I masturbated at work for the first time today.
Not because I was horny or anything;
just to see what all the fuss is about.
It’s so highly recommended. It’s been given
so much precious, sordid attention from the press.
You know how you always hear about these water cooler trysts
ending badly, and before you know it
another astronaut is driving around in adult diapers
trying to pull of a kidnapping caper.
Or somebody gets fired for downloading porn
which just goes to show that humanity remains
dumb as a lunar rock when it comes to matters of the crotch.
Somebody needs to remind mouth-breathers at the keyboard
that the watchful eye of corporate spyware
sees all:
Misappropriation of company time.
Misappropriation of materials.
Misappropriation.
Miss Appropriate.
That’s the intelligentsia, all right.
A vicious spinster, her mouth
a cruel, dry, humorless,
disapproving slash.
Anyway, I wore a skirt especially for the occasion.
Third stall down. Can’t go for the one by the wall.
Too obvious.
Can’t take the handicapped stall
for obvious reasons, though I’d love the room
to stretch out on my back.
The baby-changing station table probably
wouldn’t hold my weight.
I had toyed with the idea of doing it in the break room in one of the chairs
where shivering female employees consume their salads,
no dressing, a side of snide gossip.
The plush conference room,
in the executive chair no less,
or the faux oak table.
But of course I simply didn’t have the nerve.
Or the desire. Or both.
The office is less than stimulating.
I just don’t get the appeal.
I can’t fantasize.
The best I can do
is think of nothing.
I look at the blank wall when I do it.
My clit is uninspired, to say the least.
Plus, I’m nervous.
I have one ear out, listening for someone to walk in.
For some, I suppose, that’s part of the thrill.
But I’m virgin, terrified that as soon as I walk out
And zip up my skirt,
My indiscretions will be written on my face
a red-hot memo.
I can’t focus. I can’t direct blood and fluids
where they ought to go, and I haven’t a bottle of lube.
And I don’t usually masturbate standing up.
This must be a helluva lot easier for men.
Until the mess, I guess.
When I cum, it’s strictly mechanical.
All auto and no eroticism.
Perfunctory as the signature attached
to my outgoing emails.
Then I go back to my desk.
No one is the wiser.
The triumph is delayed,
here is my O face.
I am a corporate subversive.
And that is the climax.
Author notes
If any of my co-workers read this, I'm just kidding. Really. Please don't fire me.
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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strangely brilliant
That's really good, the flowing of it, the way it reads directly from your mind. It's got something about it that is raw and real. Awesome stuff.
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Little sister gives Big Brother the fingers.
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I love the irony and imagery, Great poem!
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Silverstein-ian
I enjoyed it very much. I was quite reminded of Shell Silverstein's lesser popular adult works. Similar in nuance and nature to that of your own en devours. Its fun and enjoyable. Ty for posting
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Hey Pie,
This poem made me laugh. Had me imagining of a quiet female employee trying to push herself to do something so out of character. It played like a comedy in my head for some reason. I enjoyed your play on the word 'misappropriation.'
This poem has 'rebel' written all over it, but the sort of unexpected rebellion that goes down quietly in corporate history (herstory). Reading through it, one could feel the tension of the character as she tries to go about the subversive act.
Unlike some of your sensual/sexual poems, the tone of this one was lighter (less sticky). After all...you end it with the mechanical non-wiser absent O.
The author's note made me laugh.
-iphios -
Finger On the Pulse.
Got to hand it to you Pie (American Pie?) I raise my fluted glass to your audacity for this deed of derring do, you libertarian daredevil!
Must admit the urge in earlier years to discharge libidinous responsibilities may have once or thrice overcome my natural propriety. Stiff decorum ejected from the cockpit in a sperm of the moment fling with one´s privates.
But my risk-taking compulsions were hugely curtailed at my last cubicle of employment, it being a school.
Instinctively I could sense that fiddling with one´s nethers in delirious states of befuddled fondling would be hard to swallow for my... hang on - how Freudian of me.
I mean, it would be a sore point, no, I mean soil my rep. err (get a grip) end with dismissal - the stain of an outed wanker too much to bare.
Indiscreet scratching of an itchy crotch might cause an instant discharge.
Ok I´ll stop waxing lewdicrass for a sec and shift tack to a more serious technical aspect of your seedy epic: I Masturbated At Work For The First Time Today...
MORE DETAIL!!! (please)
There are, I hear tell from a reliable sauce, horny hordes of sexually starved sweaty male poets out there simply gagging for an excuse for self-abuse.
Like Dave splurges, there s gotta be a meat market easily exploited for the right blend of salubrious zen! Go for it Girl! Hmmmm...
In fact, I do believe I feel Calliope the Muse tugging my nuts for some creative intercourse, twinges of lurid inspiration tickling my fingers and ... and a strange stirring in lower chakra... hmmm
ErrrgreatpoemPiegottagonowbye
gGonadsforsale
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Simon, your comment was infinitely funnier than this (really rather morose) poem is. I posted this piece as-is, first draft, with no additional edits-- at the behest of several of our fellow perverts here at Share Porn, I am endeavoring to be less self-censoring. This may also have something to do with the austere atmosphere of my job (I also work at a school!), and my even more puritanical college (Jesuit). Though I think women may have it easier in this arena-- if it ever got out that I had been wanking off in the bathroom, I think the most that might happen is I would get a great deal of uncomfortable silence in the board room, and probably some very dirty solicitations from anonymous male co-workers, requesting my discarded panties.
Anyway, all the cleanliness, between the kids and the Catholics, makes me contrary. The people at both institutions are so uptight, they send me screaming every night for the leather and handcuffs.
As to your suggestion-- of course, you read my mind. This morning, after some very lurid dreams, I have quite a few details that I could toss in.
You will be among the first to know when I have a second draft. And I can't wait for you to whip out a piece yourself.
I think we've really mastered the single-entendre here.
Yours, as always,
The Queen of Tarts
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Interesting
It seemed a bit "anti-climactic" at the ending (not the not achieving orgasm, but the ending) and a "pain" throught the rest; lacked "passion" and could have been better, I think. If you'd concentrated more on the descriptive and what really matters - your feelings and senses - it might have come off better, and it didn't seem a pleasurable event...but maybe that was your intent?
One redeeming facet of this work is, the "choosing where to 'do it' in" was excellent; it was the highlight of this piece.
Descriptives are important; let the reader know what it felt like, what it smelled like, sounded like, the sensations and most importantly -what you felt deep down inside, emotionally... maybe next time, eh?
Sorry I couldn't be more applauding here; but my reviews are always honest and forthright; I expected more.Try again, and improve this work; then resubmit it?
. Rewarded 8
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Hi, Dr. T. First and foremost, welcome to Sharepo, and thank you for reading. I appreciate your straightforwardness, now I hope you'll allow me to be equally straightforward when I say I think you have missed the point of this poem entirely. The passion and emotion so noticeably absent from this piece was quite intentional. The workplace is such a stifling atmosphere that even an erotic act is drained of all sensation and inspiration. It didn't seem a pleasurable event because it WASN'T a pleasurable event. In the very first lines, I state that it was done purely out of curiosity-- detached, scientific, theoretical.
I am glad you perceived that choosing a location was the highlight of the piece-- that was also intentional. Focusing on the logistics of the event underscored my point that I was conducting an experiment.
I DID let the reader know what it felt like-- it felt like nothing. Describing my inability to feel, my inability to fantasize, was (I thought) a thinly veiled send-up of the office atmosphere. The lack of climax was the ultimate point, the way unsatisfying sexual experience is.
When you say re-write and re-submit, perhaps you also misunderstand the point of this site. This is a workshop, entirely meant for improving work, posting drafts, and exploring poetic forms and subjects. No one is judging work here-- there are no contests, no hope for publication. This is a place of learning and interaction for people with common interests.
I would recommend you read a little more closely before you take a high-handed approach next time. I would also suggest reading more in general. While we are, by and large, amateurs here, (I know very few professional poets-- do you?) we are not completely inexperienced.
-CP
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pie, oh my
this was so good. looked at this as a poem of dissidence. like a dog (not you) marking its territory...maybe just to feel alive, in an enviornment that inspires death. but it just wasnt what you said it was how, the way you planned it out, the choice of location, the mechanics.
i know a perfect market and some possibly good ones if your interested.
dave -
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Hey, Dave. I knew you'd love this one. Sure, hit me with a market and some magazines. I send out a round of submissions every month and I've been getting back my rejections like clockwork. I think you're right-- you know how people get all horny after a funeral? I think that's why people want to get freaky at work. It doesn't work for me, but the thought does. . . titillate.
As you can see, I have given the matter quite a bit of consideration.
Lauren
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Pie I must leave you a real good review...
when I get back, but I've something to do.
First I must slip away from my desk
down the hall to the break room
I'll just have to confess.
Perhaps my reason you may have guessed?
That is the place I'll go to relax
standing, sitting, or flat on my back
with the door unlocked and maybe wide open.
Light up a cig. and pretend that I'm smokin'.
I don't really care if I get caught
long as I manage to finally get off.
See my boss isn't nice, she' kind of a jerk
she says I'm lazy and don't do my work.
But I work pretty hard for the most part
now I'm masturbating in her mayo jar.
This isn't something I'd normally do
without inspiration from someone like you.
Boss, if you read this, go ahead fire me
then into you tea pitcher I'll take a pee.
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