Friday Night

It’s Friday night and you’re ready to cut loose. You jack off and blow your little load. You don’t feel a damn thing except a cold, wet spot on your comforter. Transcendent ecstasy haunts your memory but drifts further and further from your grasp. All you’ve got is a cold, wet spot and a video of some pilled-up collection of curves getting gangbanged; a lifeless assortment of pixels shoved together on your iPhone screen, just as cheap and base as your little loads. The synapses in your brain can’t feign excitement anymore, much less satisfaction. If you waited another month to jack your dick it might’ve actually felt like something. Another missed opportunity. Like that time you dropped out of college. Like that girl you should’ve married, but chose to sidestep because her tits looked too droopy and you didn’t wanna spoil your friendship. Like that nice car you totaled. Like that guy you should’ve punched, because any red-blooded man or just God would know damn well that he had it coming. A heaping pile of missed opportunities and they all add up to a cold, wet blemish that you’ve grown quite adept at ignoring. A sprawling expanse of wasted time. You let it slip right through your fingers, grubby little dick-beaters that you stroke up and down a half-limp member until… nothing. You’re nothing but a shameful splotch on another man’s sheets. Soon you’ll dry right up, and not a soul will remember you. But at least you have your Friday nights. On Friday night, you get to stay up late and watch your favorite videos. You don’t have to work until Monday; plenty of time to relax, and to be alone with your thoughts. It’s nice, isn’t it? You’re a lucky man. As you drift into slumber, you’ll have that cold, wet spot to keep you from feeling lonely.