This question can be answered in 2 very different ways; physically, and emotionally. One of the two is very simple, and the other is more complex and varied.

Physically I generally go, or more accurately, am in my bedroom , or in front of the tv computer (the thought process is usually "hey, I'm here, I can masturbate," as opposed to "hey, I wanna masturbate." Well, to be more accurate, the thought process is more akin to "Ug. Sparticus horny. Needs satisfaction." but that is besides the point.)

The much more important factor in this question is the mental one. What is the state of mind of this person. Why are they risking blindness for their own self satisfaction? The answer is most often dependant on who is doing the masturbating, and the situations surrounding it. For example, your average teen will often be doing it purely for the purpose of satisfaction of relieving the almost constant sexual frustration that is part of their average day. This will often be done with images of crushes swimming through their head. No, the other one.

Personally? I go into a vast wonderland of memories, and variations of memories, and wish for the happy times to come again.

This nodeshell is brought to you by the good peo.... What? Whaddaya mean it's no longer a nodeshell!

I go back to her and I in the basement of my parent's house. The balls of my thumbs are sore from working the tension out of the naked skin covering the muscles that flank her spine - the muscles where she held all of her stress. I have been at this for twenty or thirty minutes, working my way from her shoulders (another culprit) down her nude back. Slow circles, balancing the weight of my movements against the reactions that would flit across her brow.

Her back was always beautiful. Fair skin dusted with freckles and a dancers waist - odd considering her diet and lack of exercise. She very much enjoyed having it massaged and touched. I would say she enjoyed having it scratched, but I was and am a nail biter and thus I lack the necessary tools for scratching. The touching would have to do...

Circling lower, giving my thumbs a rest by stretching the skin outwards from the spine with the side of my hand, almost to the tops of her baggy blue jeans. Her still and silent with her head across the pillow, her auburn hair swept back from the left side of her face leaving her closed eye visible. The tops of the jeans begin to interfere with the motion of my hands across her back as I move yet lower, and I take ahold of both sides of her jeans.

I slowly hike them down her body, pulling on one side, then the other. My grip is not only on them but on her white cotton panties below. She speaks not a word of assent or dissent - the only sign she is paying attention at all is an audible increase in her breathing rate and a tiny drawing upwards of her hips from the bed to help my efforts - the barest help. Her eyes stay shut.

Her jeans are baggy enough (thank god) and both them and her panties shift down bit by bit, side to side as I slowly draw them downwards, revealing the tapering out of her waist and the sloping up of her bum. I always move slowly. The wait is delicious, I can feel the relaxation coming off of her body in waves in contrast to my own tension, the impatience of my own intentions...

Jeans off, panties off, still moving slowly. Both thumbs along the back of her right leg. Where the achilles tendon joins the calf muscles. My eyes roving upwards along her shaven legs, lingering along her ass, up her back. Her eyes are still closed as I move my hand to her left leg.

I am unbuttoning my own pants with my other hand as I continue on her left calf, my impatience starting to show. Her right leg has fallen carelessly upon the bed, slightly parted from it's twin. She is feeling urgent as well.

I place my left hand on her left ankle, my right on her right and pass them slowly up her body. My lips trail lightly along the inside of her thighs (parted slightly more now) placing kisses along her ass and up her spine. My hands curl around the wrists she lay above her head as I slide into her.

What I will always remember about this most is the lack of her fussing - no attempt on her part verbally or actively to improve on my actions, to indicate if anything I was doing was flawed in any way. Trusting me with her pleasure completely. That is one of the places I go when I masturbate, back into the arms of her memory - back into the arms of her trust and love.

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