Overature. Candlelight.

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: To come.

I chose a path this weekend. It was violent, headstrong and colorful. Palms, shallow breath, silence all lead to the path of fruit. The path of beautiful renaissance.

The path to masturbatory elegance.

I awoke Friday from a month of self-serving silence. A month of misunderstanding and abstained restraint. At face value, the fact that I committed this Catholic sin may seem a bit superfluous. But in fact, it was a key behind-the-scenes player in last month’s mission. You see, I was experiencing a challenge within a challenge. A deprivation within a decadence. I would not masturbate until Mission #2 was over. And for the record, I didn’t.

What was the impetus? Well, about two weeks into the challenge I realized I hadn’t masturbated since I began this mission. Hmmm, I’m not a Madison chronic masturbator, but two weeks is a long time for me to be away from my one-man vacation. So, instead of just bee lining for the Crabtree & Evelyn, I wondered if there was a force greater than my Maxim not arriving that would subconsciously send me to this divested retreat. Nothing came to mind. But as I opened the bottle and let the brilliant wafts of lavender take over the room, I paused once again. There was a reason for this. I needed to wait.

So I slept on it, the sock close by, should I attain a suitable midnight resolution. The next morning, understanding arrived.

As much as I was only holding myself to a gay lifestyle in the challenge, masturbating to a woman seemed contrary to my cause. I already said no sex with a lady, and thought this was fell into the same logical cadence. Worse off, I rationalized that if I did masturbate, to be true to my mission, I would have to masturbate to a guy. That could cause permanent scarring to my already delible state-of-mind.

The lines got less distinct the more I tried to convince myself about lifestyle vs. sex. Masturbation, in my head, fell firmly in-between. It was the Gaza strip of pleasure, and it would have to stay unoccupied by my hand until I figured this whole thing out. At that point, it seemed like more of a hassle than anything.

I never really talked about it because it was not integral to my understanding. And, I could see that denial eclipsing the overall message of the mission. This was not a Seinfeld episode, and I didn’t want to treat it as such. Looking back, it seemed a bit overboard. But, I was already halfway there when I raised the yellow flag and figured it couldn’t hurt. Besides, I could save on linens.

And when the night of nights arrived, it was worth the wait. No awkward build-up, no performance anxiety. It was just me and an old friend in a familiar scene. It was basic and wholesome. The seed of my loin was once again a familiar sight. My back ached with satisfaction. I knew every part by heart.

And as I lay there, discovering my ceiling’s subtle imperfections, I sadly realized that this would probably be the highlight of my weekend. But one I would have to keep to myself. I couldn’t really see me answering “Amazing time masturbating,” to “How was your weekend, Rob?” But then again, I’ve done a lot of things I probably never imagined. And more are yet to come.

On with the show.