When I’m at work, I sit in the break room every lunchtime and think about how much I’d like to go home and wank. It’s not my only thought – usually I’m thinking about how unsatisfying the work lunches are (but they are free, and that’s what matters) or shooting the breeze with my colleagues. Today, I spent most of the time astounded that one of my workmates had never heard of Waltzing Matilda.

But most of the time I’m just unspeakably horny, which isn’t helped by the fact that I’m scrolling through Twitter or catching up on the blog posts I’m missing. It’s the only time I check my ‘phone during the day.

And so I think to myself, I want to go home and pleasure myself. In the moment that is all I want to do. Perhaps I’ll have a particular scenario in mind – is there a porn scene I want to revisit? Is there something I want to read or remember to help me get to where I need to go? Maybe there’s a fantasy writing itself for me. Or perhaps, like today, I’m remembering the warm splash feeling of a vagina contracting around my shaft.

I want to go home and pleasure myself.

On the bus on the way home, when I have my head down pretending to sleep, I have other thoughts.

Princess from Battle of the Planets looking particularly hot right now.
I mean, yeah, I may be horny, but I’m still not going to wank to Princess, no matter how bad-ass she is.

I no longer wish to go home and wank. Now I want to go home, eat a chocolate chip cookie and watch Battle of the Planets. In fact, I realise, I have hot chocolate available now, and maybe I can have hot chocolate and a cookie and Battle of the Planets and nobody can begrudge me for any of that.

[Short interlude while ILB actually goes to make himself a hot chocolate. Here’s some hold music.]

When I get home I find my girlfriend half-asleep on the sofa watching The A-Team, so I watch some of that instead. I muster up what remains of my energy to make something for dinner. It involves pasta and vegetarian bacon and grated cheese. Very simple; an idiot could make it. I’m an idiot, so I make it. They are very grateful. I watch more of The A-Team while they decide, at some length, that they would be happier in bed.

Then I watch Battle of the Planets with some pistachio nuts.

I have long since made the decision that I’m not horny any more. It has faded, I tell myself. My horn has faded and it won’t be coming back.

The executive decision is made to take my clothes off after I turn off the TV. I’m not sleepy – although the hot chocolate now is making me so! – but I need to wash what I’ve been wearing, and it’s easier to do that if the clothes are in the washing machine.

I take my clothes off, put them in the machine, and then return to the living room.

Naked.

And I’m not not horny any more.