I jacked off twice this evening. First time was after my kung fu class; we'd done a lot of work on traditional forms at a pretty moderate pace, followed by sparring. I got into the ring three times -- the first two times with other beginning students, and the third time with ''Dave,'' one of the advanced students.

I'm not using his real name because I've got to admit that the guy has popped up in a few of my masturbatory fantasies, in addition to being a sort of idol of mine out of all the guys in the class. I mean, I'm not obsessed with the dude, but Dave and I are the same height, both in our early 30s, and have similar frames, with the most obvious differences being that (a) his upper body is a lot better developed, and (b) he's got years on me in terms of technique and speed and agility and, well, the whole shebang, basically. So I kind of mentally picked him as a benchmark that I should aspire to reach as I practice.

And I guess that's why I started working up j/o fantasies about him -- mainly just wondering what he looks like totally naked (I've seen him with just his underwear in the dojo's changing area; he has a really great chest that's about as hairy as mine, but much more solid looking). And what his dick looks like -- how big does it get when it's erect, and all that. He seems like the kind of man who'd be pretty well endowed, but you never know.

So, anyway, tonight in class I got to spar with Dave -- he was obviously slowing down since I'm a beginning student, and I managed to land a few (controlled) punches. All the while we're circling each other, I'm staring him right in the eyes, trying not to telegraph my embarassingly slow kicks and punches by looking at the target. He's a handsome guy, we're both pumped and sweaty, and even as I'm panting and trying not to get clobbered, there's some little part of my brain that would like to wrestle with him, skin-on-skin, feel his muscles against mine. Of course, I really couldn't pursue that little train of thought right then and there, because I'm trying to concentrate on blocking his attacks without going into girly flailing mode -- if you've never done any kind of sparring before, coordinating your two arms so that you don't inadvertantly create an opening or get tangled up is harder than it looks. So, anyway, the class ends and I come home -- pumped up and also feeling particularly horny.

I put my kung-fu clothes in the bathroom sink with some hot water and detergent to soak -- this way they won't stink when I go to my next class and I don't have to do a full load of laundry. Slip into a pair of flannel pajama pants; I like walking around this way, shirtless, when I'm home alone, as I am this evening. I start admiring myself in the full length mirror that hangs in the front hallway -- I'm kind of a stocky, barrel-chested guy, but my upper body has never been well-defined. It's improving, though, now that I'm doing the kung fu, which means a regular pushups regimen. So all of a sudden I notice I've got muscles I didn't know I had, and I start feeling myself up in front of the mirror -- flexing my pecs as I run my hand through my chest hair, caressing the nipple. ''Oh, man,'' I think, ''I'm a fucking stud!'' Then I laugh at my narcissism, but damned if I'm not getting off on it as I continue to check out my muscles in the mirror. Then I think back to sparring with Dave earlier in the evening, and oh man, I feel that familiar stiffening in my pajamas. I head for my bedroom, grabbing a beer on the way, because I am definitely in the mood to masturbate now. There's a mirror on the back of my bedroom door, and I'm squeezing my stiff dick through the pajamas as I pose again -- ''You're a hot fucking dude,'' I say to my grinning reflection. I've always been, outwardly, a modest and self-effacing man, and it feels good to just worship my own masculine body like this, and to believe what I'm saying, because the exercise really is improving my physique.

I turn a little so that the tent raised in my pants by my raging erection is more visible in the mirror, and I just admire how hot that looks while my hands are feeling the fur on my chest and the developing muscles. ''I fucking love to be a man,'' I think. ''I love my body, my muscular, rough, hairy, sweaty, masculine body, especially my powerful cock...''

Shit, this narcissism thing was really working for me! I kicked off the pajama pants, finally... had to get my hard-on out, had to see the hard fucking meat bob and throb in the mirror. Pushed it down and let it spring back up -- yeah, it was a strong fucking erection. Finally wrapped my hand around the shaft. Oh, yeah, you know that moment when you first grab your rigid cock after not jacking off in a while? And you just want to utter a little prayer: ''Thank you, whoever's up there, for giving me this beautiful stiff dick to stroke whenever I need some pleasure in my life.''

Then I thought back to sparring with Dave, and oh man, did I take a running jump at the caboose of that train of thought from before. Imagining him and me getting pumped and sweaty, sparring, until finally we collapse into each other, damp and panting, and I can feel his skin next to mine, and then I feel something hard rubbing against my thigh, and we begin thrusting, the stubble on his chin grazing my neck as I reach down to squeeze his erection.

A few minutes of that fantasy and blam, I let go a big load of sperm all over the mirror. That was the first time I came tonight. Then I sat down at my computer and started typing this, recalling what I'd just done -- and hence the need for a second j/o session tonight!