I always do it, especially now I'm single - orgasm while self-stething,. I suppose in a sense I've become a bit auto-sexual, though I ldo love a woman auscultating me as I cum, when rarely the chance arises. I enjoy titillating myself, staring hard at my chest, to begin with, taking note of small quivers and muffled thuds. I pretend the whole matter is contentious - that a question exists as to whether or not I actually have a heart. There might be some mechanical thing - some gross, rasping gadget of pistons or clockwork inside - or nothing, even. I then press the Littmann Cardiology III against my skin. The vigorous, juicy, organic thumping I hear reassures and stimulates. In my self-arousing state I deem such noises uniquely, associable with a fist-sized, asymmetric, blood-squirting, vein and artery-wrapped pump of elastic muscle. Sometimes I look at pictures of a heart while I masturbate. I have favourites, collected over the years. I like to study the stethoscope's diaphragm - stamped with an 'L'- before it touches my chest, reasoning that if, indeed such a pump dwells inside this simple, innocuous membrane - this quivering disk - shall prove its being. Another thing I like to do is listen, briefly and initially, with the diaphragm held slightly above my skin. The mute boom of excited, galloping beats, when observed thus, is a marvellous thing.
'Thump! thump! thump!'; the beat continues, ever more strident as orgasm nears. In the last, fleeting, cock-tugged seconds, tensed chest muscles between heart and steth, tend to scramble the clarity of beats . When the cum spurts, hips shake and lungs expel breath, the tension flows out and off on an ebb-tide. Now, like war drums, such proof fills my ears, dispels doubt, and puts question to bed. Littmann himself bear witness - emphatically, I have a heart. It beats; and so I am.