Why Wait for the Shake?

One never knows how one will react in moments of great stress or risk. The meek might summon unanticipated strength, and the strong may cower like a frightened dog. Either way, character is often defined at such flash points.

Just such an experience found me today when the 5.8 Virginia earthquake that shook much of the East Coast rumbled through the Philadelphia area—the first true earthquake I, and most in this neck of America, have ever endured.

I was sitting at my desk when the temblor struck. Truth be told, I was looking at porn on the computer and in the midst of self-satisfaction when the ground began shaking. Feeling the floor move and seeing the walls sway, I realized almost instantly that an earthquake was taking place. It felt a lot like when I suffered vertigo ten years ago, my sense of balance once again awry and my body momentarily helpless. Hardly in a state to rush out of my apartment building—what with my manhood exposed—I felt no such compulsion anyway. Rather than overcome by fear, I remained completely calm, as the curious novelty of the moment suppressed any trace of panic. Frankly, all I could think about once the shuddering ceased was finishing what I started. Why should plate tectonics rob me of an orgasm? Besides, if my death is imminent, I can't think of a better way to go out of this world than blowing my top to high-resolution pics of a nude, glistening Ariana Jollee spread-eagle at pool-side. Would it really make a hell of a difference that my lifeless body will be uncovered from the rubble with my pants open and my dust-covered pride hanging out? That I got right back to business instead of checking for damage, turning on the news, or escaping a potentially crumbling structure probably doesn't speak to my legacy, but I was operating on primal urge—and I remain steadfast that I did the right thing.

So much so that, like taking shelter in a basement during a tornado, perhaps I have proven that masturbation is the safest course of action during an earthquake.

Frankly, I found that the shaking so added to the pleasure—perhaps in a fashion similar to how autoerotic asphyxiation reputedly heightens orgasm—that I'm now wondering if it might pay to move to a more earthquake-prone country, such as Indonesia or Turkey, to enjoy this newfound enhancement more regularly.