's fingers.  long thin fingers with bony knuckles white skin.  i watched them move as she talked and laughed.  i was more aware of her hands than she was.  is there anything wrong with that? even if as i came i imagined my tongue trailing up and down them one by one and then the hand in my mouth.  fetish? i can come without it no fetish.  maybe next time it'll be toes haha.  bits and pieces.

*

today i've been thinking a lot about sadie.  until i met her i didn't understand how similar the urge was for some women.  that was about 5 years ago.  i always imagined i'd meet my future wife at a job or a coffee shop.  future and past wife on the job.  sadie my masturbation partner at a coffee shop.  from the first chatter we slid right into the dark depths but they seemed so bright to me.  klimt you say? steely dan? yes.  or steely dan 2? and then the excitement level pinned the meter and my face became less expressive.  it was easy for me to admit to sadie that i wanted to touch myself there under the lunch counter.  i agreed that no one could see.  nin? i've touched myself to nin.  of course i love the characters the prose.  yes i'm touching you can look.  nick cave? mahler? gawd she got the juices flowing.  we sipped coffee one-handed.  her long skirt rustled and my legs were in constant motion trying to arrange themselves for optimal masturbation.  she never called it anything else.  the word meant sex to me when i knew her.  i had never heard it used with such an arousing lilt before.  sadie read me.  i was no threat.  a soul.  we were at least 6 feet apart from each other at her tiny apartment when we came together later that evening.  the best come of my life.  whenever someone uses the word masturbation these days i'm triggered to run to do it to images of sadie's lips and nose and fleshy tummy and her spread-apart legs and her fingers through dark sparkling wet pussy curls.  mostly i have to run because i remember her attitude.  she loved to jack and jill with me.  there was anticipation and direction and pleasure and loss of each other and many many thanks with eyes and fingers and bare skin afterward.  and love too i'm sure there was love.  but it's all bits and pieces like the word masturbation or a fantasy of fingers or ass or desire.

*

been days.  beat my meat 15 or 20 times since i thought about sadie.  she wasn't there every time.  once it was the slightly stale breath of a woman who leaned too close to me when i gave her directions through the open window of her Sable or Taurus or whatever.  the breath was the trigger.  i pretended i was thinking as one not familiar with the area while i rubbed my crotch on the door of the car.  did she flash me or was it an accident? her skirt rode up as she leaned over to get a pencil from her purse.  it's easy i told her no need to write it down.  her skirt rode above the tightness of her panties.  she admonished herself for being a scatterbrain as i looked.  depressing briefs old and pink and separated from the elastic in a few places at the leg opening.  maybe she grew? i wanted to tell her she was hot.  another older woman lost.  i kept rubbing my cock against her Sable or Taurus or whatever.  she kept fishing for that pencil.  before she turned back to me her fingers found the hem of the skirt and pulled it down an inch or two to barely cover her depressingly-covered ass.  before she settled into the driver's seat once more her eyes found mine.  she said nothing.  i kept talking.  after the car disappeared into the wrong set of directions i ran to a burger joint.  thought of the word masturbation and the tear in the fabric.  some goosebumps on the skin showing through.  her eyes.  most of the other 15 or 20 entries i'm skipping were boring.  everything naked, closeups, body parts.  not like ripped undies or tight lips talking clinical invitations to come together.  not like strangers' bodies close to each other.  just pictures and videos and websites.  pieces of pieces.  money involved.  women for money men paying money someone trying to make money.  women seeing only part of the money men never getting enough me doing strings of quickies on myself unsatisfied.

*

can you say masturbation?

*

i jacked off this morning to my ex-wife.  her legs spreading open while naked she lost herself in sleep and dreams face down on the bed.  one leg swung out as she dreamed.  she never knew i was there.  this was part of my love for her.  i loved her love and her body and her love for me.  expression is funny sometimes.  i dropped my drawers standing there looking for every slight movement.  the fullness of her thighs did it for me.  i was lost once more.  i knelt down at the foot of the bed with my face between her legs a few feet away from her pussy.  i stroked fast and my face inched its way towards her warmth and wetness.  she knew i played with myself - her words - sometimes and knew it sometimes was to images and memories of her.  i told her sometimes.  sometimes happily offering up my memories of pleasure and sometimes in answer to her questioning.  there might have been a quick smile on her false-start brightening face but no real appreciation.  i never did tell her about this time when she slept and i jacked and strained to get closer to her as i knelt.  she never knew that i left that stain on the bedcovers when i finally got close enough to her scent.  she never knew what her little dream gasp did to me.  she would never suspect that now years later i have revisited that scene.

*

maybe i'm not really looking for answers here.  titillation is not a word i like - not like masturbation - but maybe that's all this journal is.  looks like i'm spending haha as much time in the past as i am describing what i'm thinking now and what is happening to me in the present.  and all these parts.  pieces of bodies of relationships heaped into nothing piles.  nothing but memories of pieces.  maybe i obliterate myself in self-defense? titillation is such a weak word.  possession is better.

*

i must have jerked off in front of sadie a hundred times and she joined me nearly every time.  i'm sure that she didn't plan it that way.  maybe it was her way of showing appreciation? nah.  i think she just couldn't help it.  kindred souls and all that.  some private worlds are astounding if you can enter them with a kindred soul.  she tried to maintain.  her idea was to direct me and watch.  we both loved that.  she called me her jackeroff-er delux-er.  maybe she never had someone be as open and honest with her as i was.  when she told me to try to suck myself off i tried.  we laughed together at my failed attempt.  then we wanked together, our naked bodies pressed together and the breath from between our lips mingling.  i told her between gasps as i came that i loved her for masturbating with me.  when she heard the M word pushed from my soul she shuddered and came with her pussy and fingers and her body and voice.  kindred souls.

*

is all of it bits and pieces? if i jack off to memories of love or my few amazing connections with certain women is it just as much incomplete images as would be a flash of ankle or an old pair of panties? is the mutual lust sadie and i shared a whole thing or only part of a thing? do i objectify if i get hot with the memory of love? is it not appropriate to savor the memory of a woman's lust for what i too lusted for? when are we whole?

*

the little girl pulled on her mommy's skirt first down then up.  no panties.  when mommy turned around she saw me seeing her.  the skirt quickly went down and the look she wore which was uncommitted to any emotion flashed a brief change as the fabric dropped.  it wasn't her legs or ass that made me spunk later in my bathroom.  it was that look so fleeting and covered up so quickly.  i did myself three times today to that look.  but it was a morsel compared to the feasts sadie and i shared.  years after i lost track of sadie and had been married for years more i searched for that look in my wife's eyes.  she loved sex but without the exploration and revealing.  she fingered herself for me as i pumped myself for her but it might as well have been gardening we were doing.  as much as i loved her i think i used her presence and now these memories of her more than any bits and pieces of strangers i have accumulated over the years.  really no answers here.  bits and pieces and the beat goes on.

*

my body loves me i'm sure.  i feed it and clothe it and jack it off.  i'm not too romantic with it but then again i haven't been too romantic with anyone.  romance to me is a weak word, like titillation.  maybe i try to pack too much meaning into things like masturbation when the meaning is really the intent of the person or the object or my reaction to unknown and incomplete things.  one thing i have come to grips with over the last few weeks is this parts thing.  tits ass pussy ankles breath panties fingers jacking love lust all parts made from parts of memory image past present people places things.  i'm so lost now.  i wish sadie were here for just one more time together.  maybe she'd finish me off one hand on me one in her.  she did that sometimes.  i remember taking her hand away from my cock sometimes and bringing it up to my chest and letting her stretched fingers weave through my sparse chest hair and press hotly against my trembling skin.  i replaced her with my own hand.  was that because i wanted to invite her fingers to feel me all over? or was it because i preferred my own fingers wrapped around? i love masturbating together she exhaled upon me with her sweet breath.  i came.

*

too busy today to write.  anyway it's easier just to imagine and to remember.  i'm not documenting all of this for anyone but myself anyway.  and the process is so slow and i keep changing my mind about my reflections and the fantasies keep coming at me trying to stop any reflection at all.  all i feel like writing right now is that i did myself 3 times today and wonder if it will ever stop. 2 of the times involved women i didn't even know and one was while remembering a picture of an old girlfriend posing in front of a thick-trunked tree in tight peach hiphuggers worn even lower.  her back was toward the camera and she was looking over her shoulder at it.  the pic was taken before i met her probably by an old boyfriend of hers.  wonder if he has a copy or a memory or if he remembers her at all even her name which was janet.  i still have the little photo but i have my memory too and the colors there are more vivid and the sun comes through the leaves just right and i can imagine the look behind that look because i knew her years later and knew what she liked.  she liked same as me but wasn't as uninhibited as sadie.  maybe that was a part of janet i loved - the desire which was there and which was held back from complete expression.  i never held back.  maybe that was a part of me she loved.  another imagining just like the way the sun came through those leaves in the memory of the picture and the size of that tree she had her hands on.  like i said bits and pieces.  hiphuggers and smiles.  dark glasses all around.  no answers.  here's a question johnny.  what's love? another.  will it ever stop?

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