Saturday, March 22, 2008
A RIC'ed masturbation "poem"
Here are you, my good buddy, who has been through thick and thin over the years with me. I feel you rockhard, throbbing in my Munsingwear Roos in my sweats early this Saturday morning before sunrise.
Don't you worry. We can have some fun, play some, or even alot. This is known as sexual play, a sexual sport found on the playing field in the privacy of my apartment.
You reassure me. You show your love for me as my best buddy because you make me glad that I am a man, that I can exult in my maleness. A maleness that goes back to early years of my boyhood, exulting in the presence of older males, actually grown men, so virile, so confident, I suppose all are so good in bed with their wives or interested women.
I was twelve years old at the time. My RIC'ed penis was becoming larger with each passing day as I entered adolescence as I began to sprout a pubic bush and the beginnings of a beard. Shaving didn't begin until a year or so later when it became a necessary ritual first thing in the morning each day.
Damn, twelve years old then, and I was getting these insistent erections. It was about the time I saw my dad's jockstrap for the first time. His jock pouch was HUGE. I got my first athletic supporter for gym then. The jock pouch supporting my genitals firmly also caressed my RIC'ed glans. The jock said, "Yeah, touch me here. Touch me "down there". I reveled in caressing my jock pouch, especially my glans being caressing by the poroknit pouch. So began my exploration of my manhood. Daily, insistent, filled with and emitted the most pleasureable sexual energy.
I even wrote a short poem: "Touch and feel your penis. Feel the sensational feeling". It was more an incantation, relentless, persistent. Unfortunately my mother discovered it and confronted me with it and tore up before my eyes, and said, "Don't you ever write this again!" Well mothers are mothers, but even she could not quench this current of sexual pleasure, coursing in my loins, in my RIC'ed penis, in my testicles, prostate, my entire sexual apparatus, in my burgeoning and blossoming adolescent body.
Well these touches and caresses, as I have said in previous posts, became more directed, more insistent, more focused. I learned, almost by instinct (since I didn't have an older brother or cousin or even uncle to instruct me) to stroke my penis. Not only did I focus on my adolescent tool between my legs, but I also fixed my attention upon athletic supporters and cups, and Munsingwear Kangaroo Pouch briefs, which I wanted even during those innocent years, but which during my college years were able to purchase as a young adult.