There are many types of boners one can have, though it seems like the only ones that get any attention are ones that are ready-to-fuck boners. That’s nice, but they’re not the best.
About three months ago, I woke up on a glorious Saturday morning with a boner that I had forgot existed. Normally, I wake up with an 80% hard on that deflates in seconds and is really just my body telling me that I have to go pee. This was not the case this Saturday morning as I had already peed in a sleap walking bathroom break two hours earlier.
I got out of bed and my cock was poking through my sweatpants, but not in a way like it was trying to get attention or something. I pulled down my pants and my cock sort of leaped forth and bounced up and down like a diving board after someone jumps off of it. It was a boner that was hard, yes, but it was pointing straight rather than up. In fact, it was pointing ever so slightly towards the ground.
I looked at it and started admiring it. “This has got to be the best boner of all time” I thought to myself. What was great about it was its potential. You get a slight chubby and it’s more of a disappointing nuisance: you can’t really do much with it and you still have to make sure no one can see it. Likewise, a full on battering ram boner is the oldest trick in the book that you’ve seen since you were little: ok I get it you’re hard. Under the belt you go.
But this boner was hard enough that you could still poke out a girl’s eye or knock over a jenga tower but soft enough where you could never cum with it. A vein was beginning to pop out, but nothing extraordinary. It had potential: you could either let it die down and go pay the bills and start the day or you could rub it a bit and have a ready-for-sex hard on.
And it was here that I was reminded of another great moment in cock self-awareness: it was a couple years ago and I was still in college. It was in the dead of winter (yes, a Southern California winter can still be freezing) and I woke up in the middle of the night to take a piss. After some initial moments of denial, I got up from under the warm blankets, felt around for my sandals in the dark and walked to the bathroom. My hands were freezing.
I closed the bathroom door and took out my cock and for some reason I decided to let it rest on the back of my hand. It had never occurred to me until that very moment how incredibly warm my cock is. “Woah,” I thought, that’s fucking warm. I used my cock almost as a heating element during that bathroom trip to save my hands from frostbite.
Now as I looked back down to my Saturday Morning Cock, I put it against the back of my hand again, connecting with my past. It was warm and very comforting, like a dish only your grandma makes right. And here is where I cursed myself: I WISH I had a girl lying next to me so I could just rest this Saturday Morning Cock on.
If there was a cute girl sleeping next to me I’d get up and just rest my cock on her cheek. This gesture isn’t sexual I promise you; I’m not asking for a blow job. I just wanna share this special treat with her. She’d let out a sound that sleeping people make when they are initially disturbed from slumberland and eventually be aware of what was going on. With eyes still closed she’d then crack a devilish little smile and let out an “MMMmmm” that people make when they are still in bed and they realize how warm and comfy they are.
And I’d just let my warm cock rest on her face like that. It’d sooth her, I know it would. Transferring my warmth to her soul via my cock and its soft cock skin. It would wrong all ills and make everything ok. You remember the potential I was talking about? The energy it would take to get any harder would be transferred to her, straight to her heart of hearts. Grandma’s food she ate growing up. The dog that she loved when she was young that unfortunately died too soon. The pillow fort her and her siblings built in the living room with the full approval of her parents. That energy is mother’s milk.
Your cock isn’t just for fucking or whacking off or taking pisses. It DOES have special powers, I fucking swear it does. You always here women urging other women to get to know their bodies but I never hear men telling other men the same thing. They should. We’re more complicated than people give us credit for.