“Were you just…jerking off?” I asked, staring at my boyfriend in disbelief.
He was hunched over on the couch, eyes wide and hands under the blanket. My blanket.
“Oh my God,” he responded, before hopping off of the cushions and pushing past me into the bathroom.
I stood there, staring at the gray sofa where his naked ass had just been as the door slammed shut behind me. What. The. Fuck? I had woken up to an empty bed and stumbled into the living room, expecting him to be watching TV and waiting for me to snuggle in beside him. Instead, I was greeted by my boyfriend jerking his dick like a bike pump before storming into the bathroom to get rid of the sticky evidence. The evidence I already saw. I heard the water flick on with extreme pressure, as though the droplets could wash away what just happened. I didn’t know what to think as I remained in the same spot, petrified like his trouser snake was really a basilisk. My legs finally moved forward as my eyes focused on the cell phone he has tossed aside. With my heart pounding and him still in the bathroom trying to rinse off the situation that was his penis, I reached for the source of his early morning motivation.
Snapchat. Fuck.
The toilet flushed behind me and I tossed the dirty devil device back where I grabbed it.
“Hi baby,” he said as he tiptoed out of the bathroom, a hesitant, embarrassed flush on his face. “How uh. How’s it going?” His eyes darted around nervously, from the sofa he was just having sex with himself on, to the phone that he was using to Snapchat someone. Most likely a disease-riddled prostitute, but the jury was still out.
“How’s it going?!” I huffed, feeling my insides shrivel in anger. “You were just…just…jerking off. On the couch. At 10 a.m. While I was in the other room!”
Now, before we go any further, let me just say that I’m a big fan of self-pleasure. Flicking the bean. Having a little “me” time. Masturbating, if you will. I think everyone should do it and I think it’s healthy and blah, blah, blah. And the thing is, I think most people do do it. And I think 1000 percent of guys do it. Like, literally every single guy. Hell, even in a relationship, I think you should do it because sometimes you just want to watch Gossip Girl on repeat and get off to Chuck Bass ten times in a row before realizing that you really need to shower (just me?). The thing is, you never ever let your partner know you do it, and to what. Just like you don’t tell them that you still hate-stalk your ex. It’s just unnecessary awkwardness.
But as I stood there, torn between laughing and crying, I felt weird. Bad, even. My guy, MY fucking guy was getting off to someone else while I was at his house. I’d like to say he could have just come in the bedroom and had sex with me, but let’s be real — fuck morning sex. I would have turned him down and sent him away, penis between his legs. But that was besides that point. It was the principal of the matter. And as I stood there, fury coursing through my veins, I shamed him like only a girlfriend can shame her boyfriend.
“And who. The fuck. Were you Snapchatting?” I pointed at his phone, in a bold and dangerous move.
Now, mind you, I’m not the kind of girl to snoop. Lol, jk. Every girl snoops. But I’m not the kind of girl to admit to it. I’m not going to look through his texts and then be like “Why was your ‘mom’ texting you at 11 p.m.? Is “mom” a codename for someone? Who is she? DON’T TEXT OTHER GIRLS!” But I am the kind of girl to take a peek at his phone when he’s in the shower and then bottle up my feelings about it until he pisses me off and then I yell at him about nothing. You know, the healthy way to go about the situation. But standing here, admitting that I looked at his phone? This was going against everything I believed it.
“Ughhhh,” he yelled, as his face grew redder by the second. “It was nothing, just leave me alone!” And he stormed past me to the couch.
I felt literal fire flare out of my nostrils as I ascended on him, talons ready, prepared to rip his fucking gizzards out and his penis off. No one Snapchats bitches on my watch.
“No. It is not nothing. What the fuck is going on?!” I did a mature foot stomp on the “on” part to emphasize that I was not messing around, mister.
After many tears, lots of yelling, and an extreme amount of avoided eye contact, we finally calmed down enough to sort through it. As he explained that he follows a few porn stars on Snapchat (the nightmare) and sometimes he likes to, you know, I felt myself relax. Kidding. I instantly made him delete all of them, cried about how he didn’t think I was pretty, and told him that was disgusting. But after that, after the yelling, the crying, and the “why are you getting off to skinny blondes when I’m a curvy brunette” conversation, we calmed down. He told me he was embarrassed and that’s why he was upset, and I told him that you can catch herpes through social media.
It’s been a week or so since this all went down. I had to delete Snapchat because it’s tainted for me now. After burning the couch and blanket and making him sign a document saying that I’m hotter than “those skanky Snapchat whores,” I can finally make eye contact with him again. I explained that it wasn’t so much him getting off to something/someone else (lies) but it was the fact that it made me uncomfortable (try “furious”). But at the end of it all, you can’t control anyone else. The only way I could actually get him to stop masturbating or watching porn or fantasizing about women who would consider letting a guy give them a money shot would be to get a male chastity belt, which I ordered immediately from Amazon. The point is, catching your boyfriend spanking his own damn dick is one of the most awkward and life-changing moments a woman can experience. But if you’re strong enough, you too can get through it. You’ll learn that despite what he says, he really does watch porn. You’ll learn that you’re not the only one who gets off when you think the other person isn’t around. And you’ll learn to always, always announce yourself before entering a room.
