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These were the frontier days, long before your double digit Mbps speeds. The internet crawled like a castaway toward a mirage. While my moist finger madly jabbed at the mouse, the screen always decided to freeze on a super close-up of a great, yawning vadge. It was during these heart-stopping moments that I would hallucinate the sound of my mother's voice or my father's footsteps coming down the hall and pound the X button while frantically shoving my dick inside my pants.Back then, every wank had to be orchestrated with the urgency and precision of a prison break. Today's generation are able to buff their bananas at total ease, browsing complacently on a smartphone from their executive jerk parlor. They only get a faint taste of that old-timey panic if they accidentally blast an orgasmic wail out through their speaker system.Then there was Limewire, a file-sharing service that popped up out of nowhere with the potential to change the game. The idea of owning your own clip that you could watch whenever the mood struck, no wait times involved, seemed almost too good to be true. And in some ways, it was. With dial-up's glacial pace, the luxury of a four-minute clip could take hours. I'd nest on the spinny-chair like a protective mother goose, attempting to hold off challengers to my throne with sulky adolescent bullshit.Back then, every wank had to be orchestrated with the urgency and precision of a prison break.
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Well, it seems I've come across exactly like those old dudes reminiscing semi-fondly over their tattered, communal catalogue. I bet in the 1800s, people would spin yarns of the five-knuckle shuffle in the pre-photographic era. "You don't know shit about the struggle. I used to bust my nuts over drawings. I'd have to sketch the bastards myself, and then jack off to them." My sympathy goes out to the next generation, caught banging the air, with their head in a virtual reality visor.In any case, I'm due an article-completion wank in the privacy of my own bed, using my accessible laptop, and some porn tailored to my mood. I might just kick back and reminisce to the dial-up rhythm, see if it stirs my love for the game, like I'd imagine seeing muff-heavy retro porn does for the ancient masturbators of yesteryear.Yeah, that's it.Follow Sam Briggs on Twitter.