Tuesday, November 13, 2012

The Beast That Can't Be Tamed

At what age did I realize my cock would never behave? When does it strike us, do you think, the realization that no matter what we do the beast between our legs cannot be tamed?

I remember as a kid, every once in a while my mom didn't get laundry done and we'd (me, my brother - and in all probability, our dad) be forced to go commando. The material rubbing against the head of my little limb made it snake down my pantleg. It felt pretty good - though I had no idea why.

In school, the first year the system separated us from the girls for gym class... Having to get naked and shower in front of all the other guys and that sucker would start to stand up! All - well, almost all - of us doing our best to hide our boners by facing the wall and wrapping our towels around our waists to cover up; even though our cocks were so obviously tenting them out. Trying to hurriedly stuff the monster into the briefs, pulling on the pants and struggling to get the zipper up over the bulge.

The next year, when puberty hit with a vengeance, trying desparately to hide the party in our pants as we walked from class to class. All the while wishing it would go down, but knowing it wouldn't listen. You always knew who had a hard-on; they were the ones walking the halls with their books held in front of their crotches. Standing in the restroom, pressing yourself as close to the porcelain as possible to hide the sprouting wood...again stuffing it back in and struggling to zip up. Deliberately splashing water across the front of your pants as a means to cover the piss-splashback.

The bus ride home, the vibrations making your pecker poke against the pants - the perfect outline of your cockhead straining to get loose. The wet spot that formed from the pre-cum that flowed like a fountain.

In highschool - hiding in a stall to pound one out before gym class, thinking it would prevent your prick from escaping the confines of the jock strap and snaking down, the head peeking out the leg of the gym shorts or uniform.

At what point did I ever realize they were all futile attempts to hide the very thing every other dude was carrying around? When did I finally accept my pecker, like every other one in the world, was not going to act any differently? What made me figure out the beast cannot be tamed? The cock would never lie in subtle wait for what it wanted, what it needed? That the monster would rear his angry, purple head, stand up on its raging hard staff whenever it damn well felt like it?


Had to be Basic Training in the military. That first night, right after the drill sergeant snapped the lights off, and one guy - one single guy - bravely started stroking his snake and didn't care who knew. Waking up that next morning with 39 other naked guys, whose morning wood stood out from their virile young bodies like upward-reaching, tree limbs and running for the latrine with boners bobbing and swaying, pointing the way. There wasn't time to think about it - and so none of us did... It was just accepted: We're men, we have cocks. Our cocks get hard of their own volition; when they want, where they want.

We can try all we want, but we'll never beat them into submission.



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O!Daddie said...

Though Mother Nature has us popping woodies from the get-go, my first recollection is around the tender age of about 4, when I found watching wrestling on TV very pleasurable. "Born that way?" I guess so.