by Southy

©November 2005


Blair shifted restlessly in the passenger seat of the truck. “Are you getting anything?”

Jim cocked his head. “I think he’s gone to bed. I heard the rustling of sheets.”

Blair sighed. Another boring stakeout. Probably nothing was going to happen tonight, but they were expected to put in their four hours anyway, before relief came. “Can you hear him snoring?”

Jim shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Maybe he’s beating his meat.”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Maybe he isn’t a screamer and he’s real quiet about it, even though he lives alone.”


“Jim? With your senses, have you have ever heard someone beating their meat?”

Jim glanced at him. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you about it.”

“Why not?”

“Some things are private, Chief. I wouldn’t go telling you who beat off on the third floor of the PD, any more than I’d tell one of the guys how many times you groan before you come.”

“I groan before I come?”

“Three times, right before.” A grin appeared at the corner of Jim’s mouth. “I’d tell you what it sounds like, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

Blair growled. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you can hear me. Why haven’t you ever said anything?”

Jim looked over at him. “You mean you would have stopped?”

“No,” Blair admitted after a moment, “but maybe I could make a point of being quieter. Or doing it more often in the shower.” Did Jim know he sometimes did it in the shower?

Jim’s attention was back on the house. “A man has a right to do whatever he wants in his own bed. Doesn’t bother me. I just consider it part of the background noise, like when the heat comes on.”

“And to think, all this time, I’ve had an audience.” Actually, Blair had suspected that Jim could hear him. Some part of him took pride in that, though he could never figure out why. Maybe it’s because he assumed Jim was doing it right along with him.

What did Jim fantasize about when he did it?

They fell silent, so Blair prompted, “You wouldn’t have expected me to stop if you told me, would you?”

Jim glanced at him again. “You? No way, Dionysus.”

Blair chuckled. “Hey, beating my meat is imperative to my health. It’s imperative to everybody’s health. Can you believe that the Surgeon General had to resign a while back because she recommended encouraging masturbation to high school students?”

“No, I couldn’t believe it. There had to be something else going on.”

“No kidding. What’s more natural than masturbation? It’s a sin the way the religious right has such a hold on this country. I mean,” Blair snorted harshly, “who has ever died from masturbating? Who has it ever harmed? We’re advanced enough to have technology like the internet and sending people to live in space, and yet religious people actually think that masturbation is bad because God doesn’t want us to do it?”

Jim shrugged.

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Blair said, disappointed that Jim didn’t have anything to add. “I mean, God makes our arms at just the right length to touch ourselves, but we aren’t supposed to touch ourselves?”

“I guess that’s the devil’s doing,” Jim said with a grin.

Blair snorted. “If that’s the case, then let me tell you, I’m possessed by the devil. I’ve been possessed by the devil since I was twelve. My right hand and my pecker are in love. And it’s the devil that helps me go to sleep when I’m wired, and who helps put everything into perspective when I’m uptight from having a bad day. To say nothing of how unhealthy it would be to let all that sperm build up in your balls.”

“That’s why you have wet dreams,” Jim supplied helpfully.

“Yeah, well, there’s increasing evidence that more ejaculations means less chance of prostate cancer. Besides, sexual release has to be good for one’s mental health, too. I mean, when have you ever masturbated and felt lousy afterwards?”

Jim glanced at him. “I’m taking the fifth.”

Blair gazed at him for a long moment. “Please don’t tell me that you feel guilty after you jerk off.”

“I never said that. There’re other reasons for feeling lousy. Like loneliness.”

“You feel lonely when you have sex with yourself?” What a bummer.

Jim hesitated, and then admitted, “I have once or twice.”

Blair tried to fathom that. “I never have. If I had a steady relationship with someone, so that I was having sex regularly, I’d still play with myself. I mean, nobody else can please you the way yourself can. You know?”

Jim waved his hand. “Chief, you’re so passionate about this subject that I don’t have any interest in arguing with you.”

“Everyone is passionate about it – however silently. I mean, are you going to tell me that there’s anyone in the world who doesn’t touch themselves? It’s not like it’s a learned behavior. It’s instinct. Little babies touch themselves.”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

Blair grunted with amusement. “Once, I went to mass with this Catholic girl I was seeing. The whole time that the priest is addressing the congregation, all I could think about was how he probably frantically beats his meat three or four times a day, and wouldn’t admit it in a million years.”

“I don’t think you have to be religious to be against masturbation.”

“What other argument is there?” Blair demanded.

Jim grinned. “That you’ll get hair on your palms. Or go blind.”

“Yeah, right.” Blair considered, then, “They only talk about that crap in relation to boys. It’s like society at large won’t even acknowledge that women masturbate. That’s got to be the biggest bunch of b.s. in modern human sexuality.”

“How do you know?” Jim challenged.

“Because it feels good ‘down there’ to women too. If guys touch themselves two or three times a day, why wouldn’t women? Besides, they can have orgasms easiser. You know, just by squeezing their thighs together or working out in the gym.”

Jim furrowed his brow. “Are you sure that’s really true?”

“I know it is. In high school, a girl I was seeing once told me that she could make herself come, just by massaging her thighs together.” He grinned. “I was so envious. She could do it discreetly while she was sitting in class.” He shook his head. “But our male-dominated society can’t handle the fact that women can get off by themselves. It wants to believe that every woman needs a man to pleasure her.”

Jim didn’t respond, so Blair added, “I don’t need a woman to make my cock feel good, so I don’t know why a woman would need a man to stimulate her clit.”

He watched Jim expectantly, but Jim didn’t respond.

“Besides,” Blair said, determined to have Jim participate in the conversation, “it seems weird how men and women are made.” He deliberately paused.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, women have their most sensitive part located above where your cock’s thrusting. It’s a lot easier for them to stimulate themselves with their own hands, than have your cock do it. Or,” Blair grinned, “you know, have your tongue do it directly. Seems like the penis isn’t a whole lot of help to a woman’s pleasure, when you stop and think about it. It’s just good at fertilizing.”

Jim said, “Maybe nature’s intent was that a man would stimulate the woman in other ways – make her feel loved – before taking his pleasure.” He drew a breath. “Besides, it seems to me that, ultimately, women want the penetration. There’s something fulfilling about it.”

“Or so we men like to tell ourselves.”

Jim looked over at him. “You’re being awfully pragmatic tonight about sex as something wonderful that takes place between two people.”

Blair moved his hand for emphasis. “Ultimately, I believe that human beings – men and women both – were meant to stimulate themselves. If we were meant to have a partner every time we wanted to feel good, it wouldn’t be so easy to make ourselves feel good.”

Jim grunted. “I guess you have a point. It just seems a rather cold way of looking at male/female relationships.”

“Not just male/female,” Blair hedged. “Gay relationships, too. I think any individual person knows how to make their own sex feel better than they do the opposite sex. But I still have to think that sex with oneself is the best of all.”

“After all this time I’ve known you, you still surprise sometimes, Chief. I would have thought you’d be the champion of all the good things that can come from men and women having sex with each other.”

Okay, maybe he had been rather cynical about the whole subject. “I still like the companionship. Being with somebody. I’m just saying that when it comes to out-and-out physical pleasure… well, it’s a heck of a lot easier just to please yourself.”

“And feels better from someone of your own gender than someone of the opposite sex.”

“Well, yeah, from strictly a skill level. I mean, if society didn’t have such a taboo against it… well, it would solve a lot of problems. Pregnancy and all that, for starters.”


Blair grunted with amusement. “I heard this gay joke once. ‘If God meant for men to have sex with each other, He would have put holes in their asses.’ “ He chuckled.

“However one looks at sex,” Jim said, “I think society would be a lot better off if it quit worrying about what God wants.”


“It’s not like any of us mere mortals are ever going to really know.”

“That’s right.” Blair grinned hugely. “My point exactly. So, I’m going to keep beating my meat, because that’s what I’m going to assume God wants me to do, to stay happy and healthy.”

Jim mock sighed. “And keep groaning three times, right before.”

“And you’ll keep considering it background noise, just like the heat coming on.”

Jim’s grin widened as he watched the house.

Blair went silent as he tried to imagine masturbating tonight – or any night – and knowing Jim was listening.

“Dammit,” he finally said with grit teeth, “I’m never going to be able to jerk off again, knowing you can hear me.”

Jim looked over at him. “Maybe you ought to consider a change of career and join St. Sebastian’s Monastery.”

Blair grunted, not amused. “I think we should agree that I get to have two hours a day at the loft by myself.”

“It takes you two hours to jerk off?”

Blair slowly grinned. “Hey, I like building up to it, nice and slow. Why not take two hours?”

“Forget it, Chief.” Then, sincerely, “I’m not going to say anything more about it. If it makes you feel better, that’s usually when I jerk off too. So there, we’re even.”

Hmmm. “I’m not sure that’s being even. I like jerking off. You feel lonely afterwards.”

“Not every time,” Jim protested. “I just said I had once or twice.”

“Maybe you don’t ever feel lonely any more, now that you know I’m jerking off, too?” Blair chuckled. “I could whisper sweet nothings to you under my breath, and you’d hear it.”

“I’d much rather have sweet somethings.”

“Are you trying to say you aren’t shallow, even in the middle of masturbating?”

“I’m trying to say that sex shouldn’t be about mere sensation, but the whole experience.” Jim looked at Blair pointedly. “Including the other person who is involved, ideally.”

Blair considered that. “So, you’re saying that when we each masturbate in our own individual beds, we should be experiencing something with each other; therefore, you’d prefer that I whisper something meaningful to you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Blair grinned. “Yes, you did. This puts a whole different spin on things, Jim. Now it’s like a challenge. Not just pleasing myself but seeing how much I can please you at the same time, with my whispers. And murmurs. And grunts. And groans.”

“Not that you’ll ever know the result,” Jim said smugly.

“That’s okay. I’ll just have to guess. And make myself very, very happy while I imagine that I’m making you happy too.” Satisfied grunt. “This is going to be fun. I can’t wait until we go home tonight.”

Jim yawned. Then, “Did you hear Simon mention that they’re repaving the parking garage at the end of the week, and we can’t park there for a few days?”

Blair nodded, allowing Jim to change the subject. “Yeah, that’s going to be a bummer.”

He was still looking forward to going home tonight.



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