A Guilty Pleasure by Paul Daley

I watched a man pleasure himself tonight… Well I say pleasure in its very loosest term… by the look of him, neither he or the passing crowd got any satisfaction whatsoever…By the look of him he’d get more pleasure from a bath and a  hot meal… 

What was surprising was the lack of any interest. A busy evening a man pleasuring himself and people just passed him by… He lacked…. shock factor… we all kind of accepted …How can I describe it… he was doing his own thing…

 If this was  an audition for X Factor , and I was Simon Cowell  giving him feedback, I’d have to say  I don’t think anyone would have gotten any pleasure out of that sort of act… performance wise,  id say cold and emotionless.. it’s a no from me… I mean what did he expect…The guy failed to engage his audience… ( urgh urgh… buzzer sound )

On the other hand … if it wasn’t an act …If this was real…. if he wanted to draw attention to himself…  well…he’d picked the wrong crowd… sorry mate but jerking off in public… it’s  just not a crowd pleaser … Nobody’s  interested… I can’t say we’ve seen it all before… cos I for one I  haven’t…granted it’s different…And isn’t that what people are always looking for…something different… it’s just… Well… there’s different and there’s different…And this kind of thing… I’m sorry but people don’t want to see it… 

Ok so I’m being flippant… The guy had…issues… we all knew it… but isn’t easier to laugh off guys like him……Let’s be honest he was a desperate man looking for attention, so why not let him get on with it… have his five minutes or whatever it takes…Then hopefully he’ll move on…  just as long as he doesn’t  expect a round of applause at the end…

In the past I might have been one of those sorts… you know … ignore…nose up …and  look away… but I couldn’t help it… id caught his eye or maybe he’d caught mine.. … and no matter how I tried I just couldn’t not watch. … plus I was at the bus stop and he was standing right in front of me … stood in a doorway leaning back and … like I say… pleasuring himself

I mean it wasn’t a turn on… not for me… I’m not like that….I don’t  think it was doing anything for him either…  It was just…something …. No what I mean… When you’ve got nothing… you need something …, I felt sorry for him … he wanted a audience. … not in a pervy way..I think he just wanted people to know he was there……watching was the least I could do…Unfortunately I don’t think me or the small crowd that were standing at the bus stop were getting anything out of his performance…

Let’s be honest…  he looked pathetic… but he knew that… He knew… but he didn’t care… This was all he had left…And it wasn’t much believe me..

I’ couldn’t help it… watching him was hypnotic.. it wasn’t sexual or exciting or a turn on… It was just.., sad… He was just propped up in his spot stroking away…  Maybe he wanted someone to come over and stop him… nobody did… maybe that’s why he was sad… 

   I mean let’s be honest he was doing it for attention … every stroke was saying … look at me… He wanted to be seen… to be noticed… And nobody did….People just walked on by…

Their was a time when behaviour like this wouldn’t be allowed…,Dirty Bastard..  someone would have shouted ….or  put that away or I’ll call the police… maybe even give him a kicking…but nobody did… maybe times have changed.. correction… times have changed….Maybe we either just felt sorry for him or didn’t care…, Maybe  we all. thought … well he’s got fuck all else to live for, just let him go for it… 

I’m making a judgement now… you know… like when you play the people watching game and try and work out who they are and what they do… by the look of him I’d say he was either homeless or on the bones of his arse… mental case obviously…He looked weathered…. His face a ruddy red colour… in a previous life he could have been a sailor his face to long before the mast isn’t that what they say…washed and weathered  by the sea….  his bloodshot  eyes looked like they were storing  a sea of salty tears… ready to burst out at any moment …He probably wished he could just wave them away…. but those are the kind  of waves they keep coming back… standing here, doing what he was doing, was never going to give him the relief he craved. 

So here he was standing before us… pumping his shrivelled manhood even though it was flaccid and flat… he didn’t care … he just beat away … stroke after stroke… as if he was trying to make the point … I do this coz this is all that I have left..  

possession had he none… as far as I could tell… The cock in his hand was all he had … This was the last thing of value left to this pitiful man …  pleasuring hardly describes his act… what he did looked  like no pleasure at all..

More people just passed by…they said nothing…nobody stopped nobody looked … nobody judged…A man beating his meat had obviously become a common site… maybe in some fashionable continental city centre, patrons of the arts may throw him money his actions would be described  as a performance piece ..He’d be a genius, celebrated  for his sublime imagination …Dressing stuff up and calling it art is something people  are good at… Stick a sheep in a fish tank or cello tape a banana to the wall and people will pay you millions….  

Forget calling the police … Get this guy an agent and he could be a millionaire tomorrow… or not… and  he’s still a tramp having a wank on the street…. This is a man who is on the edge in so many ways. 

After a while his act got boring… Peoples  attention span for this kind of performance is very limited … you seen one  you’ve seen em all you might say… I to eventually returned to the synthetic world…, I took out  phone…I still occasionally looked up …. I felt like I at least owed him the courtesy of staying with him until the end. Unfortunately this performance was giving neither of us any joy… I was tempted to shout…get on with it…

Maybe under different circumstances  people may have gone over and offered him a hand… this wasn’t one of those occasions or the kind of act that would benefit from audience participation. 

I wondered what, or who he was fantasising about… you know what was driving him on… who was the old flame… that passing ship… the schoolboy crush that was helping … She who might have been … who was … who’s gone…

Before me stood a broken man who had lost any dignity he might once have had… A man with no future… beating out a rhythm to a memory from his faded past… His pace was slow and methodical .., He was in no hurry .., why rush.., he didn’t look like he had anywhere to go… His eyes wide… he stared off into deep space… I can’t decide who was sadder him or me… he looked it… I felt it… 

of course I had money in my pocket and a home to go too… I could keep my cock in my pants… but what about him… Eventually he’ll shoot his load.., and then what… No beautiful young partner to ask him if he enjoyed that before rolling over and going to sleep… I would like to have stayed until the end, to celebrate his achievements, maybe give him a clap… you know in recognition…. But my bus came before he did… Maybe he will take a bow… or pass round the hat…or maybe he’ll just stop… put himself away… And leave both himself and the crowd wanting more… 

He still at it said the bus drive as I got on…he sounded both surprised and disgusted… obviously my friend was a regular… this was not a one off performance…this act was what you might call a regular gig. By the time  I took my seat I was surprised to see the man had disappeared… When I had left him he was nowhere near achieving any kind of euphoria… And yet now it looks like he had come.. and now he was gone...Elvis has left the building you might say…. A happy ending… I think not.