the Greater Nomadic Council

Neverending Quest

This is the story of an experience on my quest for the perfect self inflicted orgasm. It is painful at times, fun at times, but I never found quite what I was looking for.

As I returned home from the local video store of ill-repute, I decided to try another prototype on my journey for the perfect male masturbatory tool. Women have all variety of tools at their disposal, but surprisingly men have few. The ones we do have tested woefully inadequate (for me at least). The most promising ones were way up on the monetary scale and had the added inconvenience of where to put them when you were done. Not to mention cleaning. I wanted a "device" that was easy to use, disposable, and felt good.

I decided to head up to the grocer to grab some cola and while walking past the produce section, it hit me. I began to eye the melons seductively, thinking about what was on the inside. Honeydew was of course the first choice. It had the smooth skin, pleasing color, and it's called a honeydew for Christsakes. Then I thought about the relatively firm interior and immediately ruled it out.

Next were the watermelons. They are reddish pink on the inside, one for the plus column. But size, weight and consistency ruled out that bulbous beauty.

In the corner, lying there unassumingly was the quarry of my hunt. It hit me then that the cantaloupe was the perfect date for my evening. Soft seeds and spongy flesh were the way to go.

It was at this time I stopped my lecherous melon coveting and thought about what I was actually doing. Some bizarre supermarket version of speed-dating, but with much more vulgar connotations. I paced the store for a few minutes deciding what I would think of myself if I tried this. "Couldn't hurt", I decided.

While waiting in line with a six pack of Mountain Dew in one hand and my new girl in the other, I started actually getting excited. I wondered how many other people in the world were planning on having sex with a fruit or vegetable that night. I then wondered how many were doing to further male science. I was a pioneer in my own mind.

All this came crashing down when the older gentleman in front of me said "that's a nice lookin' melon you picked out there, sure are pretty this season." Holy crap! Did he somehow know? Had I murmured my intentions out loud? Of course, old folks do sometimes comment on things like that with total innocence. I felt dirty and ashamed. I was going to take a lot to get me through this night.

I threw on the tape I bought at the store and that about did it. My how we underestimate the power of teenage male hormones to flush away shame in most cases. I carved the hole into the melon and carefully shaved the rind around the opening, exposing the soft melon-flesh. I put a finger in to test 'er out, and came upon the first revision needed for my prototype. It was cold.

I soaked it in hot water, all the while getting more and more excited about what this was going to feel like. It was going to be perfect! All of my other trials had failed, because they were man-made. This was natural; it had to be good. It was so simple, it just had to work! 20-30 minutes passed, I had found my favorite scenes on the film and I was ready to retrieve my date. I was disappointed to find that it was still cool. I needed results and I needed them quick.

This is where, I hope, most of the male readers will understand my situation. From inception to this point had been about 2 hours. I had been anticipating release for that long. When you are used to releasing just about 5 min or less from when the desire hits you, 2 hours is an excruciatingly long wait.

Now, I made a bad choice.

I threw the melon into the microwave for 2 minutes. 2 lousy minutes. I pulled it out and the rim of my created orifice was only lukewarm. 2 more minutes it was. I spread a towel on the floor in anticipation of the mess I was about to make and retrieved my melon. It was perfect. I hurriedly, almost greedily scurried to my position on the floor to experience the ecstasy I had weird-scienced for myself. Kelly LeBrock it wasn't, but then, I was in a hurry.

I think I shrieked louder than I ever have before as the MOLTEN insides of the melon surrounded my naughty parts. I immediately became dizzy and disoriented from the pain. It was all-encompassing. Not only the genitals were covered, and I mean ALL of the parts included in that term, but most of my inner thighs were covered as well in that fruity magma that I had made. I jumped across my room running as fast as I could to the sink so as to apply cooling water to my affected areas. I was defeated. I was almost in tears, maybe from pain, but I like to think of them as tears from the subconscious knowledge that I would not be able to achieve the release I had hoped for. It drove me to stupidity to wait for 2 hours, now I would have to wait at least a week.

Aftermath: No permanent damage, trouble walking correctly for about a week, and a newfound respect for pain, the power of the microwave, and taking a date for granted. Any date.

Apparently, seeds and the gooey stuff inside a cantaloupe being a different density than the actual fruit heat at different rates. Also, the middle of stuff from the microwave is usually hotter than the outside. These are things I learned that fateful summer night.

The melons sure were pretty that season.