Paul the Habitual Masturbator

19 02 2010

I really should tell you about Paul (his name has been changed because he is slightly unhinged and may attack if provoked). He’s one of those guys who, when it comes to drinking, not only doesn’t have a clue about where to draw the line but has eaten the chalk and wants to wrestle. His name is Paul. He’s a semi-smart bloke when sober but when he gets a few drinks into him he turns into a frothy mouthed lunatic who has a tendency to outstay his welcome everywhere he goes. Everyone knows someone like this but Paul was an expert at it. You’d have a party on Saturday night and on Tuesday Paul would still be there, sitting on the couch drinking beer and eating BBQ Shapes. I once had to pretend I had a family reunion on down the coast just to get him out of the house. Even still, he wanted the address just so he could ‘pop in’ if he was in the neighbourhood.

He is also a weirdo when it comes to self-pleasure.

The first time I really saw him in action was after a pub crawl about a month after I met him. We’d stumbled home to a mate’s house and we sat on the deck having one last beer. It was about 3am. Paul gets up and goes inside and I say “Where you going, dude?”

“Garn to have a wank, Thommo”.

“Ah, okay. Right”

No one seemed surprised at this revelation and one of my mates says “yeah, old Paulie likes to jerk off after a good drinking session.” I found this fact more than a little disturbing. No more than 5 minutes passes and Paul comes out with a grin on his face. The other guys start warily edging away from him like they know something is up. I follow their lead and sure enough Paul slurs out “Who wants to see my Spiderman impersonation?”

He holds up his hand and it is covered in semen. It looks like he’s jammed his hand into a massive jar of Clag Glue. He then opens his fingers and sure enough, ropey strands of spoof do their best impression of Spiderman’s web. Classy. He then chases us around the house for a bit singing the theme tune, all the while flinging “web” at unsuspecting victims. I ran from the house screaming like a 12 year old girl and wouldn’t come back until someone reassured me that Paul had passed out in the garden bed.

A few weeks later we are at the same house and it is the morning after a big night. Paul goes for his ritualistic wank. Just takes himself off into a bedroom, locks the door and gets down to business. He’s in there for only about 3 minutes and then trudges back out, sits down and starts watching TV. The guys who live at the house are all “Paul, how about you fuck off home?” and he says “Gotta wait for my sock to dry”. He’d had a wank, couldn’t find anything to wipe up with so he used his sock. We all look out the window and the clothesline is empty except for one solitary cum-soaked sock slowly spinning around in the wind. I can still hear the rusty squeaking of the clothes line now.

Enough was enough. We told Paul to get out. Take his cum-rag and go home. He reluctantly trudged outside and got his sock off the line, put it on his foot and squelched off home. Squelch. Squelch. Squelch. Off he went.

He was a scary dude. But he came in handy from time to time. We’d all be sitting around on a Saturday afternoon complaining about being bored and he’d grin madly and then dash off to the shops. He’d come back a hour or so later with a carton of beer, a bottle of cheap vodka, some nitrous bulbs and 3 or 4 BBQ chooks.

Just completely out of the blue.

Once he came with us to Stradbroke Island for a weekend. We got smashed, as you do, but he took it upon himself to be the most inebriated of the bunch. All of the time. We arrived on the island and started drinking. We then started playing touch footy and some locals joined in. He nearly started several fights when he started tackling people. Not like a normal tackle that you see in a game of footy. Oh no, nothing like that. We’re talking big fucking shoulder charges and up-ending spear tackles. He didn’t even discriminate. Some small 12 year old lad was sprinting down the sideline, ball tucked under his arm and Paul made a beeline for him. You could see the terror in this kid’s eye. He pleads “noooooooooooooo” but Paul just smashes the poor kid. Literally picking the kid up and tossing him over the sideline. He’s on the ground crying, holding his stomach and Paul stands over him gobbing off like a steroid-fuelled wrestler. We had to restrain the kid’s Dad and make a hasty retreat after that one.

We then went for a swim and I’d stopped drinking for a bit there, you know, pacing myself. He was drinking rum and cokes at 2 in the afternoon. He then starts looking at us all weird and I said “Paul, what are you up to man” and he said “you’ll see”.

Then, about 10 seconds later I just have this premonition and I duck down. Sure enough something dark sailed over my head and when “PLAP!” against one of my mate’s face. It was a poo. Paul had done a nard in his hand and thrown it as us.

We gave him a bit of a belting after that and he was banned from entering the unit we were staying in. He didn’t mind. He just slept on the tiles out the front, using a cask wine bladder as a pillow, occasionally awakening to hurl abuse and growl like a junkyard dog at innocent passers-by.

If you meet a man called Paul who seems nice at first but after 7 drinks turns into a leery and slightly leany drunk…you’ve been warned.

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One response

19 02 2010
Bron

I was laughing/crying the whole way through this post – my 6 y.o. even pried himself away from Saturday morning cartoons to come check on me. Love your writing Thommo!

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