*“Just one more month and I’m free,” I thought to myself.*
It was a few years ago and I was counting down the days until I could leave my extremely toxic workplace. I was stressed and not bothering to go above and beyond during my notice period, I was left with a lot of free time after official working hours.
Which led me to play with myself. A lot.
I masturbated almost daily, viewing sexual relief as a way to reduce stress relating to job hunting and the uncertainty of my future. These sessions took place in the dead of night, my legs spread wide apart as I furiously rubbed myself to achieve sexual pleasure.
I played with myself for seemingly hours, only pausing to adjust my legs before continuing. I relished in reading erotica, exposing myself to the vast selection of kinks and fetishes out there. My poor clit begged for relief every night and I strived to make myself orgasm every time.
Until a few weeks later, I felt a soreness in my right hand. It ached whenever I had to write and it hurt especially when I tried pleasuring myself. Puzzled, I went to see a doctor.
*”You seem to have strained a muscle in your right hand. Have you been exerting yourself? Perhaps doing strenuous lifting with just one hand, or even having an overly tight grip on your pen or computer mouse?”*
***”Oh, if only you knew, doctor.”*** I thought to myself.
I rarely listen to instructions, but I heeded the good doctor’s advice and laid off pleasuring myself for weeks. I didn’t want to risk developing carpal tunnel just because I had developed a fondness for self-stimulation.
Which was why I went online and bought a new vibrator once I ended employment at my former workplace. It was a lovely gift to myself and an enjoyable way to pass an afternoon while being funemployed. Was it a productive way to spend the days? You be the judge ;)
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/t4b83b/idle_hands_are_the_devils_workshop_but_my_hands
A few years ago, I worked at a large US tech company with a guy who started experiencing pain in his testicles. He went to the doctor, as one does. (Relevant point: homeboy was not all that socially aware, either.)
The doctor asked him if he was sexually active. He admitted that, no, he was between relationships at the moment.
The doc asked him if he’d been masturbating.
“Yeah,” he sheepishly said.
“I can tell,” said the doc. “You have what looks like some light bruising in the area around both the top of your penis and the bottom of your scrotum.”
“Well,” the guy said. “I do get after it!”
After he told us this story one night at the bar, “I do get after it” became our team tag line, and to this day I can make my former teammates fold in half laughing by dropping it into conversation.