Legend has it that I have a neighbor who masturbates in his kitchen when he’s cooking. I say legend because I’ve never seen him, but my wife and mother have. Now I find myself almost afraid to look out my kitchen window as I wash dishes, but just like one wants to look when they pass an accident on the highway, I keep looking.

My initial reaction when I heard of the Masturbating Neighbor was shock and disbelief that I was having penis talk with my mother who couldn’t seem to stop talking about the penis in question. Then when my wife witnessed it, she talked about it like someone who had seen Sasquatch or The Loch Ness Monster. You know, that disbelief that she’d seen something that had only been alleged and had grown to the level of urban myth.

After my initial reaction I evolved to a state of envy and admiration for the Masturbating Neighbor. There’s a level of freedom and fearlessness that comes along with masturbating in a place where one might be seen that I’m hoping to achieve as a performer. I’ll get there, and although I’m a bit of an exhibitionist myself, I won’t actually get naked onstage but I will be free and fearless enough to just expose myself without fear of judgement and the need to please everyone.

(This is the part where everyone reading this stands up and says, “I AM THE MASTURBATING NEIGHBOR”)