Supplemental Sex

            I've been thinking long and hard about this. It has occurred to me that the word masturbation is overly negative. You're going to go blind! The devil will find work for idle hands to do!
            I've never liked even saying the word. When it comes up in conversation it seldom seems appropriate. And when someone admits to it, it can be awkward at best. I'm taking a big chance writing about it. My readership is going to freak. But knowing that the preponderance of my audience is in Europe, I feel I can get away with it in this instance.
            My proposal is this. Instead, of using the word masturbation we should refer to it as "supplemental sex." Nobody will know what you're talking about if you say, "I had supplemental sex."
            Secondly, "supplemental sex" sounds somewhat academic. And if it sounds academic there's a good chance it will go unnoticed. I realize there are problems with the term for it suggests you're experiencing real sex every now and again, but for the most part, unless you're dormant or hit an unfortunate rough patch, it seems to work.    
            Wait! Now that I think about it, it can mean something entirely different which I hadn't accounted for.            
            "Did you have an affair?"
            "No, I had supplemental sex."

She Purrs

            I was having problems with my car. The car was hesitating and doing a herky-jerky thing in first gear. I'd step on the gas and it would buck like Brahma Bull. It was getting hard on the neck. I asked Bill the Spooky Guy for advice.
            It sounds like a fuel filter, he said.
            I changed the filter, but it didn't solve the problem. Shortly there after I received a text message from Bill.
            How she doing?
            She's the same. I replied.
            Sorry to hear that. Old car present many inscrutable dilemmas, Grasshopper.
            I got the feeling I was on my own on this one. I texted back, it must be the air filter. No breath, no life.
            Give it a shot. He answered.
            When you're a mendicant poet you learn to work on your own car. I removed a few bolts here and a few bolts there to gain access to the air filter, sure enough, the filter was encased in leaves. I got rid of the leaves and put her back together. I took her for a spin. The hesitation had ceased.
            I sent Bill a message. She purrs.
            Ahhhhh!