The Ask, Sam Lipsyte
Every Sam Lipstye novel I’ve ever read has had at least one excellent masturbation scene. This is one of the more dire and contemplative ones, a father’s masturbatory story.
I clicked onward to Home Aid Ho’s. This was actually part of a larger constellation of niche sites, and I searched some other scenarios until I found the one that catered to my particular deformity. Spreadsheet Spreaders featured men who pleasured their female employers for raises of up to twenty percent. I started to rub myself and, remembering I would have to retrieve Bernie soon, recalled that I’d once done what I was doing with Bernie in the room. He’d been a few months old, and though sex in his vicinity was deemed okay, or, more than okay, beautiful and natural, Maura and I had never covered the masturbation question. Was jerking off in front of your mewler any different than making sweet slow love? I’d always meant to start an anonymous thread about this on one of those parenting resource sites. Things got away from me. Now it was no longer a concern. Bernie was too old. I was too old. It took me a good while to banish this memory, return to the hermetic joys of Spreadsheet Spreaders. I rubbed on valiantly, shot was was doubtless, at my advanced age, some sullen autist into a superannuated tube sock.