“What are you giving up for Lent?”

It was the question I’d been waiting for all day and, sure enough, my boss delivered it with her customary flighty laugh and yet deeply serious undertone which suggested if I wasn’t giving anything up for Lent then I was a poor excuse for a human being.

I fumbled for a moment, threw in a random question about soup and, once satisfied she was distracted, turned back to my computer before she could ask again. I’m a master at avoiding questions.

The thing is, I don’t get Lent and the whole “giving something up” thing. I’m not slightly religious so see no reason to follow the tradition; I don’t see any real benefit in quitting something for 40 days when I’m free to indulge the other 325 days of the year, and, to be honest, there are precious few things in life which give me any form of pleasure so don’t understand why I would make myself miserable by denying myself any of them.

Even so, the concept provoked a series of thoughts on what I could (in theory) give up and as soon as I thought of them, my brain screamed hysterically at the list and kicked it out of my mind as if fighting off an alien parasite.

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Cheese, Chocolate, Crisps were my first choices (I should have included alcohol but, alas, I forgot about it at the time). All of them are delicious and bring a certain amount of comfort, but the fact is I do not indulge in them enough to warrant banning them from my life. If alcohol had been included then the argument would be slightly different but, as a recovering alcoholic who still has a lot of steps to take down that yellow-brick road, cutting it out completely would not be a very clever idea. Then there was the Big One, the one thing which I knew there was so little chance of giving up I actually laughed out loud when I considered it – Orgasms.

I’m a guy so I’m going to have to accept that there’s a certain preconception about my obsession with wanking and being able to cum, but it’s not just a primal thing, it’s a deep-rooted source of pleasure, relaxation and stress-relief which I don’t think I could ever give up. And I’m not just talking about my own – I am just as addicted to giving orgasms as I am receiving them, and I strive to make sure that anyone I am with enjoys their time as much as I do.

So, there’s the Giving side of orgasms. This brings me a HUGE amount of pride and pleasure, and I like to think that I am highly adaptable, creative and versatile enough that despite my partners’ different tastes I’m able to help them climax through different means, whether through spending hours between their thighs performing oral or climbing on top and fucking them ruthlessly.

Taking the time to learn what turns a person on, what makes them wet, what makes them whimper and claw at my body as I use every skill I’ve learnt over the years – words, fingers, control and more – to push them to the edge is not a chore or a challenge but an addictive pleasure of mine. Hearing and feeling and sensing that climax is the best thing in the world – knowing I was able to contribute to their flushing skin, their panting breath and desperate thrashing as an orgasm rips through their body is so fucking sexy that there is absolutely no way I could EVER give that up. It’s what keeps me trying and learning and wanting more.

Then there is the Receiving side, whether with a partner or alone. I won’t labour the point because if you’ve had an orgasm then you already know how fucking wonderful it feels, but the way your body primes itself, the way you feel your cock (or pussy) become so sensitive that even a light brush sends shivers of pleasure deep inside a hidden part of yourself… It’s such a delicious feeling which gets better and better until, finally, that glowing ember sparks into life, flares, and burns through your body from head to toe. It feels amazing, as you know, and is usually the single most pleasurable thing on a fairly average day.

If it was purely indulgence, though, I might – might – be able to give up orgasms. Similarly, if it was purely addiction then I might also seek ways to slow down or stop my obsession completely, but it’s more than that which makes the concept of stopping so completely laughable – it’s that I know, without orgasms, I am a very different person.

For one thing my anxiety spikes ten-fold. I am restless, I become grumpy, I cannot sleep properly. I become short-tempered, my appetite craves only junk food and my depression increases. With them, the opposite is true. It’s not perfect, but I become calmer, I don’t stress even though I still understand the severity of certain situations, I eat better and I sleep well, rather than just sampling snatches of unconsciousness.

I’m not going to claim that masturbation cures my depression (it doesn’t) but I find it interesting to note that while depression negatively affects every other aspect of my life, it does not touch my ability to orgasm and that orgasms help take the edge of my darkest periods. For this I am insanely grateful.

It’s often a side-effect, whether of the illness or the medication taken to combat it, that many sufferers lose the ability, and the thought of losing my orgasms does not bear even thinking about. When everything else has fallen apart, those bursts of pleasure have given me some hope and to lose them would absolutely crush me. Dramatic? Perhaps. But I know what I’m like, I know how self-destructive I can become and I will take any moment which stops that mood taking complete control.

So no, I’m not giving anything up for Lent, whether cheese or chocolate or crisps or alcohol. I could, but for what purpose? The only thing which I could legitimately stop would be orgasms in all forms, but there’s not a snowflake’s chance in Hell of that because without them I’d have lost the one consistent thing which brightens me up, even when I’m feeling utterly miserable; because I am slightly addicted to them but see no problem in it if it’s not affecting anyone else or preventing me from doing other things; and lastly because they are a lot of fucking fun.

Why would I want to give that up?

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