Penis I Have Known: A Memoir

The male reproductive organ gets quite a lot of attention. Buildings, rockets and No. 2 pencils emulate it; girls and (some) guys chase it, get strung out on it, and occasionally ask it to run multi-billion dollar corporations. I, too have been struck with the magic stick, and it certainly has a lasting effect, at the very least making me walk funny for a few days.

I find I’m more…tactile than visual. When we’re sucking face and I casually, ever so casually, let my hand graze over your crotch, well, it’s like Christmas in July. Or April. Or December. It’s a prezzie that I get to open and experience, and each one is a lovely surprise: size, girth, and of course, if it’s heading east, west, north or south (Christ, hopefully not south!)
So, herewith, some excerpts from my long Fornication with Phallus:

Chapter 7 – Moby Dick
Despite what your buddies and your spam email box say, having a large dick is not always the best type of package to get at Christmas. I was dating Ben, a townie dude who worked at an auto shop and his nickname was “Lizard.” Didn’t take long for him to show me why. When he whipped out that thing after a rousing game of strip Twister, I was truly horrified. He was only my third lover and the other two had been Irish dudes. Need I say more? I remember we got into the shower; he was at one end, and I was at the other. And I felt it poking me. Yeah, so what? you say? Well, it wasn’t one of those stand-up showers. It was like a fucking Jacuzzi-tub-shower, like an Olympic lap pool. I was scurred. No amount of lube or boob-tonguing could get that monstrosity to fit. Our relationship fizzled shortly after, especially when he wouldn’t let me play JoDeCi during sex.

Chapter 13 – Send In The Clowns
I know the Metrosexual phase has come and gone, but I am still quite the supporter of man-scaping:images
I dated this one dude who was bald and smooth as a baby’s bottom from the neck up, but below the belt was quite a different story. It was if all his hair and run on down and set up a commune around his scrotum. Which was fine, I guess? But–no, it wasn’t. It was like– a Jew-Fro. Although this guy was I think a lapsed Catholic. When he took down his pants it was full-on fuzz. When he asked for a blow job all I could think of is, “I’m going down on Bozo the Clown.” I was convinced I was going to have to ask for some floss afterwards. Bleeegh. And no, he wouldn’t trim that trim. I guess he was pretty possessive of the hair he had left. So I left him some straightener and took off.

Chapter 23 – By Hook or By Crook
Boys like to take pictures of their dick. Aint nothing wrong with that. It just makes me giggle. Because, not fer nothing, pictures of peen are funny. Especially when they have a little curve to the left or right; does it make you constantly run in circles? Haw Haw!

So once I had this man drop trou and he had a cock that was literally trying to look out the window instead of me. I started to laugh (never wise, BTW.) He got a really mad look on his face, then threw me down on the bed and began his work. I stopped laughing. And started gasping. His crooked cock had more angles than a Geometry exam. It went to places and hit things that I didn’t know existed. It was awesome. And when I eventually had to go back to the straight and narrow, boo, what a disappointment.

I understand why men think with their penises, as I think about it quite a bit myself. It’s an erstwhile topic to ponder at length. (Haw Haw!) And just like snowflakes, each one is different, and each one is special. And remember: it’s what you actually DO with it that truly makes a difference. So here’s to all you dicks out there!