From the department of TMI
Everything You Need to Know About My Dick
According to Carol Lennox, you need to know this sort of thing
Carol Lennox is my ideal. She rushes in to write where more timid writers fear to spread ink. Who could resist the inspiration of such derring-do?
Elsewhere, Carol says the end of a penis, that is, a circumcised or unsheathed one, looks like a fireman’s helmet, but that men don’t know that because they don’t look at dicks from the same angle women do.
I beg to differ. My dick is circumcised, and I’m not even Jewish. Back in 1950, when I was born, circumcision was just “what you did” so my mom was like, let’s get it done. As a result, my brothers and I have very similar penises. When my son was born in the late 1970s, my feeling was OK let’s do what one does.
My wife — now my ex — was ethnically, if not spiritually, Jewish. Being Wiccan at the time, neither of us was especially committed to the practice of circumcision, but since we had greatly upset my mother-in-law by moving to the West Coast, thus burdening her with a 3,000-mile journey to see her new grandson, our newborn son’s foreskin seemed a reasonable sacrifice to get back into her good graces. To this day my son suffers from phantom foreskin syndrome and has never forgiven me.
Wait, what was I talking about? Oh yes. Back to my disagreement with Carol. I’ve looked at my circumcised wang from every conceivable angle, including the angle she claims men don’t look at it from, the one from whence it — supposedly — looks like a fireman’s helmet. Hmm.
In the image above we see a selection of fire helmets. I’m just not seeing it, Carol, and I’ve seen quite a selection of dicks. No, I am not gay. Let it suffice to say my life has been long and varied, with many enlightening side-journeys.
I will allow this much, Carol: If I think of an ideal fireman’s helmet while thinking of how an erect penis looks if you hold it up so you are looking at what I suppose can be called the bottom, I kind of get it. Fireman’s helmet, dick — yeah, OK.
On the subject of long and varied life, I used to go commando under my jeans. I could tell you why but that story is boring. The story of how I was cured of that habit, if not scintillating, is at least cringe-worthy.
One fine day I pulled that heavy metal jean zipper up only to experience the second most excruciating jolt of pain of my life. I looked down to find that part of my penis which Carol thinks looks like the rim of a fireman’s helmet¹ jammed between the zipper foot and the teeth. The most excruciating jolt of pain I ever experience hit me when I backed it off — as quickly as possible. The pain was greater because, of necessity, I inflicted it upon myself.
For true ecstasy, bring laughter into your sex life. I had a girlfriend who liked to draw eyes and a little nose on my fully engorged penis with lipstick, then use it as a puppet to sing a spoof of the Mister Ed theme song, the urethral opening becoming the mouth.
I could go on but having reached the four-minute-read mark, I’ll take my own advice and go with brevity.
Special thanks to Amy Sea and Holly J See for their editing prowess.
¹ I must hasten to clarify that Carol was speaking of penises in general and not my penis in particular.
Additional BOFunnies (Nothing more about my dick, so relax):
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