In my mid-twenties I decided that I wanted to sleep naked. I wanted to be “that guy”. A bohemian type. I was single at the time so it was very easy to implement the nudity. Lights off, white ass glowing as I slip into the sheets.
I instantly am aware of my entire body. I’m naked. There is no denying and it’s all that is occupying my brain. My cock is RIGHT THERE. Within 90 seconds I’m molesting myself to completion. Defeated, I slide on my undies and fall deep into the nothingness. Cuming makes me tired which makes me a fucking caricature of the average male. Grab a Budweiser while I’m at it.
The next night I am determined. Square jawed and focused. Sleep naked. No tugging. I lay in bed and this time I force my hands underneath my thighs. Restrict access. Now sleep. Don’t move your hands. But this is an uncomfortable way to sleep so I allow myself to release the right hand. Because left is the mistress, facilitating 100% of my solo projects. But the right hand may be interesting. Different. Different is good. And that was the first time I milked myself with my right hand. Slide on the undies. Sad clown bearing not one ounce of self-control. I ‘m a fucking heathen.
The next night I decide to just masturbate prior to sleep. Fast hands. No love involved. This is a violent act upon my own groin that is being performed for only one reason: jack off so I don’t want to jack off. Too fast and it feels like a half assed sneeze. Wipe up and to bed.
Laying there naked I feel meaningless. Why nude? What’s the purpose? Who am I fooling? I’m not “that guy”. I only want my penis available if it is to be used. This I realize as I lay there, grabbing my pecker for another go. That was the last night I tried to sleep nude and it was also the night I realized I was a chronic masturbator.