Rarely in a man's life does he encounter a relationship as special as the one between himself and his masturbatory palm.

A great friend, this hand, a warm companion on a cold, lonely autumn night. Its ferruled, leathery grip, like a broken-in pair of levis.

The ween demands attention. Sometimes, a woman won't, or can't, do. Even though courtships and marriages, the hand stays true.

Honed, if you will, like a fine weapon.

Perhaps it says something about a man; his first, and most enduring sexual relationship is with himself.