In an episode of Modern Marvels about Kobe beef, I learned that castrated bulls are much easier to keep because without balls, a bull is as docile as a cow. So this got me thinking: When I metaphorically castrate myself through, as we say, spilling the seed, I too feel no more useful than a chick, at least for a few hours. So maybe my testicles aren’t just there to impregnate girls and to be my scratching post; maybe they also serve as an important source of energy.
In order to test this hypothesis, I subjected myself to 30 days without ejaculation. I recorded the experiment for the benefit of mankind, and I exaggerated facts for the benefit of interest.
Hour one: So far, so good. To decrease temptation, I deleted all porn bookmarks from my browser, which already gave me a smug sense of self-satisfaction. This could be better than I thought.
Hour eight: In order to get over the first ejaculation temptation, I distract myself by eating three hamburgers and cleaning the toilet twice.
Day two: Everything was normal except for my desire to talk loudly and often.
Day three: A fat girl at the grocery store seemed strangely attractive. Was this Sir Mix-A-Lot’s secret?
Day four: Felt frustrated. Started looking at porn because I thought it would make me feel better. Four hours later, I conceded that it didn’t make me feel better.
Day five: Saw a girl’s name while I was reading the paper. Got a boner.
Day six: Listening to NPR annoyed me after two minutes. Usually takes four.
Day seven: Worked out at the gym for two hours. Caught a glimpse of a girl doing side bends in yoga pants. Had to work out for two more hours.
Day nine: Noticed that grooming myself is important.
Day ten: I asked a random girl to have sex with me. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure she was 15. Still okay with the interaction.
Day 13: Turned on NPR and not two seconds later Neal Conan said “um” twice in a row. Shouted “SAY ‘UM’ AGAIN YOU GODDAMN CHRISTIAN MOTHERFUCKER!” Blacked out. Regained consciousness two hours later at the gym in the middle of a fury of push-ups.
Day 14: Stressed out all day; accomplished nothing aside from biting my lip and scratching my neck. Drank 18 beers in order to cool off. Fell over and hit my head on the coffee table, which was the first time in a while that something ached more than my testicles.
Day 15: Embarrassed about last night. Instead of fighting against ejaculation for the rest of the month, I decide to consider my cramped testicles as I would consider an audience. I can either feed off their energy or I can let them make me tense. This thought felt like a big deal; an audience should have been there for it.
Day 16: Made a to-do list. Looking at it didn’t make me want to take a nap. Then completed to-do list without taking a nap.
Day 17: I was cold today, though I didn’t have even the slightest urge to say, “I’m cold.”
Day 19: While reading a book I spaced out during a paragraph. Instead of continuing on, I went back and re-read it.
Day 20: Got only five hours of sleep the previous night, yet woke up feeling a surprisingly intense love of life. Walked around the neighborhood saying “hi” to everybody. An old man started talking to me about getting a good deal on produce. I was surprisingly interested in what he had to say without feeling the need to be funny. Is this Jay Leno’s secret?
Day 22: Refreshing my Twitter feed no longer felt life-threatening urgent, so I got nine hours of work done in 45 minutes.
Day 24: Talked to a girl without guilt or hesitation, but also without giving anybody a good reason to call the cops.
Day 26: Nicknamed my testicles “The Power Plant.” I concluded that this was the most clever thing I’ve ever thought of ever.
Day 28: Still talking loudly and often.
Day 29: I no longer feel like my testicles are trying to manipulate my brain while my brain is trying to manipulate my testicles. With this new sense of wholeness, the guilt that compelled me to listen to NPR is gone.
Day 30: I begin to understand that I don’t need to ejaculate to have an orgasm. I can turn everything that I do into an orgasm. No, it’s not the same as a release of baby-batter, but after a month without ejaculation, it’s easy to convince yourself that it is.
About Cock Rock
I am Mark.