The last thing I normally would ever think about while working a 16-hour day involving the largest and most grueling customer appreciation party of the year is masturbation. The annual bash was by far our most stressful affair, and as the event coordinator and manager in charge of the whole shebang, (pardon the pun), I had a hell of a lot of things to be responsible for. Not one of those responsibilities involved me having an orgasm, so why did I suddenly feel the urge to rub one out?
Let me rewind for a minute.
I was the marketing director for a rather large dealership for several years. You have more than likely heard of the company. It begins with an “H” and their signature color is orange. (I’m not talking about Hooter’s, although I had my stint wearing those shorts for a brief while back in my early 20’s. They would give you such a camel-toe that there wouldn’t be a need to run off to masturbate, simply walking briskly from table to table could get the job done). No, folks, I’m talking about America’s pride, the company that took a V-twin motor, added two tires, and a glorious rumbling muffler (which is yet another self-pleasuring device in its own right), and called it Harley-Davidson.
For those of you who’ve been living under a rock since 1903, Harley customers love to have a wild time. They enjoy life to the fullest, and most will never turn down a great party. Throwing regular shindigs for our customers is what kept them loyal to our dealership, which in turn translated to their buying more $50 tee-shirts and $100 oil changes from us than from our competitors, (translation: job security).
My job as marketing and promotions director was not only to plan, coordinate, and manage these parties, but to emcee them as well. I would have to get on stage in front of 5000 bikers and keep them riled in between the bands and the bikini contest.
Not only would I have to keep the party going at all times, I also had to manage about 60 staff members and make sure they were performing their specified duties such as emptying trash, providing security, refreshing the food and beverages, and ringing up sales. I would have to bark orders and zip around the dealership, all the while wearing tight ripped jeans, a cleavage exposing leather bustier, and sky-high stilettos. (My boss at the time insisted that as one of the main “faces” of the dealership, I had a responsibility to portray a certain lifestyle…one that involved a sexy, rock star wardrobe and an attitude that matched). The attitude part was easy for me, especially during these events, but the skin-tight clothing and 5-inch stilettos? Not so much.
So now you can see how it would seem nearly impossible to have a smidgen of horniness going on during all of this madness, right?
Let me give you a little insight into what an important and functional role an orgasm plays, specifically in the female body…
Women have the uncanny ability to orgasm and instantly feel recharged. I like to call it the Vitamin “O”. If I am Vitamin O deficient, I am sluggish, irritable, intolerant, and edgy. Once I have the wave of pleasure run through me, I am able to continue on seamlessly, with a relaxed and confident composure.
Okay, so let’s fast forward back to the climax of my stressful evening (pun definitely intended). The amp for the band isn’t working. One of the bikini contestants is puking in the bathroom. My parking attendant is out back smoking. The trash is overflowing. Two of my security guys are fighting. The customers were demanding discounts on every single item. It was pure pandemonium, and I was about to lose it.
I excused myself from the madness and told everyone in my path that I hadn’t printed enough waivers for the girls in the contest, and needed to run to my office for 10 minutes. A slew of cling-ons tried to follow me but I shooed them away like flies. I ran (rather painfully in the 5-inchers) to my office and slammed the door behind me. I desperately locked it like I was being chased by assassins, then pressed my back against the door, shut my eyes tightly, and sighed. I just needed a moment of silence and I would be ready to jump back into the lion’s den.
I took another deep breath and gently opened my eyes. My office was dark except for the faint moonlight that peaked through the blinds of one tiny window. A sort of bluish glow blanketed my office. Out of habit, my eyes went straight to my computer. It stood blank and frozen, dull and lifeless. My big leather chair was parked in front of it like it always was, but the moonlight hitting the shiny leather made it appear almost gray and translucent. I suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to straddle that chair.
I walked over and pulled it away from my desk and swiveled it towards me. My clothing was tight as hell, so I tossed off my shoes and wiggled out of my tight jeans. I stood there for a minute, wondering what my intentions were. At this point, I realized a little vitamin “O” was exactly what I needed.
I straddled the chair so that I faced it, then pressed my back against the cold, hard desk. Things were really starting to rev up. I proceeded to rotate my hips and rub my nakedness on the leather. I also used my fingers to simultaneously pleasure myself. The result was a solo quickie that had my eyes rolling back into my head and one hand gripped over my mouth in a lame attempt to muffle the moans. I had successfully rocked my own world in about 5 minutes flat.
I was suddenly at peace. The madness that ensued outside of my office didn’t matter anymore. Their shouts grew fainter and fainter as I slowly dressed myself and eventually slid back into the stilettos. I fluffed my hair, applied lip gloss, and swung open the door as if I were making a grand entrance into a sea of paparazzi.
I was ready to face the world, full throttle.
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