I’m at my desk, watching porn, jacking off, while my boyfriend reads in bed. Well, he reads for about 5 minutes — then he emerges to tell me that he is going to jack off, too. His announcement is not unusual, but his masturbating at night is.
Afterward, we converge in the bathroom. I pee; he washes his Fleshlight.
It’s been a year since he acquired that Fleshlight. “Don’t you need a new one of those?” I ask while flipping through the new Rolling Stone.
There are so many out there! So many orifices! So many freaky innards! Crazy transparent materials! “For a cooler texture,” I say succinctly, as this is not my first time trying to convince him to try more.
He lays out some toilet paper and gingerly places the wet Fleshlight sleeve on it. “Nope. I like this one. It gets the job done.”
I’m over here with hundreds of sex toys, always on the hunt for the latest awesome thing, but he sticks with the same one toy for a year, because it gets the job done. That applies to several things in his life: low-end shampoo, mangy sandals, a cheap espresso machine.
But I know, also, that a lot of sleeves have failed him, and that when he says the Fleshlight “gets the job done,” he is actually complimenting it. He was never very excited to try masturbation sleeves in the first place, and it was a while before he found one that he even wanted to use after the trial period. To have discovered something that usurps the almighty hand — and continues to do so after a year — is a feat indeed.
I laughed, though, when I asked him why he had to suddenly jack off, mid-reading.
“I just saw my Fleshlight sitting there.”