The Masturbational

I woke up with an erection, the sheets tangled around my legs and the faint, grey light of morning filtering through the blinds. My mind was still hazy with the remnants of a dream, but the ache in my groin was sharp and demanding. I didn't even think. My hand slid down my stomach and wrapped around the stiff heat of my cock, the familiar weight of it a comfort in the quiet room. I closed my eyes, trying to chase the ghost of whatever fantasy had brought me to this state, but it was gone. All that was left was the raw, physical need. I began to stroke, slowly at first, then faster, my grip tightening as the pressure built. The only sounds were my own ragged breaths and the soft slap of my fist against my skin. It was a quick, desperate act, a sharp, animalistic release that left me shuddering and gasping into the pillow. And as the waves of pleasure subsided, the shame came rushing in, hot and sharp, because I knew exactly who I'd been thinking about in those final moments.