This applies evenly to any sex, but the reaction may be different. If a dude catches his girlfriend masturbating, he'll probably just want to help out, and I like to think enough ladies would feel the same about their partners to make the world a wonderful place of mutual wankery where we're all not quite holding hands, but we're holding something and gently twisting just so. But the time may come when you mention to your partner or they mention to you that you jerked the goody gobbler and they look at you like you just admitted to embezzling funds from their grandparents before having them shipped in a freight container to a Southeast Asian village known for dog fights and eating useless, old relatives. Why would you do that? Where was I? And what the hell were you thinking about?

Even if you're just an easygoing hornball dude who's cool with everything, if your girlfriend mentions she got off earlier, your first reaction is probably going to be, "Why the hell did I get benched for that game?" Because, at some point in a relationship, we take ownership of that other person's orgasms. Those orgasms are our orgasms, and we want to be there when they show up. It's not right, no one owes you an orgasm, but you're still likely going to think that way. You could be banging the whole neighborhood at the annual Yom Kippur orgy, but your partner will still want to be in the room to witness it because that's what conscious coupling is all about -- watching each other extrude fluids while smiling blissfully. An unseen orgasm is like Bigfoot. It's mysterious and makes us feel weird. Most of us don't even want to entertain the idea that's it's real, because that's silly.

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"Why are the sheets wet? Did the cat pee in the bed again? But wait; we don't have a cat ...
or do we?"

You should broach this subject early in a relationship. Mention that sometimes, in the shower, or while watching Golden Girls, you like to rub one out. Or four, one for each Golden oldie. That last one is for Bea Arthur, because it's the hardest but most rewarding. It in no way reflects on your attraction to the other person or your desire to ride them like a show pony; it's just that sometimes you're sitting there, you're kind of bored, and next thing you know you're whacking like a coked-out monkey. It's nothing personal.

Once you're both on the same page with this, you should be fine. But you need to get there first. Don't ask why; it's just the way we understand the commerce of orgasms in a relationship.

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"So, thanks to contributors from across the spectrum, gross revenue is way up. If you know what I mean."

As an addendum: If your partner reacts negatively, possibly even forbidding you from masturbating, there's an old saying I learned that can help your partner get some perspective and maybe see things your way. It's, "Fuck you." Say that to anyone who tells you what you can and can't do with your own body, no matter who they are or who you are. If there's one damn thing you have a right to fiddle with in this life, it's yourself. Don't ever tolerate anyone telling you differently.

The worst part about living with someone who hangs their toilet paper the opposite way you do is realizing it doesn't make a difference. It's completely meaningless. And yet you will always hang it one way and they will always hang it the other way and it will always annoy you. For no reason. Because it's meaningless.

The worst kind of arguments are the ones where no one can win because who the fuck cares? This is the prime example of such a thing. Does your toilet paper work better when hung a certain way? My ass says no. It's been satisfied with the wipe borne from either style of hang. In fact, I once used a bidet and it was like the Heavens themselves were sanitizing my backside, so toilet paper is a loser no matter which way it's hung. A squirt in the back door is where it's at.

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Remember: Always say, "Yes way!" to the bidet.

Why do you care how your paper is hung? It's just a habit. It's almost an OCD sort of thing, just a quirk that you've grown used to and are protective over, and when someone comes in and does it differently, your panties immediately get into a bunch. And no matter what you say, it won't matter, because they're going to hang it their way whenever they get the chance.

This is one of those funny arguments that both sides are sure shouldn't even be argued because they're positive there's only one side to the story, so no argument can actually take place. It'd be like arguing about the color of the sky. If someone is against blue, clearly they're medicated or a Trump supporter and are not to be trusted.

Here's the gist of this argument in a nutshell. Some of us, when it comes to cleaning out the backyard, are wont to perhaps sluice the ol' fudge cutter with an entire bar of Zest, because, and this is key to understanding why it's a non-argument to begin with, it's soap. By definition it is clean. So if you put soap in your ass, it's still technically clean. Rub that soap all up in your ass. All you need to do afterward is rinse it and it's as good as new. It's soap!

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"This has touched my butt, and you need to accept that."

On the flip side of this coin are people who feel like soap shouldn't be up my ass. Now, to clarify, I'm not saying it breaches the airlock or anything; it's just water-skiing along the crack a few times. And I feel that's fair. I wash my balls with the soap -- why not my ass? You have no idea what my balls run afoul of in a day; it's just preposterous. But these other people are of a mind that you should apparently lather your hand or something? I don't know. I could do that, but it's like buying a mattress from a department store when the warehouse down the street is having a sale. Cut out that middleman, go to the source, and let your ass shine the way it did when the world was new.

You'll never convince an assless soaper that what you're doing is in any way proper and, in fact, you'll convince them to not use that soap again. And that's fucking rude. Because I don't know how close you are with your significant other, but when I'm comfortable enough to live with someone, I put my mouth all up on their ne-ne and assorted other bits, bobs, and ballast tanks. I know that's not everyone's cup of tea, but I'm in there like a Syrian refugee trying to find safe passage to the promised land, and I'll wade through anything to get it. So when you decide my soap, which is by default clean, is somehow gross just because it was in and around my ass a few times, I'm offended.

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My soap is clean, unlike your filthy biases.

I'm going to share with you a glimpse into my worldview right now, and the words I choose are going to be very specific and marginally off-putting. Know that I am totally comfortable and at peace with all of this. Let's begin. I look at my mouth as an extension of my asshole. In effect, I do the same to you. Your mouth and your ass are the south and north poles of your insides. Human Centipede kind of summed it up in a pretty simple way. Don't think of this as gross or anything like that; it's just biology. Buildings have entrances and exits. Cars have fuel tanks and exhaust pipes. You have a mouth and an ass.

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So does this elephant. Here's an elephant butt, you guys.

Under the right conditions, a mouth and an ass are both exceptional and fun. If you spritz them both and make sure they're mostly hygienic, I'll totally play with them, provided we're at that point in our friendship. But just as you demand clean butt, so too must you demand clean mouth. This is generally accepted, right? You don't want to make out with someone who doesn't brush their teeth and has some kind of tuna and ball breath. You want that person to brush their teeth just like you too would brush your teeth in anticipation of tongue sports. I hope we're all on the same page here.

Would you ever use someone else's toilet paper after them? No. No you goddamn well would not. So why does anyone, anywhere, use someone else's toothbrush? The toothbrush is the Mirror Universe version of toilet paper. You stick it in your dirty hole and mush it around to remove stank and sludge. That's exactly what you do with toilet paper in your butt. All up in your dirty butt!

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"For now."

Sharing toothbrushes is, for lack of a better term, an abomination. However, there's a chance you're going to one day come across a person who feels they're OK with sharing toothbrushes, and they'll use the bullshit reason that you kiss each other/lick each other/tongue spelunk each other as justification. Which, as I have just shown, is fallacious! You do those things only when the holes are clean, man! Otherwise it's offensive and terrible.

And lest you try to wield my own logic against me with my soap example by saying the toothbrush is the thing that makes your mouth clean, so it's safe to use: First, stop trying to be clever. And second, have you ever looked at the average toothbrush? With the crusty dried toothpaste bits in the bristles, down the handle, all that? The toothbrush does not equal mouth soap. That's toothpaste, friend. The toothbrush is the equivalent of a washcloth you put in your ass. And sure, you could, but it's going to be put away with a soapy shit smear on it, and don't try to pretend otherwise.

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"This never has and never will touch my mouth, because I'm not history's greatest monster."

Confirm with your special friend if necessary that there should never be occasion for either of you to use the other's toothbrush. You can buy a new one for like a buck. Dentists just give them away; there's not a lot of good reason to not have your own.

Sometimes relationships are about the direction of the toilet paper. Sometimes they are just about getting away from each other completely. See how to save your relationship in The 5 Least Romantic Keys To A Happy Relationship, and find out what not to do in 7 Psychotic Pieces Of Relationship Advice From Cosmo.

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