Just because you don't live in Japan, where each spring they hold the Kanamara Matsuri, a festival dedicated to all things penis, doesn't mean you can't get in on the celebration. I offer a poem in honor.
The Penis Preference Poem
So condemn me, if it’s a sin,
But I do not like a penis too thin,
Pencils were meant for writing cursive,
And though what I say next may be subversive,
I like the girth to be worth,
My time and effort,
I like a thick dick.
Thick and straight…
And not just in its sexual orientation.
I do not like a penis that hooks,
I do not like a penis that looks,
Like it is looking around for something better,
Curving away in fear,
When it draws near.
As far as length,
Seven is heaven,
Eight is great.
Nine is fine,
Six is divine,
Even five is a source of for joy.
Anything less just serves to annoy.
On one thing I can comprise,
Whether or not it is circumcised.
Most of all, when it comes to penis'…
I do not like surprises.
Like the night, I decided to open my thighs,
To, who I swear, was one of the nicest guys,
I have met to this day.
He was always smiling and corduroy-clad
The kind of man who’d make a perfect Dad,
A third year student at Fordham Law School,
We drank imported ales and played darts and pool,
After, he’d haul me cross town on the subway,
Make me 3 am breakfast and then let me stay,
In his bed,
while he slept on the love seat in the living room.
After doing this night after night,
I felt he’d finally earned the right,
To sleep in his own bed with me.
One thing lead to another and we wound up nude,
This next part get a little lewd…
I reached over to stroke his throttle,
It was the size of a two-liter bottle.
I couldn’t help but blurt…
Where’d you get that dick, Burt?
It could cause a girl a world of hurt…
Or a lifetime of eternal bliss,
But tonight is not going down like this.
Pardon the pun.
And though it could be fun…
I just don’t think I’m up for it,
Though you obviously are.
And besides I have appointment that just slipped my mind,
Yes, now at midnight…an audition for A Chorus Line.
Love ya’, mean it, call you, bye, gotta’ go!
I never saw Burt again…
He’s not even my Facebook friend.
Though I will admit, I breathe a sigh of relief,
When I find what’s beneath the boxer briefs,
Meets my quirky requirements.
But when all is said and done,
You can’t measure the pleasure,
It’s the level of the trust,
The intensity of the lust,
The placement and the thrust,
The commitment and the confidence,
The education and experience,
That define the penis.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.