I can’t sleep. They say masturbation is a sleep-inducer. A stress-reliever. And so I masturbated. But to no avail. Probably those are just myths. On the contrary, it not only awakened the cock, it awakened the hell out of me. Now, I find myself tossing and turning on my bed, in attempt to invoke the slumber that has probably relinquished me. This is bullshit.
Shall I jerk off again? No. Definitely not. It’s just a once in a lifetime phenomenon. Shall I write a poem? Uh, not in the mood. An orgy of thoughts are prowling that my mind cannot contain. The bustle of images creates a phantom beyond my comprehension.
There are two reasons why I usually wake up in the middle of my slumber. One, a some kind of divine entity has descended to herald his(or her) goddamn message, like “pack up dude, the world’s gonna explode tomorrow.” Second, silence is deafening at one to three in the morning, and, believe it or not, those wee hours do make my fantasies come true. And my bed becomes a field of repressed desires (not to mention repressed groans and moans) as enraptured as my pulsating member. Like Britney Spears saddling down my shaft. Yeah, all those fucking bullshit. And it takes me miles to go before I sleep. Miles to go before I sleep…
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