I’m not a fan of No Nut November (the month-long challenge where people try not to wank for reasons that vary from ‘fine’ to ‘oh God please stop spewing falsehoods about wanking harming your brain’). I like wanking and I dislike people who try to make others feel ashamed or broken because they enjoy a hand shandy. However, there is one huge benefit to the end of No Nut November that I haven’t yet dwelled upon for fear I’ll end up trapped in a horn spiral for the whole of lockdown. Namely: how much fucking jizz there’ll be when everyone who is partaking in it joins a massive beat-one-out party at 12:01 on December 1st.
This is how I imagine it goes down.
At one minute past midnight, the magic time that marks the end of No Nut November: when the challenge is over, thousands of eager wankers begin masturbating.
At two minutes past midnight, a swimming pool’s worth of spunk pours forth.
Wait, not a swimming-pool: a lake. A river. An ocean.
Spunk so copious that, if it weren’t for its viscosity, salmon could swim up it to mate.
Spunk so torrential that – filmed in 4K and with the correct Attenborough voiceover – it could easily pass for a wide-shot of the start of monsoon season.
Shot after shot after shot. Loads and fucking loads of it. Across the globe, thousands (hundreds of thousands? Millions?) of people look anxiously around the room for a sock and realise that a sack would be far more pragmatic.
The end of No Nut November
In my head, there is a montage, set to the climax of the 1812 overture, of cock upon cock upon cock exploding in a bountiful shower of the most jizz it has ever spaffed forth, interspersed with the surprised/delighted looks of that cock’s owner. All different kinds of cock, all different consistencies and quantities of jizz, pumped with such intense power that if you aimed it in the right direction, you could use it to knock over Coke cans. Full ones.
Like a Cadbury’s selection box of filthy hot cum shots, but instead of your standard selection box fare, where the chocolate is always a little smaller than the bars you buy in the shop, they’re actually far far bigger. And made entirely of spunk.
Someone I know told me recently that he was partaking on No Nut November. My first question was ‘why?’ and my second question felt a little too forward to ask so I bit my tongue and didn’t say it. But what I wanted to say was:
On December 1st, do you fancy coming round and splattering a month’s worth of spunk all over my tits?
I did not ask this question out loud, because lockdown rules sadly do not allow for horny slags who want to claim torrents of spunk that do not rightfully belong to us. Also because I think the sheer force of my enthusiasm may well scare him off. As my mate Jessica* explained to me recently in very serious tones: dick is like a deer in the garden. You have to coax it gently, you can’t just run at it screaming about how you want the spunk, because it’ll get startled and run away.
Besides, it’d be very unfair of me to try and claim someone else’s hard-earned spunk torrent: they’ve worked for that, goddammit! They’ve put in the effort and hours to save it all up over the month of November! I can’t just storm in and demand it like a member of the Bullingdon Club clicking their fingers to summon another bottle of quaffing port. The same logic that means I’m a little sad if I’ve fucked someone sideways but they only manage to come once I’ve left them alone for a reminiscence wank also dictates that I can’t swoop in and shove my naked tits under the geyser of spunk that will pour forth after No Nut November. It isn’t mine: I haven’t earned it.
In fact, I actively don’t deserve it. I’ve been quite rude about No Nut November in the past (though inevitably, Dr Janega at Going Medieval has skewered it far more effectively and hilariously), so it’s disgracefully hypocritical of me to try and siphon off the best bits of something I’ve been scathing about before.
But still. A girl can dream, right? And right now my dream is that at the end of No Nut November – at one minute past midnight on the 1st of December, the heavens will open. Angels will herald the moment with a round of the 1812 overture played on God’s own cannons and – accompanied by the satisfied groans of hundreds and thousands of wankers – the world will be drowned in what I can only describe as a biblical deluge of spunk.
*Jessica is not her real name, but we have decided she should definitely have a name on the blog, because I tweet about her quite a lot and I want to make sure she gets credit for her wise words about dick, as well as her incredible threesome tips.