A complete dick

I think with my dick. That's what I'm told. That's what is expressed to me countless times, over and over.

"Stop thinking with your dick."

What exactly does this mean? I know what they intend it to mean when they say it. Stop allowing your phallus to influence or overpower your decisions. But, it's ignorant to expect a man to not give great deference to a part of his anatomy that has caused so much of his life. From an early age, males, whether they are gay or straight develop a very private relationship with their penis. Some will end up sharing a portion of this relationship with others, some will keep it in complete isolation from everyone. However the male decides to handle this, this appendage remains at the very center of their self, and cannot be easily extricated or ignored.

In order for this to be an accurate statement, i think it should be rephrased as:

"Stop thinking with and about your dick."

I'm not sure when i first thought of my penis as a dick (a sexual unit), and i'm not sure i've quite come to think of it as a cock (either as a word or as the trashy term used in erotica/porn). I do know, however, that i spend a great deal of time thinking about it in some fashion. Sometimes i try to remember what it was like before this fleshy handful transformed into a weapon of mass insemination. It's odd to me that i've had only two or three conversations with other (straight) men about our penises, when i'm certain we'd have plenty to say. For the most part, it is seen as homosexual-esque if you were to engage in a discussion about your genitals, and most men will feign complete revulsion at the topic - which i don't get because i find the topic ENDLESSLY fascinating (of course these same men will prattle on and on about bowel movements and their flatulence).

I enjoy a good meal. I feel rejuvenated when i get to spend time outdoors being active. I would even say that music provides me with tremendous amount of stimulation. But without hyperbole, none of this compares to attention paid to my penis. I adore - ADORE - masturbation and sex (and they are separate but equally thrilling activities). In a typical day, i will handle my penis on average of about an hour, whether it is just a quick rub/check-in/adjustment, or if i'm pulling it completely out of my pants and giving it my full attention. I think about it when i'm sitting in my office chair, when i'm on the train holding onto a pole, or when i reach into my pocket to fetch my wallet. It doesn't take much to cause an erection. A certain smell. The sound of a pair of heels clicking on the sidewalk. Even something as simple as a brief embrace from my girl.

Frankly, i've had more worthwhile and meaningful experiences when i've given every little ounce of my energy and thought to my penis. When i channel all of me towards and through it, such tremendous liberation and freedom overwhelms me, i couldn't imagine it never being a major player in my decisions.

My addiction

I seek to avoid acknowledgment of a fixation
to the flesh you pass before me;
to the off-white translucent thigh and the
amber shadow that traces between your legs.
And since i cannot claim the strength to turn from
nor deny this attachment, i abandon words for actions.
I find my hands tracing the silky down of your side,
skating along the smooth surface of your skin,
but this delicate dialog is not enough, for soon,
my fingers long for a stronger hit.
They curl around a long, stiff rod that will
strike against your body, extracting a more sincere
outburst from your mouth.

Pounding into you like a starving beast feasts
upon its fresh kill, my mind thinks of nothing else
but this
urge
hunger
ache

I fall off of you, lying next to your unmoving body.
The heat from our communion warms the air around us,
incubating this addiction that will rise to overcome me again.