Kevin’s TV Stage Adventure

By Richard Lovel

Kevin’s TV Stage Adventure by Richard Lovel is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

 

There once was a young man named Kevin, a sweet but clueless 24-year-old chronic masturbator who accidentally found himself in the studio audience of Ladies First, a wildly popular daytime talk show for women. Kevin was only there because his roommate, Greg, a great joker, had   handed him a ticket. “Free Porn,” Greg had said. Kevin, being both naive and perpetually horny, agreed without asking questions.

As Kevin settled into the plush studio seat expecting a porn show, he quickly realized he was the only man in a sea of eager, chattering women. The episode theme, plastered in glittery pink letters on a backdrop, read: “Secrets to Becoming Your Best Masturbator!” Kevin tried to quietly blend into the background, but fate had other plans.

“Ladies—and gentleman,” the bubbly host, Lorraine, announced, clearly spotting Kevin like a polar bear in a room full of flamingos. “We have a brave young masturbator in our audience today. Let’s give him a round of applause!”

The audience erupted into cheers, and before Kevin could even attempt an escape, a production assistant grabbed his arm and whisked him onto the stage.

“Tell us, Kevin,” Lorraine said with a mischievous smile, “what do you think women need to hear today about helping men become their best masturbator?”

Kevin blinked. “Uh… Albolene?” he offered weakly, remembering a random tip from a YouTube ad he’d seen once.

The crowd roared with laughter. Emboldened by their reaction, Kevin decided to wing it. “And, uh, they need good pocket pussies. Those are important for self-care. Like this one —it’s life-changing.” He held up the one he’d brought with him in his pocket, as if it were a prized artifact.

Lorraine chuckled, clearly loving this unexpected comedic turn. “Anything else? What about relationships? Any advice for the ladies out there?”

Kevin scratched his head. “Okay, here’s my golden rule: If a masturbator says he wants to fuck,  run. That’s a red flag. He’s not a real masturbator. Trust me on this one.”

The audience erupted in applause, and Lorraine leaned into the gag. “You heard it here first, ladies! Refusing pussy is the ultimate masturbator test!”

The segment turned into a full-blown Q&A with Kevin, where he answered questions about everything from wardrobe choices (“Cock rings are the MVPs of masturbator clothing—cozy and stylish”) to career tips (“Uh, don’t get caught jerking off on work Zoom calls. Big mistake.”). Soon Kevin had become an unlikely hero, his clueless charm winning over the entire studio.

As the show rolled on, Lorraine decided to up the ante. She turned to the audience with a gleam in her eye. “Ladies, don’t you think Kevin deserves a little challenge?”

The audience erupted into cheers and whistles. Kevin, holding onto his plastic pussy like a life raft, immediately sensed danger.

“Kevin,” Lorraine said, her grin as wide as the stage lights were bright, “our next segment is about the importance of confidence and letting loose. And what better way to demonstrate that than with a little masturbation demonstration? You game?”

Kevin’s mouth opened, but before he could utter a single excuse, the audience started chanting, “Wank! Wank! Wank!”

Resigned to his fate, Kevin sighed, took his plastic pussy, and stepped into the center of the stage.

The lights dimmed, a funky beat dropped, and a disco ball descended from the ceiling. Kevin froze for a moment, but then his survival instincts kicked in. If he was going down, he was going down in style. He dropped his pants and inserted his penis in the masturbation sleeve. 

What started as an awkward shuffle soon morphed into a full-on performance. Kevin channeled every fuck move he’d ever seen in cheesy porn movies. He threw in a few finger guns, a robot move that looked more like he was trying to swat a fly, and then—because the crowd was eating it up—he went for the ultimate closer: a bump-and-grind thrusting routine with the plastic pussy that had the audience howling with laughter.

Kevin swayed his hips with exaggerated flair, dropped into a squat, and popped back up like a malfunctioning spring toy. When the beat hit its peak, he did a dramatic spin, pointed to the audience, and mouthed, “This is for you, ladies!” He groaned and ejaculated noisily into the plastic pussy. It was an open-ended model, so his semen arched voluminously across the stage, gleaming in the theater lights as it splattered all around. 

By the time the music ended, Kevin was out of breath but grinning like a man who had just survived a natural disaster. The crowd was on its feet, applauding wildly. Lorraine wiped away a tear of laughter and a drop of sperm as she handed Kevin a towel to clean up.

“Ladies,” she said, fanning herself, “we’ve seen the future of masturbation, and it’s Kevin.”

Kevin took a bow, panting but proud. He hadn’t just masturbated—he had owned that stage. And as he exited the building, several women stopped him to thank him for making their day—and several even asked for his number. Kevin walked away grinning. This was better than watching porn.