Ian Fortey
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I work on the internet, so you can safely assume that every word you've ever read that I wrote here, or on Twitter, or on my personal blog "Things I Plan to Burn," was written while I was knuckle-deep in furious masturbation. Don't act surprised. But did you know that masturbation is a huge, turgid part of the working world around you too? I know, pop that monocle! Turns out lots of people are trying to corral the tadpole while on the job. 39 percent of people admit to tweaking the ham nubbin at work, according to one survey, and that simple statistic is only the beginning. So come (so to speak) and learn what's happening around you.
There's a 60 percent chance that your favorite film with Twilight in the title which also stars Robert Pattinson is one of the Twilight movies. And Pattinson's star has just continued to rise, thanks to him also acting in pieces of cinematic not-diarrhea. In 2008, he was able to thrust himself balls-deep into the role of Salvador Dali in the film Little Ashes. You've no doubt watched and rewatched it, because who wouldn't want to see a sparkle-pire with a Dali mustache choke-slam Mr. Cyclops for a few minutes whilst sipping a Pepsi and contemplating their life choices?
According to Pattinson, the movie required a lot of nude scenes, which may shed some light on why Dali painted so many floppy, wilty clocks and whatnot. One of said scenes also required Dali to tubthump his chumbawumba, and being the consummate professional he is, Pattinson opted to do his own stunt work. You or I would have surely let Andy Serkis don a motion caption suit and fill in for Dali's dong, but hey, this is Robert Pattinson. Dude gets the goddamn job done.
The experience was so moving for Pattinson that it made him quit acting for a while, since his O-face had been permanently set to film. And why didn't he opt to just not do it for real? Because "it just doesn't work" -- with "it" being flogging the boglin, since it's hard to pretend to have a handful of chubmeat without actually having a handful of chubmeat. Hollywood is where dreams come true.
Obviously we've all taken a moment at work to think "Why are my genitals not out right now?" That's human nature. But have you ever dared to dream of a job for which whipping out your giblets and setting them all a-twitter with various googahs and crotch-related bric-a-brac was actually what you got paid for? Dare to dream no more, my throbulous readers, for the future is now! And it's damp!
LoveWoo, a company obviously named by a European who's under the impression that "woo" in any way lends itself to sex and not half of a Homer Simpson impression, requires a sex toy jockey to try out their wares on a full-time basis. The position (heh) pays about 36,000 U.S. dollars a year, and includes health benefits (because you're going to get a repetitive stress injury and we all know it).
The job has a good deal of other perks, including holiday leave, birthdays off, two days a week you can work from home, and also your entire job consists of inserting things into yourself or inserting yourself into things. Five days a week. For actual money. I dare anyone to last a month without constantly being haunted by the vague scent of pan-fried ham.
They say you should do what you love, and they also say that you should love yourself, and yet other people say "I wonder if this fits in here," and it looks like all three of those people were the same person in this instance. Maybe that means this crazy world of ours still has a little magic left in it.
Mark Sergeant, senior psychology lecturer at Nottingham Trent University and not technically a doctor, has said that a workplace masturbation break would be a very effective way to relieve stress at work. This is something which I figure anyone jacking off in a back alley over a stained Teddy Ruxpin could have told you, but I guess the "lecturer" title gives this guy's opinions a bit more weight.
Why do you care what a senior psychology lecturer has to say about shadow boxing the Pumpkin King? Maybe you don't, but some writers at Metro, after hearing from Mr. Sergeant, decided to put his good ideas to the test by masturbating at work for an entire week. For this premise to work, you have to now get it into your head that these people are not the kind of people who were already masturbating at work all the time, which would be the 39 percent I mentioned in the intro. And what are the odds that anyone writing an entire article about masturbating at work would have done it previously? Probably not worth thinking about.
And so, two writers opted to burp the beluga on company time every day for a week. As an added bonus, they were both British, so the article is full of charming British slang, such as referring to the workplace bathrooms in which they whack it as "bogs." God, that's adorable.
Feel free to read the article to experience the trials and tribulations of two Brits putting extra bangers in their mash. But trust me when I say that if you're expecting anything other than a fairly brisk rundown of the less-than-arousing places and scenarios that surround journalistic jerky-juggling, like an awesome revelation about how a once-a-day crotch creeping turns you into a hyper-efficient workplace sexborg, you're going to be very disappointed.
I imagine that for a handful of people, masturbation is an important part of their day. Like breakfast or not being set on fire, they rely on it to give them the fuel they need to be productive members of society. I want you to think about that every single time you shake someone's hand at work from now on. And then think of Ana Catarina Bezarra, an accountant in Brazil whose chemical imbalance causes her massive anxiety as well as hypersexuality. The only way she's been able to manage her condition is, you guessed it, yoga and herbal tea. Ha ha! I'm just playin' y'all. She masturbates. A whole lot! She was up to 47 times a day when she realized shit was not necessarily kosher and sought medical help. Now, with medication, she's mostly able to keep her shit together, but still needs to masturbate a few times a day.
Now, punching the Munchkin a few times a day is probably manageable for most of us, but since Ana needs to do it whenever the need arises, she had to sue her employer for the right to do it in the workplace, and she fucking won. Now she's fully authorized to look at porn on her computer and tickle the Sarlacc during work hours, presumably after drawing a curtain across the entrance to her cubicle.
Is it possible that you have the legal right to masturbate at work? There's only one way to find out. Well, there are presumably dozens of ways to start finding out, but they tend to all lead down the same road to your boss either saying "Keep up the good work" or "For cryin' out loud, Brody, everyone uses that water cooler!"
But seriously, don't try masturbating at work. You're going to get fired.
They say those who can, do, and those who can't, teach. They also never anticipated a masturbation class when they said that, because it's some kind of bizarre logic landmine that blows up in a moist cloud of awkward feelings when you try to consider what that even means. So don't! Instead, know that there are actual masturbation classes out there, and not just the ones that reactionary douches on conservative news channels talk about when they find out second-graders get sex ed before saying things like "Our public schools are teaching eight-year-olds how to masturbate! And next up, ARE YOUR CATS SOCIALISTS?" These are honest-to-goodness classes in which ladies go to learn from another super friendly lady how to invest in personal pork bellies.
Not being much of a lady myself, and even less of a woman, I'm not 100 percent familiar with the logistics of female masturbation. I know where you go and how you get there, but it's a little trickier than it is for a man. Think of male masturbation like draft beer and female masturbation like a mojito. You just pull the tap for the beer and angle the glass right to cut down on the foam, but you have to muddle that damn mint for a while to get a proper mojito.
The classes are called workshops, because you're working that ham wallet like a stevedore working the docks, and they're group events led by one lady whom I assume is often described as a "free spirit," because she's leading a group masturbation workshop, and that's not something for the faint of heart or groin. Whilst researching this entry, I discovered the tale of a lady in her 80s who teaches one of these workshops. After she'd been to some swingers parties in the '70s, she noticed none of the women were having real orgasms, and consequently became the ultimate sexual humanitarian. Good for her.
A workshop consists of five grueling hours, the final hour of which I assume involves squatting in a washtub of ice and weeping a little. The rest of the time is literally complimenting the vagina of every woman in the class, going to town on yourself, and then a group massage. If I'm being honest, that sounds fantastic, but that's mainly because it's a room full of women. If the roles were reversed, I'd feel quite unhappy having several winded, sweaty men massaging me after they masturbated right next to me, but maybe I'm just not ready to enroll in this school.
You can watch Ian engage in everyday depravity on Twitter, and read his short fiction on his Tumblr page!
One place you definitely hope there's no workplace masturbation happening is Cinnabon. Try not to think about it too much as you enjoy this cinnamony goodness.
For more, check out The 4 Best Ways To Jerk Off (According To Science) and 6 Bizarre Ways to Stop Yourself From Masturbating.
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Not like this Hollywood. Not like this.
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