One day, a few years back I stood over the toilet looking down at my erect penis and I realized how truly glorious it was. I won’t go on and on about how huge it is (it is) or how every woman loves it (they do) or even how it smells of fine berries (it always has), but I realized that just in it’s state of being, just in the fact that it was erect and looking straight up at me, there was no way short of standing on my hands that I could possibly urinate AND hit what I was aiming for.
My erect penis is like a club fashioned out of steel and bronze and once it has achieved its stance of attention there is no controlling it. So I just stood there hoping the morning wood would pass so that I could finally drain the main vain. Hoping and thinking, thinking and looking, looking at the tip of my dick looking back at me. I started to imagine what it would be like if it were to gain sentience, remove itself from my body and live it’s own life as a fully self aware entity.
Would it be an angry penis? It certainly looked angry at the moment. What could it be angry about? Sure, at the time I was in college and I stuck it into a few vaginae (yes that is the proper pluralization of vagina) that were more than questionable, but it should have still been happy. I never enjoyed the feeling of pubes on my junk so i always kept it shaved pretty smooth so that couldn’t have been it. I usually showered twice a day so it wasn’t hanging around with a lot of Fromunda cheese.
Then it hit me like a bolt out of the blue, maybe it just looked angry because it didn’t really have a face. It just looked at me and I at it like I was holding (my cock) a staring contest with a geoduck or perhaps some other faceless creature. Then again, maybe it was angry BECAUSE it didn’t have a face. Did I totally just blow your mind?
I immediately ran to my room where I grabbed a Scripto marker and drew a face on it. It was a smiley face with big eye brows and a goatee. Eventually I grew bored enough waiting for my erection to subside that I began talking to it. A little after that I decided to be truly happy he needed a name. I bestowed the moniker Oliver Wendell Homeless. We talked for hours about world politics, college classes, the state of the American economy, how sad widely accepted music was and what a shame it was that all of our heroes were dead.
Soon enough I fell asleep. I slept for four hours until I woke up in a soggy puddle of my own piss. I was so angry at myself for not pissing when I had the chance and for stinking like urine. I stripped my bed and went to the bathroom to take a shower. While I was in the shower I decided to have a few strokes. About half way to climax I looked down and saw Oliver Wendell Homeless looking up at me. He looked happy which made me happy…which made me cum.