Chad Kultgen - Men, Women & Children

Contents

chapter

D on Truby thought about Kelly Ripas anus. He thought about what it would look like as he slid his penis into it. This image was all he could focus on in the forty-five minutes he had left of his dwindling lunch break. He took the largest bites he could from a Big Mac as he drove home, averaging ten miles over the speed limit. He felt both anxiety and shame about the frantic level of effort he was willing to exert in order to create a fifteen- or twenty-minute window in which he could masturbate. He allayed these concerns by reminding himself what his doctor told him a few weeks earlier during his annual physical: that, for every year a man lives past fifty, his chance of having some kind of prostate trouble, cancerous or otherwise, increased by 5 percent. And to combat these odds, his doctor added, it was wise to maintain as healthy a prostate as could be managed, which meant employing it in the creation of ejaculate as often as possible. Don was only thirty-seven, but he rationalized that regular masturbation could be considered a form of preventative medicine. This rationalization sustained him through the rest of his drive home.

With roughly thirty-five minutes left in his lunch break, Don entered his house. By then, his mode of excuse had moved from medical prevention to blaming his wife for her lack of willingness to engage in sexual activity with him. They had been married since they were in their early twenties and they had a thirteen-year-old son, Chris. Both of these facts were things that he understood could take a toll on the libido of any average person, man or woman. Nonetheless he couldnt help feeling that, in the past year, something had changed. The frequency of their sexual encounters had dwindled to once every month and a half, and his wife, Rachel, seemed completely uninterested in and unwilling to offer him fellatio or manual release as alternatives to intercourse when she wasnt in the mood, which had become excessively frequent. Don felt that he had no choice but to engage in the only sexual outlet on which he could still rely: semi-regular masturbation.

He entered the bedroom that he and his wife shared, sat down at their computer, and tried to suppress the feeling of self-pity that always seemed to creep up on him at exactly this moment. He reminded himself that because of the schedules of everyone else in the house, these twenty to thirty minutes were the only ones he would have to himself all day, and hence the only ones he could use to satiate his biological need to ejaculate.

The computer, which had been idle on the Windows loading screen for several seconds too long by Dons estimation, reverted to its boot-up screen. Don had seen this before with their previous computer. He knew it meant one of two things: Either the computer was just getting old and overused and it was time for it to be replaced, or more likely, he had browsed one too many pornography websites and accidentally infected it with some kind of virus or adware or spyware that had rendered it inoperative. He decided to power the computer off and give it one more chance to make it out of the load screen into some form of operational status, but when he turned the machine back on, the same thing happened again. He wasnt looking forward to taking the computer to the Best Buy Geek Squad, as he had done once before, but that was the least of his concerns. With twenty minutes left in his lunch break, and no hard copies of pornography anywhere in the house as a result of Rachel having accidentally found his collection some years agoat which point she forced him to destroy it in front of herDon gave a brief thought to masturbating using only his imagination. He hated masturbating without pornography, always finding the orgasm to be less satisfying. But in order to get to the limitless fountain of pornography on the Internet to which he had become so accustomed, he would have to resort to something he had never done. What he was contemplating would far surpass any level of indignity he might have felt for masturbating during his lunch break, or at work (as he had done twice before), or in his car outside his own home, or in virtually any other scenario in which he might have found himself in the service of ejaculating.

He opened the door to his son Chriss room, purging all thoughts of guilt or shame. He knew he would have no time for either of those if he was going to make it back to work before his lunch break was over. He had purchased Chris a laptop the previous Christmas, primarily for schoolwork and video editing. Chris had expressed interest in possibly pursuing a career in television or film postproduction, so when he asked for a video camera and a computer to edit on, Don and Rachel agreed to foster his curiosity. Don thought about these things for a fleeting moment before he opened the laptop and powered it up.

The procedure Don used to reset the Internet browser history on the computer in his and Rachels bedroom had become second nature to him. It was not complex: He simply reset the entire history after each use of the computer for masturbatory purposes. Don knew that Rachel wasnt savvy enough to understand why the browser history had been cleared. Very infrequently he would have to field one of her questions about the mysterious disappearance of a website she saw on Oprah from that little drop down thingy, but a nonchalant I dont know or a sometimes the whole thing just resets so it doesnt get viruses always seemed to satisfy her questioning. He was well aware that this would not be the case with Chris, who knew far more about computers and the Internet than Don himself did.

Before he logged onto BangBus.com, the website he had gotten a separate and secret credit card specifically to pay for six months prior, he planned to look through the browser history of his sons computer and write down each website. He then planned to erase the browser history after using his sons computer for the five to ten minutes he assumed it would take him to reach the point of ejaculation. And, finally, Don Truby planned to type back in all of the websites that were originally in his sons browser history, in the order in which he had written them down. He knew of no technique that would have been more efficient, although there were several.

His sons browser history contained multiple social networking sites, a few music sites, some movie news websites, the Goodrich Junior High School website, and a few others that Don wrote down without giving them much thought. One site, however, was unfamiliar to him and gave no indication of its nature through its name alone: KeezMovies.com. With only a few minutes left to masturbate, Dons curiosity overrode his carnal urges for the brief second that found him navigating to KeezMovies.com instead of just writing it down and opening a browser window to BangBus.com. What he saw filled his mind with thoughts and reactions that were difficult to reconcile.

KeezMovies.com, Don learned, was a website that contained page after page of thumbnail images that represented streaming videos one could access by merely clicking on the thumbnail. The videos ranged in length from a few minutes to well over thirty minutes, and they were all pornographic. The website was free and seemed to offer a much wider variety of pornographic content than BangBus.com. Don was immediately reminded of the time he found his fathers secret stash of pornography. He was roughly the same age his own son was currently: thirteen. He had been in the garage on an innocent errand, recovering a wrench from his fathers toolbox in order to tighten the chain on his bicycle. After several minutes of looking for the wrench in various places that seemed likely, Don found a cardboard box labeled Junk from Old House and opened it. Inside he found a dozen or so Penthouse and Playboy magazines as well as a Super-8 film reel. The film reel was the obsession of his adolescent existence. He had no idea if his parents even owned a Super-8 projector, and beyond that he would have had no idea how to operate such a device even if they did. He would, from time to time, when he became tired of using the same images in the dozen or so magazines, hold the film strip up to the garage light and use the tiny still images as fodder for his early masturbation sessions. He remembered most of them vividly, and certainly the discovery of his sons stash of pornography brought him back to the moment he discovered his own fathers. It was strange.