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Such a sense of tragedy pervades in my life. No major tragedies as such. People who shouldn't have died have done so, but not often, and not with such catastrophe to me. However, all the same this sense sits over me, a drizzle if you like. I just truly believe that at the moment of dying I'll have an all too late epiphany, a dire realisation that I misunderstood so much. So, I do things to wipe it away. I indulge in the mundane - serial television watching, surfing the internet for the least interesting bilge I can - clips of teenagers I'll never meet being stupid on small video clips, biographies of people's cats. There are more, many more, but there is one thing I do which transcends all these - which switches all the gloom off, cranks up all the lights to make everthing colourless - this one is fucking.
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No matter how large you write the word death, if you plaster it across the sky in coloured plumes shooting from the smoky tail end of planes. Or, you can go for the reverse, write microscopically, fold the paper, tuck under your thickest carpet. You can do these things, but from the corner of your eye you'll see the sky-daubed word sprawling in. Your nose will ultimately turn to the stench of that falsely hidden scrap of paper in the corner. Only one thing truly releases - blinds, thwarts all the senses. That one thing is fucking, is coming, orgasm, ejaculation - to be honest the words themselves becomes purposeless because the sensation, so fierce and strong that it is, has stamped on that too.
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That accursed, relieving moment of orgasm when blood ripples and chugs its engines up and down my cock like a flooding, skull-rattling helter skelter. That moment when it all disappears - the canvas of messy colours; mortgages, career prospects, prostate cancer worries, kid's education, paying the rent, etc all pale and vanish under the catastrophic, blinding light of coming, of semen spearing from my bell end.
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I've never recreated the hard-on that took my penis hostage that day. I think we'd just walked past a ineptly stuffed pygmy hippo or something and it just flew in there. I had my usual, socially necessary flaccid cock curled in my underwear and suddenly, without any growing arousal I had a pulsing piece of steel in there, threatening to tear the denim. I bent down to gain as much inconspicuousness as quickly as possible. Even the fluffed baby penguin gawping at me with it's idiot button eyes didn't take the slightest edge off it. My cock was so hard even the skin felt immovably tight, like a flesh-coloured tattoo on a rock.
My girlfriend came over.
'Are you okay?'
'Jesus! Come here.' I took her hand and placed it. 'Feel this. It just appeared suddenly. Very suddenly.'
'Wow. Maybe we should go somewhere and do something about it?' She smiled.
'Oh yes, I'd love to. I'm raging here!'
'Let's go.'
She strode ahead with her hand linked to mine, us walking as if in some ancient summer dance, and me with my jumper drooped over my bursting cock, hoping no one would notice.
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I will get Fucking in the toilets of the Zoological Museum - part 3 to you all much, much sooner. Or I shall finally let this place rot. And, that's not pitying, just the truth.
