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I touch my penis. I know it’s strange to begin like this but here I am touching my penis wondering why so much has happened because of my penis.

I stare up at the ceiling of fake stars that faintly glow. The glow fading as the dark of night overtakes my room.

I guess I’m fascinated by my penis and penis in general. I also refer to it as my dick. I don’t have a preference and I don’t have a nickname for my dick.

I wonder what makes it so special that old men are so eager to have it in their mouth. It’s a strange feeling. A combination of sensations and feelings. A wet heat then a wet chill. Sometimes teeth. I close my eyes as they suck. My imagination helps me pretend that the old guy is not an old man between my legs.

I’ve always wondered how I compare to other guys. I know that it’s not the longest or thickest but I also know it’s not the shortest or thinnest. I ask these old men what they think of my cock. I know that cock can come off as vulgar to some but it sounds better than dick or penis most of the time. Penis sounds too clinical. Dick doesn’t sound right but I don’t know why.

I touch it thinking about the different men that have touched it. I like having someone touch it. I like having a mouth on it. I don’t like the feeling that comes once I’m alone again. The feeling that comes with the realization that I’ll never see them again. It’s not bad when it’s an old man that I have little interest in seeing again but when it’s a guy closer to my age that I like then the feeling is powerful and crippling. It leaves me motionless for a few moments until my body decides to move on. I move on but I never forget being with these guys for a brief moment only to be alone again afterwards.

Categories: writing


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