I, Onanist

I recently got myself one of those personal electronic stimulators. It straps onto my genitals and courses electronic joy into my flesh, driving me to mind-crashing orgasm. The best part is that I can wear it under my clothes and with a simple flip of a switch, get down to business anywhere I want. Mostly, this means the clubs. Just gazing at those angels, with the smell of thrift store leather, I can cum again and again and no one knows. When a certain bartender is forced to reach for a top shelf bottle, their shirt rides up, and, oh yeah, there it is, the soft white underbelly, oh yeah, that's it, uh huh, you know what I like. The other night I had a close call when someone noticed the wires leading down into my jeans, not to mention the awkward way I sit on my stool. So if you see me across the bar with a glazed-over smile, give us a wink, sweets--you have no idea the filthy shit we're doing together in my head.