I'm sitting in the breakroom enjoying a fine turkey sandwich when I look at the sports section of the local newspaper. I read about my former high school, enjoying the fact that they became terrible as soon as I graduated (granted I never played or even went to a game, but I'm sure my presence on campus had some sort of residual effect).

Realizing I had 20 minutes left in my lunch and due to a complicated series of events which I will not get into could not release myself last night even though I sincerely needed to, I decided to be adventurous. I walked into the employee bathroom, which is two stalls side by side, and begin taking care of my business. I am quiet as a mouse, but still paranoid, and sincerely want to finish before someone enters and complicates things. I spit on my hand to speed things up, but it isn't enough. I regret not taking the newspaper into the bathroom with me.

Suddenly, the door opens and the stall next to mine is occupied. I look at their feet for a hint, but cannot deduce who it is. They hurriedly put then a toilet seat cover, sit down, and subsequently unleashed such a fierce explosion I was amazed they didn't fly out of the door of the stall. When the smell hit me it was unbearable, and I could instantly feel my boner wilting in my hands. This enraged me; all I wanted to do was toss one off, and I'll be damned if I'm going to sit through four more hours of pencil pushing with blue balls.

I spit on my hand again and furiously attack, not caring for the obnoxious sound it makes. The inhuman explosions, however, continue for God knows how long. I continue waging the losing battle as well, and feel my hand begin to ache from the harsh grip I am applying. The demon to my left begins the wiping process, flushing multiple times in between. Red-faced and exasperated, I feel a tiny groan escape from my lips.

Panicked, I hear a husky whisper from the other stall, "are you jerking off?" The fact that it is my manager's voice adds to my panic. "No!" I practically shout, all my emotions coming out at the worst possible time.

"God dammit, (censored name)!" he yells. His ordeal has clearly had a negative effect on him. "God dammit! You're jerking off in my bathroom!"

"No!" is the only word capable of escaping from my quivering lips.

He then stormed out of the bathroom, not even washing his hands. I sat on the toilet in a state of shock, unsure of what to do. I was almost certainly going to be fired, but how much would it suck to endure such a terrible situation while your balls ached with the fury of Thor? I had no choice, my friends, I had to persevere.

The pervasive smell made things difficult but I was fiercely determined. I spat out massive wads of saliva onto my hand and attacked my **** with all my power. Some five minutes into it I hear the door creak open again, but am so close I ignore it. Another groan slips out as I am so close to my cherished goal, but then; "What the ****, are you still doing it? I'm calling security!"

And so we come to the close of my story, friends. Yes, I jerked it in the bathroom at work. Yes, I was caught by my manager, and yes, I was escorted from the building in handcuffs by two burly black men armed with batons. But as I type this story; no, I do not have blue balls. So really, who won in the end?