Well, masturbation. There's absolutely no sense whatever in lettin your pants down a la shittin and then, cause you're too lazy to get up, or make other shifts, simply milk the cow (with appropriate thoughts) and let the milk at its sweet keen pitch spurt downward, between thighs, when the urge at that moment is upward, onward, out, straining, to make everything come out as thought gathering it from all corners of the loins to purse it out the shivering push bone - No, with the thing flapping and milking below, not only that the seat cover restricting the natural quiverbow jump of the cock - at the great moment there is a sudden sorrow 'cause you can't push in, out, over, onward, at it - but just sit dumbly (like a man sits down to piss) oozing below for miserable hygiene and convenience's sake in an awkward woebegone, in fact castrated with legs-tangled-in-pants position and dumb shirt tails hanging a la shit - and barely missing the real draining kick and ending up having done nothing but clean out the loins as if you'd stuck a dry rag in there and pull-mopped our your life's desire.
-- [pg. 8, Visions of Cody, Jack Kerouac]
Why is this passage so freaking awesome? Because I'm not a dude, and yet I could completely get a clear understanding of this particular guy's version of male masturbation, down to the sort of sad, pathetic emotion of wanting something real, but instead you're just jerking off. I actually felt SAD when I read this, and wished the guy got laid instead of being stuck on a toilet bowl.
Dude, that passage ROCKS.