My cock (#13,784)

I’m not hard right now.

My cock sits in my black boxers, hanging slightly to the left as I sit, confined in my jeans, but not uncomfortably so.

I feel a light, chilly tingling in it – a sort of incipient excitement that’s waiting to be – what? fed? No. It’s more like an incipient hunger that’s waiting to be increased.

The Richter scale, I’m told, is a logarithmic scale – an earthquake with a measurement of 8.0 is fully ten times as powerful as one measuring 7.0.

My cock’s progression toward excitement is like this. If I’m at a 2 right now, the tingling is a memory, an anticipation, of the progression from 2 to 6, to 7, to 8. And – God help me – to 9. In a logarithmic scale, of course, a 7 is not 5 more than 2. It’s 100,000 times more than 2.

By the time my cock is in your mouth, if all goes well, I’ll be somewhere between 7 and 9.

That’s a lot of excitement.

But right now, as I said, it’s just tingling with anticipation, with potentiality. And there’s something sweet and pleasant and fun about that, too.