The word master usually refers to someone who has surpassed all others in a skill. An individual who has arrived at a point wherein his or her abilities completely bypass those of any and everybody. An individual so great that they, and they alone hold the absolute authority in whatever it is they have mastered. If followed with the suffix "bater", the word takes on a wholly different meaning.
I mean the second one.
Well, that isn't entirely fair to The Master. He is extremely talented in his particular art. He'd give Jackson Pollock a run for his money. In fact, the Master is not only supremely skilled at squeezing the squid, he, through the disgusting but necessary virtue of practice, is also absolutely,
mortifyingly, terrifically good at skinning the turtle in public places and not getting caught.
Public sexual activiy in porn is seen by many as being "interesting" to put in diplomatic (read: non-erotic) terms. In reality however, it is absolutely disgusting for everyone not directly involved in the actual meet and greet between the hand and jizz-stick. That being said, according to The Master the stigma is only a stigma if you get caught. In the interest of avoiding the aforementioned stigma, The Master started small. And by small I mean in in the school bathroom, in the sixth grade. Eventually though, the school bathroom during break-time did not provide enough thrill for The Master's peculiar taste, and in his journey of self discovery (in a disturbingly literal sense), he soon found himself migrating to real PDPA (Public Displays of Personal Affection).
By that I mean he'd moved on to have a wank in the school library. I assume the smell of books and chronically depressed librarians did it for him. Our Middle School library was not a large library but it was very private. The bookcases were floor to ceiling and arranged in such a way that you could stand between them and if you were quiet, nobody would be alerted to your presence. It was due to this queer arrangement of bookcases that the library made itself to be the perfect first step for the young public masturbator. In fact, it was through that very library that I discovered The Master and became his confidant in all things public and masturbatory.
This all came to be because one day during my tender, young, sixth grade experience I heard the librarian scream and saw The Master speed past all Looney Tunes style while pulling up his pants. A book on Mythological Creatures was subsequently removed from the library. According to The Master there was an illustration of a Nymph on page 88 and it was a significant step up from National Geographic magazines with droopy African titties on the front.
His next adventure of note is one that has become rather famous in certain circles, and it taught our hero an important lesson, humility. Just kidding, the lesson was "Don't get caught tickling the monkey in an Uber or your account, and self-respect, will be terminated." To many who don't know him but by legend he is The Uber Milker; known for his complete and total lack of shame and for almost getting beat up by a grown-ass man while in the 9th grade for almost jizzing on a car seat.
But The Master was no quitter. He did not let the humiliation of getting caught faze him, for he would be the very best; like no one ever was. It was after this misadventure that The Master truly ascended to masturbatory mastery.
With much practice, The Master learned the art of not getting caught. After many other adventures, which I shall not relate because would rather avoid writing about my dear friend's penchant for abusing the snake, he finally reached (what I would consider) the tip of his iceberg. Once the heat about his slapping the lizard in an Uber died down, he managed to successfully masturbate in an English lesson without anyone being the wiser.
Anyone who has gone through the uniquely droll experience of having been in an English class can attest to the fact that The Master's feat can easily qualify as penile acrobatics. This would have been nigh impossible ordinarily, but the Master took it one step further through rubbing the kangaroo in a class, that is quiet without exception or parallel. The teacher of this class has a voice so quiet it cannot be accurately measured in decibels; and in true daredevil fashion it was while the borderline geriatric woman slowly and painstakingly, with the speed, volume and intonation of a stereotypical English teacher, read Othello to the class as they took notes.
And to the background noise of Othello being read by the auditory equivalent of Xanax; The Master managed to gently cup his own personal kazoo with a tissue, and (over his trousers) vigorously stroke the pickle. Through some superhuman feat of willpower, The Master managed to keep a poker face to the extent that he (by his own admission) seemed to be paying attention, while simultaneously rotating his hot dog.
This went on for almost ten full minutes with The Master massaging his mongoose, watching porn on the laptop which he was supposed to be taking notes on, and occasionally making eye-contact with the teacher as she slowly and carefully described to the class the symbolism of Desdemona's handkerchief; all the while keeping a straight face and feeling the oncoming orgasm. That is how; matching the pace of the agonisingly slow teacher, my dear friend The Master rubbed the dingo till he shot the sheriff .
I wisely did not ask what he did with the tissue.
