My Man and His Tiny, Hard, Overly Caressed, Incessantly Stimulated, Easy-To-Carry, Hot-On-The-Skin and Fun-To-Play-With Gadget

He can't keep his hands off of it.  Sometimes he plays with it using one hand, other times both, sometimes he uses his ear.  It's grotesque; the obsession, the constant stimulation, the endless need for more.  You should see the look in his eyes as he touches and rubs it's hard exterior.  Sometimes he even shakes it and then starts all over again like some kind of aroused, technical edition of the Etch-A-Sketch.  He uses it as a navigator; an obtrusive bulge in his pocket, pointing him in the right direction.  Dear God he even thinks with it.  I watch his lewd determination as he heads for the couch, longing to get his hands on it again.  On the occasion I might get to touch it but it's so small and awkward, I'm not used to working with an object of this nature; the shape, the color, the strange and foreign tricks it's so oddly capable of.  Just as it begins to excite my curiosity he yanks it back for his own pleasure and I am stuck witnessing the ardent desperation of an I-phone4 addict.  Oh well, I'll get my own one day and will no longer need him or his silly little gadget because I'm holding out for the I-Phone5.  Luckily, I have a vibrator to tide me over until then.