I’ve had lots of women say “men are pigs” and, when I would ask why, most would respond with: “They just are.” One very good female friend, who always says what she thinks, answered pretty succinctly: “All they think about is their dicks!”
I laughed. Couldn’t really argue except to say, “We certainly do! But you say the word ‘dick’ like they’re a bad thing and I would beg to differ with you.” We both laughed when she said, “That’s just because you have one.”
Well, can I just say… If getting totally wrapped up in the sensations, being aware of nothing but the hardness of the shaft and burgeoning head, the pulsing, the look, the smell, the sound, the flow of pre-cum; being in the moment of stroking my cock, making it throb and feel good with the resulting explosion of cum, then… All I can say is, “Oink! Guilty as charged, your Honor.”
I think our phallus’s should be honored and celebrated and worshipped – just like they were in ancient societies; a time when images of cock were painted and sculpted on everything from walls, statues, church ceilings, urns, placed on residential doorways like a Mezuzah, and even paved into the streets of ancient Rome. Sexual orientation didn’t matter, never entered the equation; it was a simple display of inspiration and awe.
|Be proud of what you have|
I would like to bring the Phallus back to that status. Fully accepted, revered by everyone – without derision – for the miracle it is. We should celebrate the way it looks, the function and, most decidedly, the pleasure we receive from it.
The term “Self-Abuse” is ugly. When I’m lying naked and running my hands up and down my shaft, it’s in gentle, loving strokes. Hell, if it’s a total ‘death grip’ furious pounding of my fist, my cock surely doesn’t react as if it’s being treated poorly. It rewards me for my ministrations; it tingles as the nerves vibrate, it jumps and twitches seeking more attention, it gets even harder and sends delicious shivers up my spine. When I cup my balls and rub them in light little circles or bounce them in a palm it doesn’t feel as if I’m abusing anything. My nuts pull closer to me, readying to anoint my hand and my body. Together they spill their warm liquid and I find myself awash in indescribable pleasure.
For me, it’s not self-abuse. I’m celebrating being a man, honoring what nature put between my legs, worshipping the anointing fluids it spews forth.
|and worship it|
|and it will reward you|