When reading fan fiction, insane, awkward sex is seen as something that is inevitable, so much so that it's disappointing when the pages don't erupt in a flurry of passion and Sonic The Hedgehog. Optimus Prime never laid the girl who's described in Train's "Meet Virginia"? What kind of Puritan scroll is this garbage? If you were looking for descriptions of sex that defy universes in my "Golden Age" work, you'd be underwhelmed. There are a few, but they read like I put my fingers on the keyboard and turned my face from the computer, typing with my eyes closed just so I could get it out of the way. In their stead, I included many scenes of an act that I had some sort of reference for. I didn't know the full A to Z of sex, but I did know H. Handjobs were the No. 1 business on my side of town, and buddy, business was a-jerkin'.
Let's say that you and the special woman in your life finally got some alone time. You've piloted the Millennium Falcon to a frequently misspelled planet and things are getting pretty hot. You've said one cliche line of dialogue, so the mood's been set. The droids are beep-boopin' in the other room, and you know that tonight is the night where you finally seal the deal. And how do you seal it? By receiving a handjob that will blow your damn mind. Every male character reacted to a handjob in my stories like he was the recipient of a lottery-winning handjob, and they reacted constantly. The fan-fiction forecast says that if there's no stroking dick by Chapter 2, we're experiencing a drought. A handjob was the ultimate sign of love and trust, and to leave the room without getting one was a sign of doom, like an old cop telling Steven Seagal that he's going to retire in a few days.
"It's nothing but fishing and handjobs for me from now on, Steven Seagal's Character's Name."
For a lot of my friends, puberty had descended like a flash mob at that point. For me, it was like a party that a ton of people were invited to but only three arrived. As we changed into gym attire in the locker room, my sixth-grade class mainly chatted about sperm jokes, girls, and how willing they'd be to kick the ass of anyone who questioned their ultimate non-gayness. In the meantime, I ashamedly stood beside my corner locker with my back to the room, hoping that no one would notice my underdeveloped chest. Not growing at the same rate as the other guys my age made me nervous, and writing handjob scenes sort of helped me cope with it.
Awww. Redemptive handjobs.
Like the one Bill Murray's FDR got while coming to terms with his illness, except
in my version he got it from Captain Janeway.