It's sad I know, but I've actually started treating my masturbation to a little romance. After six weeks without intercourse - and many more months coming before any hope of it - I'm rekindling that old love affair with myself that I had in my puberty.
You see, my wife is expecting our first child, a blessing without peer. But her rather delicate condition has forced her into bedrest for the duration of the pregnancy. As you might imagine, this poses challenges great and small, all of which can be handled with aplomb knowing that the payoff is our long-awaited child.
The truth is, I'm spoiled. My wife and I have a good sex life. She really turns me on. And there is no real substitute for good sex.
That said, you should know that not only am I banned from having sex with my wife, but I'm also limited in my ability to masturbate because of her near-permanent location on the futon in the living room. The lone room offering a television and any hope of privacy.
Sure, I could slip into the bathroom and jack off to some mag while pretending to take a shit. But where's the anticipation? The foreplay?
So I bide my time and wait for the rare opportunity when I'm completely alone. It's more than a little like waiting for those special times when no parents or siblings were at home and heavy porn was on the agenda. (Heavy meaning quantity if not quality or depth. Mostly old rags inherited from even older uncles.)
In these moments, I close the blinds, dim the lights, and... be good to myself.