He stood firmly on his decision to masturbate at this spot, or rather he hunched over the edge of this skyscraper, feet dangling 41 floors above ground level. If someone had looked up, it is likely they would've seen this mans feet dangling, assuming soon thereafter that a suicide attempt was in progress. Little would they know, or be able to see, a freshly shaven set of testicles dangling right alongside this pair of legs.
He thrust himself into his hand furiously, wasting no time at all with foreplay or shenanigans of any sort. He violently masturbated for 5 minutes before he realized that his goal was soon to be achieved. He was up here for the very purpose of ejaculating on the head of an unsuspecting victim or passerby, ready to take aim and shoot his prolific ingeniousness onto the crowd of people below.
It was 5 p.m. and rush hour was just now getting underway. Businessmen, clad in all black suits, stampeded out of their offices, flooding the sidewalks below with a blanket of black and grey tones. The cars all gave off their usual sounds, orchestrating music that could only be loved by a homeless new york city traffic controller. The horns would honk, the tires would screech, the obligatory "FUCK OFF BOZO!" would be yelled from a passing taxi. However, none of these citizens down below even had the faintest idea that they would be slimed on today, covered in an unknown white goop that would stain their clothing and surely make them look a fool.
This was his goal, Marcus Rondaligoks, to successfully ruins someone's day by way of masturbating onto them without permission. Surely this deed has been done many times over before in history, but very rarely was it ever unwanted or unsuspected. He was near finishing when the rush overcame his body. The vibrant surge of energy that would let him know his task was soon to be accomplished. With a violent wiggle of his right foot and sudden stammer in his groaning, he released onto the public below a wicked shot of semen.
Eric Mozleby knew not today at all that his night would begin with semen on his chin. He knew not at all, nor could he even imagine, that as he for some reason decided to look up into the sky, which he never ever did, he would be welcomed by a splat of man juice, and a very thick splat of that indeed.
"Oh, what the fuck!? Ewww?! What the hell is this?" Eric cried out loud as nearby humans glanced at him awkwardly. "Is this, is this bird shit?"
What Eric Mozleby did next was quite unexpected, almost nearly as unexpected as the very glob of cum that grace his chin at this moment-- he licked it to see what if it was indeed bird feces. He was quite surprised to find that it was not.
"Who the fuck, what the.... how the fuck.... WHAT THE HELL?!" Eric escalated in his surprise and anger, flying from calm and brisk to extravagantly perturbed in just moments. He knew from the taste that it was semen, and after that knowledge hit him in the face just as crucially as the semen itself did, he wiped it off with his right coat sleeve and took refuge in a local coffee shop. Upon entry a man would ask him if he needed a napkin to clean up this mess, and that also a bird shitting on you was considered "lucky". Today was not lucky at all, and nor was this moment. Eric Mozelby was livid, furious, and ready to kill the person that did this.
So he reached into his coat pocket and revealed to himself and the neighboring witnesses a loaded .45 magnum. He carried this weapon around, unbeknownst to his family and friends, to ensure his safety while scouring the streets of this filthy city. He made way outside and looked up to where he assumed the perpetrator would be, and he was spot on as he noticed a jostling set of legs and an awkward set of balls above him in the distance. He counted the stories up to this man and arrived at floor 41. This masturbator was to die in just a few short moments.
As Eric Mozelby escalated in height of this building by way of the elevator, Marcus Rondaligoks would be just cleaning up. A quick visit to the john to release the always certain stream of urine after orgasm, and a quick little hop in the shower would bring his momentous day to an end. He turned on the heat to the fullest, scorching his naked flesh, as he proceeded to shower and hum the theme song to his favorite show, Top Gear. It was while he was in this shower that Eric Mozelby found himself breaking into this hotel room, unsuccessfully locating his enemy on the balcony.
"Where could he be?" thought Eric.
Then he heard the hums of a desperate dead man. A man who would no longer grace the earth or society with his putrid and disgusting presence. He made his way to the bathroom door, carefully and slowly turning the nob, slightly opening the door as to not make himself known. The steam was abundant and Eric found himself immediately drenched in shower water and anticipatory sweat. Where the sweat ended and the steam water began was not a question on this mind at this point, as he pulled out the revolver once more and aimed at the man behind the shower curtains. Just as he cocked and readied his aim, Marcus Rondaligoks tripped backwards on a bar of soap which he had dismissively placed on that very shower floor, claiming that soap was the marketing product of the devil.
The slip sent him spiraling backwards onto the floor, crashing his skull on the soap holder which proudly hanged off the wall. It was a porcelain soap holder and it was glued to the wall very efficiently. The speed of his fall and the strength of this porcelain cracked the skull of Marcus Rondaligoks, killing him instantly before Eric Mozelby could have a chance to do the very same deed.
Eric stood there in disbelief, jaw fallen quite literally to the floor, as he just now shot himself in his own skull, not being able to take the ironic and unforgiving fate of destiny, life, reality, and all of the other words that encapsulate everything that we can perceive. So there now lay two dead bodies in the 41st floor hotel bathroom, joined together by their connectedness to a masturbatory instance that could only be seen as cruel and uncalled for. What brought them together was the very thing that ended them together; fate.