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The Mystery Of The Touch-Free Orgasm

Illustration for article titled The Mystery Of The Touch-Free Orgasm
FunbagTime for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag.

Big funbag today. Right to your letters.


How awesome would it be if there was some sort of competition where people jerked it and the winner (as in golf) was the one with the fewest number of "strokes" before climax? I can easily see this being in either the Summer Olympics (outdoor) or Winter (indoor). What do you think?

What you're discussing is the fabled "orgasm without actually touching your penis" trick that many men have tried but failed at due to extreme impatience. I know I've tried it. It's something you do when you're 15 and you've just started watching a porn and you're so fucking horny your dick could blast through concrete and it's rock hard and you don't want to touch it because you're already horny as shit and if you touch it now well then, you've just wasted a good chance to milk that porn for all it's worth. (A common mentality when jerking to porn is that holding out will somehow improve the orgasm, which I find is only sporadically true.) So you hold out and hold out and you're like, "Whoa, maybe I can skeet all over myself without even touching my dick! COOL!" So then you wait and see if it happens and it doesn't and you're like FUCK THIS I'M SWITCHING TO MANUAL OVERRIDE and then two pumps and you're done.

Or something like that.

I'm sure plenty of people have succeeded at this, usually with the help of a woman (any number of bogus Penthouse forum stories revolve around the touch-free skeet). But to do it in some kind of competitive format would have to require some ground rules. There'd need to be a clock. I think. Otherwise, you could just wait until some random point in the day when you have a spontaneous huge boner and then do three pumps to seal it. That's not the same as working for your erection, which you seasoned masturbators know is not always an easy task. Also, you'd have to do it without the aid of porn or a live woman. Those two restrictions would make the task considerably more difficult.


But you folks out there seem game for a challenge. See if you can take Chris up on his task and report back to me with your best stroke score. I'll count a stroke as one pump. So if you go up and down on the shaft, that's one stroke. See how few you can do in the span, oh, five minutes. WHOSE SKEET WILL REIGN SUPREME?!

Steve Bonus:

Do you ever get dressed shirt first? Something weird and liberating about walking around your apartment with nothing on but an old "Kunstler's Gun Shop" t-shirt and your wang just straight danglin'. My friends refer to this phenomena as "Porky Piggin It."


I also refer to that wardrobe choice as the Dr. Jennings. You can't forget Donald Sutherland's ass in Animal House, no matter how hard you try. It's a terrifically disturbing sight.

I lived with my best friend for a while and one day I got dressed shirt first for some arbitrary reason. He remarked that it totally creeped him out. After that, I got dressed every day the exact same way, just to aggravate him. I would even sit down on the couch in just my t-shirt, with my balls splayed out on the cushions. He nearly threw up. I was not a good roommate.



Me and my girlfriend have a baby who's 16 months old. In our apartment, we have all the proper baby safety measures. The usual: nothing on tables to grab and break, plug-in covers, etc.

I live hours away from my family but we're in my girlfriend's hometown, and as such we get invited to all sorts of family gatherings. So we go over to other people's houses for these things. The family knows a baby is coming, so they take that opportunity to display the faberge egg on the coffee table. Glassware is left unattended, cords exposed, doors left open to rooms, you know the deal. They don't have kids, what do they care? So while the girlfriend is off having her time with the family, I'm left to deal with the little fucker running around and 'exploring' his new surroundings and making sure he doesn't kill himself, all the while I'm running around and sweating like a stuck pig. I mean I can't last 5 minutes on a treadmill. And the little guy never stops, because he's a baby with unlimited energy. Of course, all the while there's always a smorgasbord of food that I have to first watch everyone else enjoy, then inhale without enjoyment so I can have the energy to run after the little guy some more. And yet if I want a second helping of the buffet, I get the stink-eye from the woman.

Next time, I'm just letting the little guy break something valuable. But of course then I'd be the asshole. How do I go about enjoying myself at these things?


Wait a second. You're expected to care for the child for 100% of the duration of your visit to the family? That's fucking INSANE. I'm a huge fan of womankind, but this lady of yours isn't even close to pulling her weight. Who gives a shit if she's with her family? She should supervise the kid for HALF the time you're out. Period. And she's getting mad at you for trying to eat more food when she's not doing her duty to care for the kid half the time? Bullshit. And I'd say the same thing if you were a woman and your hubby was derelict in his duty. DO YOU FUCKING FAIR SHARE.

And you're with her family. Isn't there a grandparent you can pawn the child off on? That's the whole point of grandparents. They're relief pitchers. You need relief pitchers. The fact that you're expected to do it all by yourself makes me aggravated for you. I say you leave the girlfriend and sell the child to Russian interests. You're not married. IT'S TOTALLY ALLOWED.


Anyway, you folks out with kids have inevitably found yourself in a predicament like Scott's at some point in your parenting career. You go somewhere to supposedly have a good time. But what happens? The kid goes off their leash and flirts with death and YOU have to forgo trips to the buffet and enjoyable adult interaction to supervise the child. And the kid always knows to go for the most dangerous thing in the house: steps, ledges, knives, open manhole covers. So fucking annoying. Will you get off the fucking steps and come play with a goddamn teddy bear? Can't you sit and play with a safe toy for three goddamn minutes so I can LIVE, you little shit?

So you have to follow the kid around and be his goddamn reflection while everyone else at the party is free to eat and drink and play cornhole and have a gay old time. Fuckers. ASSHOLES. Oh, how you loathe them. You folks without kids out there should appreciate what you have now. You can stand by a bowl of chips and eat those chips while talking to another person. That isn't possible in my world. Savor your party time, gang.



A friend took this in Jersey (surprise!) over the weekend. The soccer player is just icing on the cake.

Illustration for article titled The Mystery Of The Touch-Free Orgasm

The frame really adds emphasis. I wasn't sure he was a TRUE Jovi fan until I saw the frame. And is there anything less rock and roll than that Have A Nice Day logo? That has about as much attitude as a fucking Life Is Good shirt. I'm telling you, people: One day Bon Jovi will swindle their way into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and that is the day four million babies die simultaneously from a SIDS outbreak.



I never used to have the plumber's crack problem but it seems like no matter how tight my belt is, I still show some ass crack. Is this just a part of getting older or do I need to start investing in some "dad" jeans?


No need to go to such extreme measures. First of all, when you need to bend down, just take a knee instead. It's better for your back, and you'll avoid the coin slot. Or just wear longer shirts.

There is one other solution. I too suffer from plumber's crack, because I have no ass. Thus, when I bend down, the pants easy slide down my flat ass cheeks to expose the dreaded canyon mouth. However, the way I deal with this is by not caring. At all. I'm 33 with two kids. What do I care if you see my ass? In fact, showing people the top of my ass is about the most thrilling thing I get to do all week. That's why the plumber's crack is called the plumber's crack. Because most plumbers don't give a shit if you see their ass. They gotta bend down to reach that pipe. If some ass peeks out of there, well some ass peeks out of there. They're still getting they're $200 for snaking the drain. Forcing you to stare at their ass is just a little extra bonus to the job.



So, I've recently taken to carrying a briefcase to work on days that I need to bring things to and from the office. I didn't do this on purpose, I've had one for about a year (gift from Dad), but never used it, but then I ripped my messenger bag and figured I could use the briefcase until I get a new bag.

Well, that was the plan, but I'll be damned if I'm ever switching back. First off, even though I wear the exact same clothing that I used to, I look 1,000% more professional, and as such (I assume) 1,000% more attractive to young ladies. The best part though? The two-block walk from the subway to my apartment after I had about 7 drinks at happy hour. I make eye contact with no one, light a cigarette, and walk directly down the street as though I had a purpose. I always envision that I have the president's football or a suitcase nuke or something like that, and assume others look at me and assume the same thing. It feels pretty badass.


I'd buy a pair of handcuffs, just for the thrill of handcuffing it to my wrist and walking around in public. You always see that move in movies, but you never see anyone do that in real life. Imagine buying a briefcase, handcuffing it your wrist, and then just walking around a Metro area while wearing a trenchcoat and fedora. You'd get 50,000 stares. I'd be riveted if I saw a man handcuffed to an attaché case.

Anyway, I used a messenger bag when I worked in an office for one reason and one reason only: I do not like carrying things. If it's a choice between carrying something by hand, or slinging it over a shoulder and thus leaving both hands free, I take the sling option every time. I want that extra hand free. What if the phone rings and it's in my left pocket and the briefcase is in my left hand? Then I have to switch the briefcase to my right hand before answering the phone and that's a whole THING. Horrible.


Work bags are annoying because, and I'm only speaking for myself here, anything I put in that bag that wasn't food never, EVER came back out. Maybe I needed to bring papers to some meeting or something. But after the meeting, if there were still stray papers I never used, those stayed in the bag forever. I never cleaned it out. When I got laid off from my job last year, I went to clean out the bag and inside were radio scripts from eight years ago, plus an empty Capri Sun pouch, an issue of SI dated 1978, and a cord whose use I couldn't even determine. A work bag is essentially a repository of old shit. It's the desk drawer you sweep everything into when the boss walks around, only you carry it from place to place.

I also have left my work bag in 76% of the nation's bars and taverns. I'm drunk. I'm supposed to remember the thing under my stool? FUCK THAT.




I, like most people, enjoy many foods that are constructed with a top and a bottom-pizza, bagels, donuts, etc. Recently, it occurred to me that the vast majority of those foods are designed with the more delicious parts ON THE TOP. Which I figured is faulty seeing as how a human mouth is designed with taste buds ON THE BOTTOM.

So one day, while eating a slice of pizza, I just flipped it. I've since used this technique on all similarly designed foods. My life has completely changed.

Am I the first to attain this level of genius?

Likely not. Your reasoning is sound. However, those foods have bottoms for a reason: support. That's a load-bearing crust on your pizza. How do you flip a fresh slice of pizza upside down to eat it? The cheese and toppings would fall right off. Same with a bagel that has cream cheese and salmon on it. Turn it upside down, and it goes right in your lap. And you don't want salmon dick. That smell never goes away, especially if you're like me and you don't like washing your clothes or your body.


I've pondered the upside down bite every once in a while as well. It works with certain foods that have structural integrity on top. For example, a Danish. The Danish has the fruit and icing on top. That's the shit you want. In a perfect world, the Danish would be made entirely of icing. However, flip a Danish upside down, and usually the icing and fruit stay on. BOOSH! Welcome to flavor country.

It is annoying how many foods have tasty components that hit the roof of your mouth first, requiring you to tongue baste it while it's in your mouth, to turn it around and get the good shit on your tongue. Birthday cake is like this. I could care less about the cake part. I want the three-inch thick frosting flower I strategically cut for myself. Which is why I'll bite the cake with my head tilted sideways, to give the frosting head start down to the taste buds. (NOTE: I'm the guy at the birthday party who will see the dimpled ridge of frosting left unattended from cake that has already been cut away, then run my finger along that ridge to get every last bit of frosting off the gold cardboard serving platter. That rules.)


Another strategy is one that works with, say, a mini-cupcake. I begin tipping the cupcake toward me as it's going into my mouth, so that the cake will effectively do a somersault upon entry and land bottom first on the back of my tongue. Perhaps I think about food too much.


You ever notice that almost every city has a network affiliate channel 7 whose logo is a 7 in a circle?


This is because most channel 7's are ABC affiliates. ABC's logo is a circle. Thus, SYNERGY.

I always get thrown off if I go to some other American town and the major network affiliate numbers are something different from what I'm accustomed to. In every town I've ever lived in, NBC has been on Channel 4. Always. It's 4 in New York, and DC, and Minneapolis (UPDATE: Reader Chris says, "Ch 4 in Minneapolis is CBS. Always has been dipshit."). It's 4 virtually everywhere. If I go somewhere and it isn't on Channel 4 for whatever reason, I get terribly uncomfortable. Same with ABC and 7. Sometimes, I'll get a hotel room and the major networks are wayyyy down the dial, which is fucking weird. Like, even if ABC is channel 7, it'll still be on Channel 35 on the hotel's receiver. That fucks me up.



What are you supposed to say after getting a hummer?

"Now where did you put the remote?"

I'm talking a casual hookup bj, not getting one from a significant other where there's a comfort level. I recently said, "That was amazing" and felt like a complete dbag. I think, "Thanks" would have been worse.


It would have been. There's really nothing to say. You said everything you needed to with your grunting and moaning and writhing around and explosive skeeting. Nothing else needs to be added to it. You're only going to ruin the moment by opening up your big stupid mouth. Let the moment rest. Then have some chips.


What part of the house do you think is the dirtiest/ foulest part? I've got my money on the toilet seat handle. Think about it. Right after you're done handling your business on the toilet, you have to go wash your hands so you eliminate the worry of having crap on your hands. But what do you do every time before washing your hands? Flush the toilet, thereby potentially leaving some residue on the handle. Thoughts?


If I've made a mistake while wiping and managed to give myself the stinkfinger, I'll always wash my hands before flushing. The washing of the hands is fraught with its own danger as well. Let's say you're changing a baby and you get poop on both hands. This will happen to you on occasion if you have kids. Then you have to go wash your hands. But now you're gonna get poop on the faucet because you have to turn the faucet on! GAH! So you kind of nudge the faucet one with your wrist and hope to get a decent stream from there. Anyway, that faucet handle can get mighty yucky.

But those are things you see every day. The grossest things in your home are the areas you can't see and/or can never reach. Like behind the toilet. It's like The Exorcist back there. The poopy bacteria have built up and are now ready to mobilize. You don't want to fuck with them.


Also, ever pull your fridge or oven out to see what's underneath? Don't. You'll be horrified. I've seen grapes that now have limbs back there. It's not my fault a dropped grape is somehow magnetized to the fucking underside of the oven. Little bastards.


Really? Do we even need to mention that half of that hybrid car is derived from petroleum products and still burns oil to some degree?

Illustration for article titled The Mystery Of The Touch-Free Orgasm

Oh, do I hate that plate with every fiber of soul. I'd give anything to track it down and coat it in petroleum.



At what point did all the bagel shops stop toasting bagels and just singe them instead? To me there's nothing worse than ordering a toasted onion bagel, having it race on a conveyor belt through a 1000 degree furnace and come out 6 seconds later with the edges blackened yet still doughy in the middle. Can we dial down the temperature and slow down the conveyor so that we can get a nice golden color throughout the bagel a little bit of crunch? I'm sure I'm not the only one that would mind waiting the extra 20 seconds.


Actually, you might be. I'm a terribly impatient human being, especially if I'm waiting for some kind of delicious food stuff. So watching that bagel drag ass through the conveyor belt, to me, is slow torture. I can't not watch it. I just stare at the fucker, eating with my eyes, until it's finally sliding down to the bottom of the toaster. And if that thing goes for more than ten seconds without being tended to, I will explode with rage. THERE IT IS! IT'S DONE! IT'S WAITING FOR YOU TO SCHMEAR IT! DAMN THIS COUNTER SEPARATING ME AND MY LOVE!

So anyway, your bagel is likely burned because of assholes like me who can't stand to sit there and wait the full 2 minutes for an evenly toasted bagel. They should hand out free bags of pretzels to soften the wait.



I was out to eat with my daughter last night and we ordered fajitas. Anyway for presentation sake, they always seem to come out on some type of iron skillet sizzling away. At that moment I always look around the restaurant to see which person's face I want to send crashing down into the scalding skillet o'pain. My daughter actually confirmed she has thought about it too. Overactive imaginations or potential badasses?


No, I like the idea of using the fajita platter to enforce injury. I also don't know why only fajitas get that treatment. If I ordered a regular steak at Chi Chi's, it would come on a plate. Why can't I get the full sensory experience of having it delivered to me on a scorching hot steel oval that has probably only been washed six times in the past five years?

My first impulse when I get that platter is to touch it and burn the fuck out of my hand. I mean, it's a smoking hot platter. But just HOW hot is it, really? Will it burn right through the skin and cause an instant pus bubble? I bet it would. If only there were some way to find out… DON'T DO IT DREW!


I think like this any time a waiter says to me, "Careful, this plate is EXTREMELY hot." All I think about is touching it, or having the waiter accidentally drop it into my lap and burning my dick clean off. THE DANGER MAKES IT TASTE GOOD.


Do you ever rip farts into the suction nozzle while vacuuming the house? From an efficiency standpoint there are few things more satisfying. I place the nozzle near my sphincter, let loose, and visualize the cloud whisking through the hose into the bag. It's magical. The vacuum noise masks the ripping sound and you odorlessly dispose of toxic gas that reaches the bag and turns inert amongst the cracker crumbs and cat hair. Essentially it disappears.


That's all well and good, but you're still placing a suction device right to your ASSHOLE. You see the inherent danger? If you're doing it with pants on, the gas is still gonna escape from the tube because your jeans muffled it. If you're doing it with your pants off, then the vacuum could potentially suck in your entire rectum, perhaps taking your stomach and three teeth along with it. Then you'd have to go to the vacuum guy and explain to him that you got your asshole stuck in the vacuum bag and you really need your asshole back. Don't fuck with the Electrolux. Just leave that fart be.

J. Gumm:

The ringtone on my phone is "Goodbye Horses" by Garvey. (For those unaware of the song, it is the tune sung by Buffalo Bill while wearing his homemade lady-suit) My question is whether a more offensive ringtone exists? My wife becomes visibly upset when it plays (as do all women). And I make sure that I let it ring to its fullest. Am I a bad person?


Of course you aren't, unless you really do like kidnapping, killing, and skinning fat women. Then you'd be a touch shady. Anyway, every woman on Earth has a song that terrifies or annoys them, and every man they go out with will find this song and delight in annoying them with it. My wife hates the McDonald's theme music. So all I have to do to make her mad is go BA DOP BOP BA BA!!! I'M LOVIN' IT! and she'll come after me with a steak knife. It's great fun.

Anyway, there are much more offensive ringtones out there. Cannibal Corpse. The Axl-banging-a-groupie part of "Rocket Queen". Any sort of recorded diuretic movement. There's no wrong way to announce to the world that you're a fucking creep.




I used to work at Walt Disney World. My wife worked at the Jungle Cruise and had a man come on her tour boat (let's call him Matt) who was a quadruple amputee. He was independent and managed to wiggle onto the boat by himself.

10 minutes later it was time for Matt to get off the ride. It was a hot Florida day and the dock had those long metal strips of grippy stuff so people don't slip on the wood if the dock gets wet. Unfortunately it wasn't wet but it was 95 degrees outside. So when Matt wiggled off the boat the metal grippy stuff was 300 degrees and thousands of tourists saw a torso rolling around the dock screaming IT'S BURNING ME! IT'S BURNING ME!

They built a boat that accommodates wheel chairs shortly after that.

That's fantastic. And now, as a bonus, a GREAT MOMENT IN DEAD SKIN REMOVAL:


I hit up a 1pm Saturday afternoon ballgame in Natstown a few weekends back, and of course it slips my mind to put on sunscreen during a perfectly clear, bright, sunny day. Sure enough, my right forearm gets smoked, and turns bright red.

Exactly one week later, I notice the first breakage of dead skin, about the size of a nickel. All that pain and suffering has finally paid off, and it's time for some fun. Without hesitation, I start peeling off pieces of skin, trying to out-do each pull with a bigger, and bigger piece. After exhausting all resources (there were no more prime pieces of skin to pull off), I stop and go about my day.

Move forward 24 hours later, and I'm sitting in the car with my girlfriend at a gas station. After she puts the nozzle in the tank, she gets back into the car (I hate how girls do this, just wait the 3 minutes). With my arm exposed, she sees the outline of dead skin, and starts peeling away. With each pull, a wave of excitement overcame her, as she was really in the zone grabbing trophy pieces. A few seconds later, the tank was full, she got out and threw my pieces of dead skin in the trash can, and closed up the gas tank. As she got back in the car, she remarked, "That game was so much fun, let's play it again!"

I always thought skin peeling was a personal pleasure, like smelling your own farts. Is it universally accepted and enjoyed by males and females alike?


It is now, amigo.

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