–By Ashok Rajamani
Perverted. Masturbating on your older brother’s wedding day is perverted, isn’t it? Well then, call me a perv. Because that’s what I was doing in my hotel room a few hours before the ceremony.
March 17, 2000. Twenty-five years old.
The day before, I had flown from New York City to Washington, D.C., where my older brother, Prakash, and his fiancée, Karmen, lived and were to marry. At the time of my spontaneous onanism, the rest of my family was out playing tourists. My brother Prakash was in the room next to mine, preparing for his big day.
Now, people practice the art of self-love at various times and for just as many reasons. They might be feeling randy or simply utterly bored. In my case, it was the latter. Weddings don’t make me feel amorous. And so, I prepared myself for a little diversion. I hadn’t yet changed into my formal wedding suit; I was wearing an outfit appropriate for a jerk-off: a ratty ’80s Def Leppard tour T-shirt. Nothing else. I set myself to the task, watching my progress in the big mirror over the dresser.
As my solo act came to its usual splashy end, I felt a sudden, massive pop inside my head.
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