Tag Archive: whiskey dick

No Thank You: The Blue Balls Serenade

Call me a cunt, call me a whore
I just could not take one second more
Of the plodding, the pleading,
The groping, the gripes
While we kept weeding,
Kept doping our pipes
You’re good for nothing you unreasonable prick
And you can’t even keep any blood in your dick.


I keep saying I’ve put him in the friend box, except that most of the time I’ve fallen in love with my friends over time. That’s part of why I miss them so much when it is no longer possible for us to be together. A lot of times that’s because I’ve decided to live my life.

So I’ve been dating and I can’t tell you. It’s okay, because I’m learning a lot. About dynamics, interacting with strangers when you’re awkward/horny/tired/not interested/not sure/– and those can change in an instant! I’ve been learning a lot about penis size and have to say I’ve been mostly disappointed. There has also been more than one occurrence of that infuriating (to this li’l cat in heat, anyway) phenomenon commonly called “whiskey dick,” to which I say: The difference between a boy and a man is the ability to hold your liquor; this is to be as drunk as you want to be and also have the patience, power, and stamina to make a woman shudder at your touch. Alcohol makes me randy. I have no tolerance for those who can’t keep (it) up, if simply because in order to actually admit defeat, there is always the initial “yes, I’m interested, let’s begin!” which peters off as the peter … let’s just say peter is having some trouble with his (pepper pickin) pecker. It then leaves some of us other participants stranded with half the Boning Brigade having just walked out of the kingdom… whether because of defeat, or because of the alcoholic wooze, they somehow forget that maybe their interest wasn’t the only one.

For the love of God, will someone else learn how to pleasure this body?

No one else in the whole wide world has been able to do it without my input. And by input I mostly mean control. There have been some helping fingers in other areas, but always my fingers and mine along must be on point. Is it a matter of trust? I think so, although not exclusively. I do believe it is also a matter of skill. That none of these boys knows yet how to do it. Gently, friends. If ever you chose a moment to increase anything, you should probably wait two more minutes before starting to consider again whether you should change anything. I don’t like change. I like consistency. I like to know what is happening.

The Evolution of It:
First It** is foreign, then it is accustomed, then it is familiar, then it is intimate.
**It can mean Person, Someone Else’s Touch, A Woman’s Reaction To A Man’s (in my experience, anyway) Particular Stroke (Penis or Finger or Tongue) On Her Privates, Breastfeeding, Kissing, … there are many things.

Oh, so many children in my life. So many boys. You, PM, have been a boy this whole time merely in a man’s body and with a man’s rage. A man’s rage, but a child’s focus and empathy; the self-centered bliss of a precocious child with too many invisible privileges and a sniveling distaste for being denied any enjoyments he might so desire. You are a spoiled, entitled child who did not deserve me. You do not deserve me.

Do you remember the first time you made me feel shitty, PM? (Problem Man – see full definition in one of my other posts) It was before we were dating officially, but through your newfound singleness and my willingness to be persistent, we would frequently sneak a kiss or two in the upper balcony of the space. But, this fine day full of sun and my relative freedom from work, I came to smooch you before running off to one of the brief meetings I had for the day and you retreated. No, you said, and then you stuck out your tongue to reveal a small white square film, with some sort of inane symbol blearily dissolving into your tongue.

I don’t want to be with someone who can’t kiss me because he’s doing acid instead. I want you to fucking be there for me. I’ll be there for you.
Maybe my sense of reliability comes across as too vulnerable, or too needy, or too persistent? I just want you to know what is happening. I want to make sure we are on the same page. I worry that we are not on the same page.

I think the person who is right for me will know how to calm me, even in the darkest inner spaces of my being.
That is why no one has gotten through to me yet; no one knows how.

My father’s best friend refers to him as his “Soul Brother.”
I wish not for a ‘Soul Mate’ but a ‘Soul Lover.’
I look forward to you.
And I hope to love you as easily and effectively as you do me.