Nov 102015
 

When my cock is hard, I feel alive.

As I contemplate death – my own, others’ – it’s shocking how powerful is my urge to feel alive in that particular way.

I find myself seeking to stimulate the blood flow to my penis with porn, with interactions virtual and real, with a manic, desperate ferocity. It’s as if the way I know to fend off death is with my penis.

That sounds flip, comic. It’s not. At all. It’s a powerful observation of a desperate, and ineffectual, impulse. Well, not entirely ineffectual: my hard cock may not ward off death (though imagine if it could!), but it does, momentarily, transport me from a position of seemingly intolerable pain to one that vacillates between numb and vital.

  2 Responses to “Death and my cock”

  1. The late Jim Morrison comes to mind…

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