No Friend Of Mine

Some workplaces develop problems associated with building predicaments, such as HVAC problems, an infestation of bugs or rodents, water leaks, cracks in the foundation, plumbing issues, etc. When you deal with the public, you can add to the possibilities that there could be vandalism, broken furniture, doors and windows, or a myriad of other snags in the fabric that holds your workplace together.

It’s a very elite group of service employees who find themselves in a situation at work where they have to deal with the very special public building problem that we seem to have developed, which, truly, shouldn’t be surprising. It was just a matter of time, really.

Our building has a masturbator. He’s been there for quite some time, and like all other building issues, it feels as if he sprung up overnight, though the truth is he’s been festering here for a while. When you find out your building has a masturbator, like any other building crisis, you have to assess the threat and deal with as much of it on your own as you can before you take it to the necessary authorities. Our masturbator isn’t a severe case yet. He doesn’t expose himself, doesn’t reach into his pants, and he definitely doesn’t waltz in with a tube of lubricant in one hand and a box of tissues in the other. Like other maintenance issues, he’s subtle. It’s strictly over the clothes contact with himself while viewing porn. It could be contested that he was adjusting himself, had an itch, was rubbing his thigh, or other such excuse, but since no one on staff has caught him in the act, we can only imagine the reasons he might give. Regardless, it’s a problem, and enough patrons have said something about it to us that it has turned into a huge deal with procedures being drafted on the spot, and calls to the chief of police have been made. Our building doesn’t carry masturbator insurance, so we’re on our own with this mess.

Suffice it to say, we have all made our little puns, equally juvenile and embarrassing to have said them, but funny nonetheless.

However, there is one little area I’d like to address.

Now that it’s gone global and everyone in the building is aware that we have a masturbator, people from other departments are paying us visits, and they all say the same damn thing when they approach.

“So, is Your Friend here?”

He is not my friend, folks.

I have my standards. My friends don’t masturbate through their clothes. Let’s get this straight, okay, so I don’t have to keep going over this time and again. If these people didn’t even bother removing their clothing to seriously enjoy the orgasm they were about to receive, then they are no friends of mine. My friends know how to maximize their pleasure. None of this through-the-clothes crap. They get naked, they have props, they have toys, they have fantasies they live out, perhaps costumes they wear, maybe even a partner to enjoy it with, and I’ll bet many have needs so specific, you might call it a ceremony. They embrace the gift they give themselves. They pant, they sweat, and when it’s over, there is a mess and they are exhausted. AS IT SHOULD BE! No one I would associate with would be so lame as to go to a library and rub himself through his jeans as subtly as he could, depriving himself of moaning and quivering and biting his lip until it bleeds a little, gasping for air, muscles in his arm on fire from exhaustion which makes the desperation and fury all the more intense, and finally having that all-over orgasm that sends spasms throughout his body. WHO would not prefer to have it that way? Well, no one I call a friend, that’s who.

In sum, someone who masturbates in public through his/her clothes shant be called my friend.

A local police officer came into the library last night, looking all of 12 years old I should say, and while I know that the entire force has been informed of our masturbator problem, I did not expect every cop in town to stop by during his/her shift to check on us. Where were you when we had gang problems, fights and other acts of violence, when we were begging for a greater police presence??? Noooo, they don’t want to save the librarians from being knifed in a dark corner by the biographies. They want to catch a masturbator in the act. Fucking perverts.

Anyway…

Officer Doogie Howser sauntered (yes, he truly sauntered, because the idea of catching a non-violent local miscreant like a masturbator gives them an amused and cocky attitude that results in a saunter – it should be in the dictionary) over to my desk with a half-grin on his face, eagerly panning the crowd of patrons, obviously hopeful to find someone with a handful of his own pleasure. And not “hopeful” in a way that says he wants to join in, but in a way that says he’s going to take this masturbator down to the station and feel so superior, so self-righteous, and it will be this effortless bust that will make the world safer for children to touch the mice at the public computers of the library again. Blugh. He just had that look on his face that said he’d be mighty proud to catch the guy right-effing-now. Too bad our masturbator wasn’t around.

And then this officer crossed me, big time.

He said, “So, has Your Friend been in today?”

Oh no you di’n’t!

Not that I don’t want the police around – I do! – and not that I want to thwart a spontaneous arrest of someone committing a lewd act in my library, but calling the masturbator My Friend just ticks me off. I don’t have anything against masturbators. I don’t have anything against masturbating in public. I don’t have anything against masturbating at the library. But THROUGH his clothes?! Clearly, the guy is just stupid. I mean, what is the point?

I think I’d have more respect for him if he yanked it out and whacked off in plain sight. It would be better if he had some kind of fantasy about masturbating with a horrified audience looking on. (Which is why I always say to laugh if you can possibly remember to do so in your state of shock.) If his thrill is to appall folks, that’s how you do it. If your willy likes the fresh air, whip it out. Be prepared to pay the price, but by all means, go down in a blaze of glory. Because this public masturbation thing has to have huge ties to the danger of getting caught, I say just do it! But, for fuck’s sake, don’t cower under a desk and give yourself a squeeze through all those clothes. If you’re going to get caught and arrested, do it with panache! Do it with your wiener shooting out wild and free. Do it and be proud. This half-assed bullshit is lame. Why don’t you just go in the washroom like the rest of the dorks who surf porn all day? Lame-o. You’re not impressive. You’re not even interesting. And, as I said before, you’re not my friend.

Leave it to my library to get a case of a masturbator who is a harmless, middle-aged, mentally retarded man (yes, he is very obviously retarded, literally) who is too scared to commit to his obscenities. He probably doesn’t even know how offensive he is or how many people have spotted him. It’s the perfect scandal, too. Aside from some folks being disgusted, it’s pretty much a victimless crime. I’ve heard so many stories from other librarians who have caught people having sex, streakers, flashers, and full-on sessions of masturbation with exposure and all, and I have to admit, I’m a little jealous. All we get are the ones who could do us bodily harm. It’s not fair! We never get a good act of lewdness. And now that we have one, it’s this nice retarded man who touches himself through his jeans. It’s so disappointing.

Now that I’m in that elite group of library folk who have had a masturbator in the building, I feel let down. And I haven’t even seen him in action. I’d probably be even more let down then.

“That’s it?! That’s all you’ve got? It’s over? Pssssh, and you call yourself a masturbator? You’re a disgrace to the vocation. Don’t quit your day job!”