Prompt Day #358: Ground glass in the gloves.

I don’t know why putting on glass filled gloves made me think of masturbation and then (much like my hapless character) I couldn’t stop. I needed to see how many times I could use a euphemism for it. It’s silly and stupid and in the sophomoric humor center of my brain, it’s also freaking hilarious.


                I have a problem. I am a chronic masturbator. Been doing it since I was a kid. Of course at the time all I understood was that it was the only way I knew to tickle myself that actually worked. Then, as I got older and the plumbing started working, I found a glorious release. All my pent up emotions burst out of me like a roman candle.

Some people cut, some binge and purge, some get high, I jack off. The problem is, it can become an addiction like anything else. When you begin to visualize all your emotions like roiling balls of spunk inside you, you know what you must do. And the brilliance of it is: it works. As soon as that thick pearly essence is running down my fingers, I feel better. I can breathe again. I stop grinding my teeth and most importantly, I can sleep.

I started playing Uno in the car to and from work instead of screaming profanities and flipping the bird. No more road rage. Tug the slug while the game is on and I no longer cared if my team won or lost. It was the answer to everything. Until it wasn’t.

That was the day I got fired for tenderizing the tube steak during a meeting. I just couldn’t listen to those assholes drone on and on about the numbers when they clearly didn’t a shit about fixing the problem. I wanted to shout and yell and tell them to pull their heads out of their asses, instead, my flag pole set itself up front and center. I could almost hear it whispering to me. “You’d feel so much better if you just stirred the batter a bit” and he was right. Those days, he was doing all the thinking for me because I couldn’t trust my angry brain.

I’d learned a while back (when I moved in with my girlfriend) that sometimes you had to be oh so stealthy while abusing the wicked stick. Keep a poker face, no moaning, and no squirming. Just a nice steady pace and be prepared for the end result. It was the last part I had forgotten during the meeting. I was past the point of no return when I realized I hadn’t adequately prepared and in my haste to aim the geyser into the carpet where I could surreptitiously grind it in with my shoe, it gave up prematurely right onto my immediate supervisor’s thigh. She was wearing pantyhose and her skirt had ridden up enough that there was no mistaking the feeling of a hot wad oozing a path down the back of her knee.

She jumped up and screamed. I tried to hide the pointed evidence back into my pants but it was too proud to be tucked away. We spent the night in jail arguing with Henry Longfellow and used our one phone call to beg forgiveness from our girlfriend. She was not amused. She left me too. Being alone only drove me to clear the snorkel more frequently. I was obsessed.

I sat at home every day, dirty, unshaven flogging the log until all it could do was dry heave and I had to use diaper cream for the chaffing. Nothing stopped me. Nothing. And the more I thought about my utter failure as a human, the more I needed to drain the monster. The more I needed to release the pain, shame, and regret. I was going to be kicked out and I had nowhere to go. If I didn’t put a stop to this, I would be going on a very public date with Fisty Palmer because I’d be homeless.

I was shopping for more Desitin when I saw the rubber gloves and I had a crazy idea. I’d been taking down all the mirrors in my house recently, not wanting to see the man that’d I’d become. I’d broken one and cut myself in the clean-up. That night, as I tried to flog the bishop, I kept tearing open the cut and making it bleed. Not to mention it hurt like fuck. So when I saw the gloves, I decided to try a little experiment.

I filled the gloves with smashed glass from every mirror in my house. Then, I put them on and taped them to my wrists. The glass was ground down well and if I moved my hands and fingers slowly and did not press them against anything, it didn’t feel much different than sand. But if I dared to try anything like buffing or polishing the glass worked itself deep under my skin, leaving bloody paths. I simply could not continue my frequent meetings with Mother Thumb and her four daughters. It was ruining me.

I wore the gloves night and day and I paid a hefty price for it. Little by little my self-abuse dwindled and my hands scared and toughened into the tough appendages you see today.

So you see, you ask me what my strengths and weaknesses are and why I feel I would be successful in this position. I have answered it in this single story. And in doing so, proven my ingenuity, my efficiency and creativity. I am dedicated and will sacrifice myself when I put my mind to something. And I am completely cured of my constant monkey spanking.

When do I start and is there overtime pay?