Clumsy Masturbator - w4m

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Miserable

My PSA of the day:

"If you are a girl of questionable motor skills, do not attempt to
masturbate standing up in a bathroom stall. You are apt to hurt yourself. Like...concussion. Like...hemorrhaging. "

I'm ok.

I guess.

I mean, nothing needs to be amputated or anything.

I'm just...I'm simply miserable.

It's like when you were a kid and you got in trouble and you were sent to your room and you had to sit there and look out the window at all the other kids playing in the sun, shoving each other into the grass, screaming like banshees and throwing sticks at each other. That kinda miserable.

I wanna throw sticks too.

But you're not allowed, so you try to do something else to keep your mind off of it. Like give haircuts to your sister's Barbies (she was one of the kids outside screaming like a banshee) or using superglue to hang her favorite posters to the wall (crooked and overlapped, of course) because she's the one who got you in trouble anyway, you didn't think she'd turn you in for putting all your shoes in the dishwasher and running the heavy cycle, but then again, you ate the rest of her chocolate pudding cup when she wasn't looking so maybe you deserved it.

Like that.

That's how I feel. Work. I'm at work. I'm getting paid, yeah, but in all honesty, I should be making overtime. Since this is what it is, technically.

Look at me. It's freezing in here because the new ventilation system they installed is working too well and it's so cold that my feet are going to fall off. And it's so nice outside. Like, surprise Indian Indian Summer in SF. And the kids are outside,running around the city,shoving each other into the pavement,screaming like banshees,throwing sticks at each other.

I wanna throw sticks too.

So, there are no Barbies that need haircuts and there are no posters to superglue and no one to be mad at but myself.

And once you've Googled every single guy whose last name you rember that you slept with, the internet sorta becomes a useless tool.

So you find yourself in the handicap bathroom stall where the toilet seat is so high your feet dangle in the air when you pee.

That's what the rail must be for, you think to yourself.

So you grab the rail and before you know it you've got ideas in your head about how you can pass the time.

Yeah.

Don't do it.

Unless you're secure in your ~~hand-eye~~ hand-clitoris-both-feet-on-the-ground coordination skills.

this is in or around SF

post id: 40290175