As promised: On the lost art of masturbation

Oh self-pleasuring where have you gone?

Perhaps you cannot answer this, or you won’t, but I really must ask, yes I must. Why have you forsaken me, dear masturbation? I remember when you and I were tight. We would see each other 10, 15 even 20 times a day. Of course we were much younger then, and very much in love. You would visit me while I was reading for class, or on the Saturday nights in my dorm room alone, just you and me, a pile of books, chocolate syrup and a few other select objects. At times, all it would take to elicit your obsequious caresses was a mere glimpse of skin or a taut turn of phrase. Where are those days of yore? Now you only come to visit, surreptitiously, when everyone else is asleep. You make me sneak around and hold my breath and stay very still on one side of the bed. Do you really think that this relationship is equitable? I wait for you but you never come, and I never come, it seems that we are no longer in touch with one another and frankly I am a bit jealous, too.

You can’t be bothered to visit with me, you don’t even try to satisfy my fantasies, oh no, but you visit my husband (I can't understand why he isn't happier to see you) on a regular basis, I can sense your hovering presence. What, am I not good enough for you anymore? Do you really think I have better things to do? Do you just prefer men??? So that’s it, isn’t it? Your deep dark secret, you have a predilection for the male gender. Well that’s just great. Who needs you anyway?

Wait, wait, I’m sorry, I _do_ need you after all. No, you are right, something is always better than nothing, and once in a while, even I need a hand. Yes. I don’t think that I can live without you, at least not indefinitely. Hear my pleas, oh masturbation, be kinder and more giving of yourself, share your attentions with me once again or make yourself obsolete, but please, I beg clemency from this cruel limbo in which you have left me: tongue-tied and twisted, your sister in crime.