What is the point to whacking off? Some temporary relief of an unsatisfied natural urge to spread my seed far and wide. Am I like a monkey unable to control my urges?

Is this precious seed meant to populate the world, with it's abundant superior genealogical attributes?

A woman's womb lusts for this precious resource, it is warmth on warmth, wet on wet.

I grasp the robust tubular, and like a well cultured cucumber  encourage its growth, adoring its vitality as it grows rapidly within my hand.

I dream of circumstance, of faces beyond my hold and like a net bring them near my crotch to bathe my balls in loving caress.

The images pass by, the thoughts uncontrolled, like a movie camera skipping back and forth, trying to find the perfect scene.

I try to focus on the faces and bodies I foolishly unrecognized as opportunities these beauties laid before my eyes.

But now that I grow old, my grip is not as firm,  as I flash back and remember my eyes reflecting her eyes, she squints, she trembles, I release my sperm!