My dick (or things that really matter)

My dick is the shortest in the town! I guess.

It’s like a perfect mushroom, that you want to eat right from the ground.

Sweet-privileged-pinkish-colored, with symmetric blood vessel design.

I used to think about penis enlargement a lot: pumping more blood into it, stretching it, training with weights, but no pills.

It doesn’t feel like a foot in the mouth, but you can fake gagging.

Maybe you’ll go like : “Dude, that’s Too Much Information! ”
But, hey, it’s all that matters!

Dick is the most hated and ,at the same time, loved thing in the world. People still start wars because of it. But I haven’t met a single person who hated my dick.

It’s true, that it’s not long enough to be self-sufficient and self-suckable for complete happiness, and , maybe, it’s gods’ punishment, to always be in the search for some help.

It’s not that interesting, if I’ll write about my left hand instead of my dick, but my left hand does a lot more during masturbation, than my dick itself. And, as an added bonus, it feels like someone else is masturbating my dick, because I’m right-handed.

I tried to count how many times I’ll come in a row, if I’ll give 5 minutes of rest after each orgasm and in the fifth round, I barely squeezed a drop of cum.

I guess my dick is not in favor of anal sex. It doesn’t feel comfortable inside the rectum. It only went in twice, but just a little bit, and by accident. But it loves being slided between the butt cheeks, super wet by my saliva, and then, surprisingly entering the right hole, and giving the partner the face of the illuminated one.

As an experiment, I’ll leave my dick untouched for a week, till the point when it’s ready to explode, and then I’ll give it to the hands of my Chinese massage therapist for happy ending, and she’ll go like “Ooooooo , that’s too much, too much!!!”(OK, this didn’t happen) (often).

Sometimes my dick likes to go to deep sleep, hug the foreskin (remember, I’m not circumcised!), and hide somewhere there.

I remember the first day entering army, when the army doctors put all of us, 50 people, in a line, and ordered to show our dicks for check-up. There were some “rebels”, who, at first, refused to do it. I was the first one to show my tiny but shiny dick. I also remember the fat guy’s dick: because of the fat, his dick was hiding, even though he shook it to make bigger (he was shy). But enough about his dick, let’s concentrate on mine!

And don’t unfairly judge me. I’m not the first and only one to write about my dick. Ask all the poets and prophets!

I guess, you’ll not like this poem (yes, I consider it as a poem) about my dick in Facebook, but how did you read it all the way down here?

My dick is all that matters!

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