IRC-Galleria

Well, there was the time I started jerking off into a sock to see how long it would take before it could stand up under its own strength. It took just over a year and a month, averaging twice a day. This thing smelled of death incarnate. It smelled of shattered dreams. It was the kind of smell you think of when you think of the phrase "cargo container of dead kittens in Phoenix, AZ, in July." I kept it inside a plastic ziploc, inside another one, under my mattress, and you could still smell it. It got to the point where even I didn't want to bust a nut in it anymore, but in the name of science I persevered until it finally stood tall, stiff, and proud, as a stark and telling statement about my marital status.