It's not a skill I put on my resume, but I’m a masturbation ninja: I move stealthily and silently through the darkness while doing so.

Yet for five minutes last night — 300 frightening seconds which scarred me, shook me, and will haunt me for the rest of my life — I was not the silent jerk warrior I normally am. It was because I tried Virtual Reality porn, the supposed future of onanism. I figured out that the future is terrifying.

My girl was fast asleep. Like always, I again Mission Impossible'd my way downstairs. Using my Virtual Reality setup — a Google Cardboard — I surfed to a VR video off TubeGalore. There, hundreds of these types of videos await. Click. The scene inside the lenses became vividly real.

In this particular scenario, I was seated at a table at a dinner party with virtual guests. Five nice people sat at the table. One of them, a voluptuous dream girl, made funny eyes at me from across the table. Then she dropped her fork. Smooth move.

Not seconds later, as if no one else at the table existed, she crawled toward me and unzipped my fake khakis. It was a totally new experience. If I tilted my head up, I saw the other dinner party guests, still eating; if I tilted my face down, there was the girl's head where a polite guest's napkin should have been.

The problem was that I'm not digital; I'm still a human with a body. And that real body was conveniently plunked in the middle of my real living room for my real girlfriend to walk in on any second now — my eyes covered, ears muffled, Sixth Sense digitally masked, ninja skills dark. Not only was I so much more likely to get caught like this, it would be far more relationship-wrecking if I did because of the time lag between getting spotted and later realizing she’d already packed up and left while I was busy.

Not everyone's so terrified of being exposed, I guess. There was the guy caught petting his dingle in a Best Buy, staring at a PS4. There was the security guard at a Chargers game, jiggling spare change while glaring at cheerleaders. There was the humanitarian who janked his wad in the middle of Main Street. I'm all for human freedom, but these people are bonkers, and they should be ostracized, their credit scores should be docked, their Lulu ratings ramped into negative numbers. How dare they.

The future of porn is elaborately digital, and some people are worried (like this Las Vegas brothel) that we'll miss skin on skin contact. After all, VR porn might make us lonely. And young people, too addicted to phones to even tonsil hockey each other now, are already having less sex. Do we really need more digital poon?

As for those of us who are mortified of getting caught fapping because we heard too many priests say that Jesus cries a tear for every drop we spill, VR makers would greatly benefit by bundling their goggles with advanced door lock systems, trip wires or guard dogs. Or else getting caught jerking off in the future is going to be so much more terrifying than it is now.

But maybe — who knows? — if that happens, we might all go back to fucking real people, loudly and recklessly, the way they say healthy folks do. A way true ninjas, do not.