After a particularly long day of acting on a set, Academy Award-winning actor and current-person-who-kind-of-stars-in-Dunkirk-but-calling-him-a-star-is-a-bit-of-a-stretch, Mark Rylance, returned to his comfy West End flat to chill the hell out. Upon arriving home, the first thing Mark Rylance did, as always, was take off his top.
See, since he could remember being aware of his body, Mark Rylance only felt comfortable going topless, or as some say, “not wearing a hat,” in the privacy of his home. Regardless if he was at the beach, lake, canal or public pool, you’d not see Mark Rylance without a top on. You see, Mark Rylance loves hats. Yet, tonight, he felt uncomfortable, exposed in his big, modern flat. So, he decided to slip into something a bit looser. Mark Rylance went over to his walk-in closet for caps to figure out what’d be the right look for the night.
Brown bowler hat? Not tonight.
Brown bowler hat with black stripe on it? Jeez, too formal.
White hat with black band? He wasn’t going dancing!
The hat from his Academy Award-winning performance in Bridge of Spies that he wore every time he appeared on screen? Seriously, every single time. That hat? Well, it wasn’t THAT special of a night.
This one? Too Third Reich-y.
“Ugh,” Mark Rylance thought, standing there practically naked, bald spot fully exposed. All of his hats – undeniably once beautiful hats – were at least to Mark Rylance, just former toppers. Each had their moment upon the BAFTA Award-Winning Actor’s delicate, yet fleshy bald spot. 57 years of life and the Shakespeare-trained Mark Rylance still hadn’t settled on one hat to wear for the rest of his days. A hat to wear to premieres and celebrate life’s little moments with. He heard the rumors at the fancy Hollywood and Broadway parties, and couldn’t ignore his reputation as, well–as a lil’ Hat Whore.
There had been this one.
“Oh, and who could forget this skinny hat? Oh, yes,” Mark Rylance thought. And then, while taking this stroll down the hall of hats had, Mark Rylance realized his own, God-Given Tony Award had just been nominated. Yeah, nominated for Best Supporting Rock Hard Penis in a Solo Masturbation Scene, sub-category Taking Place In A Closet Surrounded By Hats. Mark Rylance quickly switched into his masturbation cap.
The furry one that kind of tickled him. As he tugged and stroked and tugged and stroked on his member, Mark Rylance’s mind turned towards the exotic. Thinking of all the hats he had NEVER worn. Hats he couldn’t. Oh, they were just begging to sit upon his bald patch.
How would he look in this one?
What would this one feel like upon his head? He grew closer to completion as he imagined walking into a LIDS store, dressed as a civilian, rather than the Emmy Award-nominated Mark Rylance and trying on all the different caps? Putting them on. Taking them off. Looking in the mirror. Asking a stranger how it looks on him. Stop it. He could never. So hard. Hard…
Hat. Hard hat. Yeah, that’d be nice. And then at the last moment, as he neared total completion, the great forbidden fruit entered his mental.
Thinking of himself wearing the cap, he exploded all over his hat closet. He’d done it. Mark Rylance had won the EGOT of masturbation.
He left the closet. A sea of bowler caps covered in his SAG-nominated seed behind him.
Drained from all the cumming he just did, Mark Ryalance put on his bedtime cap. Until tomorrow, hats. Until tomorrow.
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