The Masturbational

Every morning after having my coffee, I go to my room to get ready for work and wank one out while sitting on the toilet. It's a ritual as ingrained as brushing my teeth. The coffee's done its job, waking up my body as well as my mind, and the hard-on is already straining against my boxers. I don't even bother taking them off all the way, just pull my dick through the fly. I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and stare at the tiled floor as I start stroking. It's not about fantasy or prolonged pleasure; it's a purely functional act, a pressure valve. I need to get it out of my system so I can focus on the day ahead, so I'm not walking around with a constant, distracting ache. The whole thing takes maybe three minutes, a few quick, efficient pumps until I'm grunting and spilling into the toilet bowl. I flush, wash my hands, and then I'm ready to face the world. It's my dirty little secret, the one that clears my head and straightens my tie.