Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Thursday
Mar022006

In Which Monica Develops A Horror Of Masturbatus Interruptus

Listen, I'm totally cool with masturbation. We all do it at least as often as we change sheets (for obvious reasons) or as regularly as we brush our teeth, as the case may be. I know this. We even do it together. You watch me and I'll watch you! Look! Aren't we adventurous? Not so much.. That's standard fare, ain't it? You watch me I'll watch you WITH SOMEBODY ELSE slips and slides it's lubricated way onto what I'd term "kinky" territory..

Of course I know The Surge plays the ol' whorepipe when I ain't around. Hell, I know he probably has a jam session or two when I'm on the premises. It's not something I make my business.. And here's the kicker - I have a horror of catching the fellow in the act.. I think I developed my complex whilst dating the news reporter in Salt Lake City.. Sure the sex was fun... "Put your finger there.. What about here? Do you like that? Wanna try this? Let me just strap myself into this leather swing..." etc... So I knew he was well acquainted with his body.. Had seen him work his goodtimes like a professional penis player with an eye toward Olympic stardom.. But I never gave much thought to what he did when I wasn't around.. or as it turned out - even when I was around.. in the next room.

That Thursday dawned like any other morning. With the exception that we were excercising. That certainly wasn't like every other Thursday. We'd gone for a quick jog in the misty mountains surrounding Salt Lake City... Taking a half hearted stab at this bright-eyed, bushy-tailed lifestyle we'd heard friends speak of in glowing terms. As pulling the mattress in front of the television and spending the weekend alternately stoned, eating chinese takeout and fucking - sometimes all three simultaneously - was our idea of good living, this healthy busines was uncharted territory in our relationship..

In order to keep up healthy appearances one must move ones limbs vigorously upon waking.. I know, I was as surprised as you are. This involves putting on gym shoes and moving said limbs up a nearby mountain trail. I was immediately suspicious of this "healthy" I'd heard talk of when I realized it involved the vigorous moving of limbs in cold weather when I could be home tucked under my comforter, not moving a thing save for a hand when my ass needed scratching..

Nevertheless, that crisp Thursday morn found me gasping for breath on a mountain trail in the canyon that ran directly behind the apartment in which Casey and I had made our home.. It being November, high up in the Rockies - it was rather chilly out. Each dramatic gasp for breath made painfully obvious by the giant puffs of air fuming dragon-like from my gaping mouth.

We finished up our "jog" - both of us not so much breathing heavily as choking for air, clutching each other to remain upright by the end of our attempts at healthful living.
"I could go for a plate of waffles floating in an obscene amount of butter and syrup right about now." Casey panted noisily.
"Mmmmmm... Waffles (GASP!) Butter (GASP!) Syrup (GASP!) Oh my."
"Well, we can, you know.. We just burned off, like, a zillion calories. Right?"
"Yeah! We CAN eat waffles! We burned calories, now we'll eat 'em back.. It will put us at even. Like we didn't work out. But that's much better then eating waffles and NOT working out."
"Maybe there is something to this healthy living after all."

We herded through our front door like pigs at slop time..
"Put chocolate chips in the waffle batter!"
"Fantastic idea! Hey! It's freezing in here. Did you leave the window open?" I shouted as I slammed it shut.
"Sorry! Was trying to air out the kitchen from the burned microwave popcorn incident."
"Oh." I hung my head in shame at the reminder of my failure to properly monitor the microwave while zapping the LAST bag of popcorn in the house. Had nearly ruined movie rental night.
"You get the batter started, I'm gonna take a quick shower." Casey tossed over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway.

I pulled out the Bisquick and tried to dislodge a mixing bowl from the puzzle of bowls stacked precariously under the counter.. My teeth were chattering and my hands were shaking so hard I dropped the bowls all over the floor.
"Shit, it's cold in here." In the distance, I could hear the shower running and envisioned the warm bathroom, a steamy oasis in our ice cold apartment. Maybe I'll just crank the thermostat and surprise Casey in the shower.. by the time we're finished - the house'll be warm again.

So that's what I did. Or tried to do anyway. I got the thermostat cranked all right. Then pattered down the hall toward the bathroom, pulling my clothes off on the way. I inched open the bathroom door, tiptoed across the glistening white tiles and yanked open the shower curtain.
"Surpri-----"

Oh it was a surprise all right. For me. There he was, legs splayed, one hand against the shower wall like he was a criminal being frisked by the cops, other hand cranking his business harder than Helen Keller working the water pump, learning the word water for the very first time. Oh dear reader, but that wasn't all... He was.. He was - finishing, if you will.

I'm familiar with that face. His orgasm face. The ugly face akin to a girl's squinty- eyed visage seconds before she begins to cry. Lips stretched and twisted into an unattractive grimace, tongue lolling thickly..

It was days before I could look him in the eye again. Each night as we slept, the slightest movement on his side of the bed had me checking to see if he was wanking.. Every time he showered I envisioned him going at it.. Every time I showered I sprayed Tilex all over the back wall.

Of course, like every issue under the sun, I've dragged my masturbation complex into my marriage. If The Surge is showering and I can't hear noises indicating hairwashing, I'll bang loudly on the bathroom door.
"WHAT?" He'll shout.
"Do you want me to make coffee?" or "What do you want for dinner tonight?" or "There's a funny show on TV!"

Of course all the questions are bullshit. I just like to fuck with him since he's likely fucking himself.

Reader Comments (34)

so, how did he take it? did he go right back to his daily routine, or did awkwardness overwhelm the both of you for the following days?
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered Commenterkasey
i used to try and catch my ex-boyfriend in the act all the time. be forewarned, kasey.
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered Commentercarey
Awkwardness for a bit.. ultimately I'm sure he went back to his routine.. that relationship however, had much bigger problems.


Uh-oh.. Sounds like you may be investigated soon... Hide the Vaseline!
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterMonica
carey's minion, the cat, has already done plenty of investigative research.
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered Commenterkasey
what, that above post sounds a tad too "bestial." i...uh...is there a way to slowly back out of a room on the internet? because that's what i'm doing right...now...
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered Commenterkasey
kasey + the cat! kasey + the cat!
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterSloopy
From masturbation to beastiality in 5 comments. Pull out the record book folks, methinks that's a new record!
March 2, 2006 | Registered CommenterMonicaBielanko
what i need is a masturbatorium.
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered Commenterkasey
Would that be a masturbatorium as in a time away from playing the whorepipe (like moratorium) or a masturbatorium as in special place one masturbates (like gymnasium)?
March 2, 2006 | Registered CommenterMonicaBielanko
I'm hoping for the latter.
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterSloopy
The funniest part of this, and most of the other marriage related post's , is how "Da Surge" becomes the EVERYMAN SCHLUB that all of us know he probably is, and ISN'T.

This (Da Surge) unique motherfucker travels the world, only to be described as the guy who throws in legs, jacks off, and is basically a symbol of the modern American, generica husband. Sorta' like a Rick Nelson for a new generation. The everyman husband...who happens to also understand rock n roll music better than most, ditto world history, not to mention, the plight of every down-and-out loser, including myself, who's ever walked the streets of any lonely city, anywhere at anytime.

In these tales of neurotic bohemia, he's a fuckin' schlub just like me and Kasey.

No disrespect, Kasey!

That's why I propose an HBO sitcom! A real sitcom with actor's like...(insert names here).

Take THE GIRL WHO and develop it into the hysterically realistic monster series it should be.

Of course it'll need to be published, but that's a fate-accomplie.

j

BTW: My new dog Meteor (unfixed) met a new beau named Mona Lisa (Black Lab-, 9 months old, in heat!) Not only could this be Max's dream gal, but I'm nearly out of "humpy" towels for the poor, unsatisfied "Meat Man."

That's the obligatory masturbation tie-in.

March 2, 2006 | Unregistered Commenterjoe
Your story-telling ability is amazing! It's always great to meet a fellow former Mormon (and Utahn!). Congratulations on escaping Zion--I have to admit, I'm a little jealous! Thanks for visiting/commenting at dij.
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered Commenter[drowninginjello]
Hello sweet girl! I must say your site and one post in particular moved me.. Coulda been me speaking at that age.. Am glad I found you as well. It's good to see you over here in these parts!

And Joe - If The Surge appears the everyman schlub therein lays the beauty.. For he is still a rock god and a "unique motherfucker" who has the innate ability to see the world in a way that continually staggers me.. A schlub who, despite battling covers for nightly, I thank god daily that I met else I'd be drowning in jello myself.
March 2, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterMonica
<<In these tales of neurotic bohemia, he's a fuckin' schlub just like me and Kasey.>>

Goddamn!!! You know, he could very well be my husband. The mystique is nearly gone. I've gotta stop reading this blog.

March 2, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterTabatha
I couldn't disagree more. The Surge to me sounds like a poetic, rocknroll hottie. I only wish he were my husband. I also wish he would post on this blog more. I love reading what he writes.
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterAimee
Ha.

Yeah, you're right!

Without any sex AT ALL....I had to resort to myself.

Phewww......thank god for me.

surge
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered Commentersurge
a masturbatorium as in the special room designated for masturbating (a la dr. finch in burroughs' book).
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered Commenterkasey
For a few months after I graduated from college, I was a live-in nanny for two teenagers whose mom traveled all the time. The 14 year old boy thought that nobody knew he kept his porn stash in a duffel bag under his bed. But since he always left the house cordless phone in his room, I had the unfortunate opportunity to walk in to find a circle of centerfolds laid out in all their sticky-paged glory on the floor more than once. (Thank god it was just the magazines I walked in on, and not anything more traumatic!) Explains why he always asked me to put lotion on the shopping list.
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterEmily
The "walk-in" is a fear that everyman will live with and for his entire life....from their mother or sister to there girlfried or wife.....and god forbid one day there child!!!!

March 3, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterBrian
"was immediately suspicious of this "healthy" I'd heard talk of when I realized it involved the vigorous moving of limbs in cold weather when I could be home tucked under my comforter, not moving a thing save for a hand when my ass needed scratching..."

HAHAHAHAHA.

"other hand cranking his business harder than Helen Keller working the water pump,..."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA times 10!
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterSicksadworld
You know it's never occurred to me to wonder about my boy's jack-habbits. Maybe I'm wierd but i really don't care if he goes at it a bit when we're apart or not sexing each other. Better that than with another woman!
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered Commentercitygirl
When I was in college I lived in a dorm. One weekend I was going to catch a ride with a buddy that was going home via my hometown. He later decided he would take a different route that wasn't anywhere near my home so I was left to my own devices for the weekend.... or so I thought. I retired to my dorm room and proceded to choke the chicken for all I was worth.

Unfortunately, I neglected to lock the door and in walked my buddy to tell me he had decided he would be going through my hometown after all. Needless to say, he didn't stay long but I did end up catching a ride with him. We never spoke of what had happened.

Not only was that one of the most embarassing things that ever happened to me, but it taught me a valuable lesson.... ALWAYS LOCK THE DOOR!
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterStFarmer
"Ha.

Yeah, you're right!

Without any sex AT ALL....I had to resort to myself.

Phewww......thank god for me.

surge "



OUCH! Are you actually admitting to Tom Foolery in the shower? I've yet to catch you penis-handed, y'know...
March 3, 2006 | Registered CommenterMonicaBielanko
" I've yet to catch you penis-handed, y'know..."

Surge penishands.....I think I saw that in a gay bookstore. Not that I was in a gay bookstore.And not that there is anything wrong with that.
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterBrian
My how she grows up..I 'member when you posed the question to me on that fateful day "So do all guys McMasturbate?" ("Mc" added cuz it's funny) "Do you McBate?"......(Silent pause) Me: "Um.....yes?" Monica: "Ewwwwwww, I can't believe you would do that, it is so icky poo." Then Monica goes into longish rant about the ewwww-ness of masturbation.

Now look at her having a full blog topic about "the topic", my how she has grown.

CChild
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered Commentercchild
That is such a lie. I have never used the term "icky poo" in my life.
March 3, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterMonica
I've had the distinct displeasure of catching my ex-boyfriend "penis handed." Although I wasn't traumatized, it was an image I'd rather not have burned on my brain. He was also in a much less clean environment then the shower. What I want to know is, have any of the ladies ever been caught in the act?
March 4, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterGemma
You have such a brilliant writing voice - and your sense of humor slays me every time. Sometimes you write about such tragic incidents in your life with such an irreverant attitude it makes me giggle. This post had me giggling from beginning to end. Not that masturbation is tragic but you know what I mean. Keep up the good work :)
March 4, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterSara
Well you should use the term "icky poo" because it makes me laugh.
March 4, 2006 | Unregistered Commentercchild
Um...so Brian, I'd never even pondered the idea of my dad masturbating until I read your comment. I now wish it were possible to take out my brain and wash it thoroughly. This warrants an "icky poo".
March 4, 2006 | Unregistered Commentersandra
Maybe someone has mentioned this in another comment, but I'll tell you the quote anyways.

There are two kind of people in this world.
1). Ones that love Neil Diamond
2). ones that dont..

oh wait, wrong quote.

1).People that masterbate,
2).people that lie about it.
March 4, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterShaun
I really liked this post... because it had truth. And not to mention, it was hillarious... I don't think any girl wants to be in the position of 'catching' someone in the act. At least I don't.
March 5, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterChristar
Christar - is that you're real name? I dig that.
March 5, 2006 | Registered CommenterMonicaBielanko
HAHAHAHAHHHHHHAAAAA!! Oh boy, I love your writing. And I totally know where you're coming from. I absolutely hate it when I wake up in the middle of the night and find him doing it on the couch while there's funky positions on the TV. I have no prob doing it together, and have no prob with the act in general--hell, we all know I'm a frequent patron. But for some reason, I get really really uncomfortable when he's doing it "in secret" or so he thinks. It's easier for me if I listen to it from inside the bedroom, and time him. Last time, when he slid back into bed, I let him know that he took exactly 7 mins. I take a small comfort in that, I couldn't tell you why. My husband, on the other hand, was quite embarrased.
March 10, 2006 | Unregistered CommenterKelly Raine

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