Playa Del Carmen, Mexico. January, 2018
Warning: Quite explicit detail of Bing masturbating. Don’t eat and read.
It had just rolled over to 3:00 pm in the Mexican paradise of Playa Del Carmen. The sun was out, the birds were singing, and I was laid out on my hostel bed, convulsing hysterically in a full-body fit.
As a result of the mad-scientist experiment that saw me mix Cancun with a concussion, I was battling my sixth panic attack of the day after a night of “breathing complications,” where my brain switched off completely, and my body shut down its respiratory system altogether. Now, with my breathing throwing itself into a frenzy, I had barricaded myself into my bottom bunk bed with a selection of sheets and towels, shielding the rest of the dorm from witnessing my ongoing battle with death.
… Playa Del Carmen is my favourite city in Mexico! I mean this with sincerity, which is saying something considering I had the three worst days of my life there. But my immediate battle with death aside; its turquoise waters, swathes of white sand, cenotes, historical landmarks, nightlife, and cultural authenticity, certainly make the place an entity worth visiting.
Unfortunately, these portions of paradise weren’t within my immediate reach, as I lay outstretched on my bed in an empty dorm room, spasming frantically. My fingernails were lodged firmly in the coils of the mattress, my breathing was erratic at best, and sweat was gushing from every pore of my strained body. I was hoping that a priest would walk through the door any second now with a Bible and some Holy water. Or just a shotgun.
After a good tussle, I was able to calm my breathing again, and my body began to ease; but the voices that were ringing through my head remained rampant, and the negative emotion that had gripped me for the past 24 hours continued flushing through my body. I needed to feel something positive. Anything. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was the one thing I knew I had to do:
I had to have a wank.
I had no sex drive whatsoever, and the thought of dragging myself out of bed repulsed me, but I felt it was something I needed to do for my own sanity. With the amount of energy I had expelled fighting off death over the past 24 hours, I wasn’t sure I’d make it to the bathroom, let alone be able to maintain an erection. But God loves a trier, so on newly-found grounds of optimism, I peeled my corpse off my sweat-doused sheets and made the gruelling hike to the bathroom.
The hostel room was empty, so I was lucky that I didn’t have to feign subtlety in my quest for some alone time. With no phone in my arsenal, I clutched my broken laptop under my arm and made the five-metre trek to the bathroom, located opposite my bed.
The bathroom, to put it nicely, was a disgrace. The sink, located directly opposite the door, was small and had grime growing out of its every crevasse. The toilet, to the left, was in equally good condition, while the shower to my right; well, it was a shower—it was standing and sprayed warm water. What else do you want a shower to do?
With the laptop down on the sink in front of me, I turned around and locked the door, which was just a small barrel bolt (or sliding bolt lock—the one you slide into the catch); but the lock was old, rusted, and barely able to reach the equally-rusted catch on the other side.
Undismayed, I locked the door as best I could, and stripped down to just my socks. Why did I feel the need to get completely naked to touch myself? Because my mother always told me, “If you’re going to do something, you may as well do it right.” On this note, I began searching the internet for the most depraved smut in its library, hoping to bring some stability to the situation. I was battling against the odds to be able to stand upright on the court, let alone shoot a three-pointer, so you can bet that whatever was on that screen wasn’t family-friendly material.
With my laptop viewing setup on the sink, I started pounding my meat like the cheap $2-steak that it is. I was actually hitting a good rhythm! The horse had made a clean jump from the barriers and was settling into stride, albeit in poor track conditions.
My brain had fragmented into that many different personalities, that I had a crowd cheering me on throughout the race, and at the turn for home, we took the lead!
Amid all the excitement, however, I had heard through the bathroom door, a couple of people enter our dorm. There was one male voice and one female voice speaking in Spanish to each other, as they scurried into the room, placed their gear down, and settled into their beds.
It’s fine, I thought. Just a slight bump. On with the job!
With my focus regathered, I set my sights back on the screen and continued with a pace that was outclassing the rest of the field. I must have been five lengths clear at the 400-metre mark as I whipped my horse with every ounce of fibre I had left, willing it down the home stretch. The winning post was in sight!
It was time.
I strayed my attention from my laptop to the toilet and repositioned myself over the bowl. I reached the 300-metre mark, still five lengths clear. The whip was consistent, and we were flying home!
I beat it harder.
I could feel it!
It was coming!
I was coming!!
What was that?
Someone was making up ground along the inside rail.
Someone was trying to get into the bathroom!
There was another massive thud. Someone was seriously throwing their shoulder into the door.
The lock! I thought. You better f**king hold. You stupid f**king lock… HOLD!
I pled with the door, as my seed rose from deep within the loins of Bing. The gap was closing—200-metre mark. Three lengths clear.
Hold Dammit! I couldn’t reverse what was happening! It was coming! There was no stopping it! 100-metre mark. One length clear!!
Horses: neck and neck. It’s a photo finish!!
“AHHHHHHH!!!” Bing “AHHHHHH!!”
There were screams, tears and cum, as I stood there, ejaculating into a toilet bowl in front of two horrified female spectators.
A big, butch Argentinian girl had just put her shoulder through the door (with her girlfriend behind her) to the sight of a man in just his socks, shooting his load into the toilet. They slammed the door shut amid the screams, leaving me standing there—stark naked, cock in hand, with my juices dripping out if its end. I just slumped over, staring at my splooge drooling down the inside of the bowl—it was a pretty accurate representation of my life.
I wasn’t embarrassed. I was just defeated.
Yeah, that seems about right.