Random Rim Jobs

I don’t think I’ve hidden my love of the uncut cock.  I love all cock, but probably because stupid Americans often have ideas about circumcision or lack thereof based solely on urban myth or outdated ideas, I feel I should champion the rights of the uncut cock.

I used to be one of those stupid Americans.  Well, I still am a stupid American, but not in the area of circumcision.  Not any more.  I had never seen an uncircumcised penis, and certainly hadn’t played with one, when I would espouse such ignorant ideas about uncut penises being dirty, having smegma, smelling, looking gross, and so on.  I was an asshole.

Eventually I fucked a guy who wasn’t circumcised.  And another, and another.  I realized that so long as the person has good hygiene that there’s nothing more dirty about an uncut cock versus a cut cock.  And uncut cocks are easier to give handjobs (though I admittedly lack skills in this area in general).  Then I fucked a few more guys who were uncircumcised, and then I married an uncircumcised cock.  Oh, I mean I married a man who had an uncircumcised cock.

I have been an anti-circumcision advocate for years.  No, not formally, but when the subject came up, and when people said things about uncut cocks being dirty, etc., I felt it my duty to educate the morons.  To be fair, most of the people were just ignorant, like I was in my teens.  Most of the time I was talking to women, and some men, who had never had relations with a penis in its natural state so I could always win the “it’s not clean” arguments with them.

But the stupidest arguments came from talking to people who said they would circumcise their theoretical future sons.  “So his penis looks like his father’s.”  How many father-son pairs bandy about their dicks, comparing notes?  And how many children don’t take, “That’s the way he is, and that’s the way you are; you are different” explanations from their parents?  Contrary to strict Freudians, children aren’t all that obsessed with their parents’ genitalia; they’re more concerned with their own.  I saw both my father’s penis and my mother’s muff (and vagina, but that’s a different story) when I was a kid and they both looked very different from what I had going on, which was explained to me by saying they were adults and I was a child.

Parents really need their children to look like them that much?  Then why don’t they go ahead and dye their hair, get them those nose jobs, provide them with liposuction?  Because kids’ hair tends to be lighter in color than their parents’, their noses cuter and more button-like, and their bodies chubbier.

Or how about the argument that little boys don’t know how to clean themselves properly?  Guess what, future parents?  You have to teach your children – boys and girls and innersexed – how to clean themselves.  Hygiene is important for all children to learn, not just girls because their inherently cleaner, which is utter bullshit anyway.  If a child can figure out how to clean a vulva including inside the labia majora, then a child can figure out how to clean a penis including underneath the foreskin.

Another lame argument I hear is that the incidence of sexually transmissible infections – HIV being the biggie – and certain forms of cancer are lower not only for the circumcised man, but also for his sexual partners.  While it’s laudable for a future parent to be concerned about her son’s health, isn’t it just a little creepy to be that involved in his future sex life?  So involved that you’ll cut off a part of his body now – without his consent – to prevent something that may or may not happen in the future?  To me that’s about as creepy as getting a preventative double mastectomy for your minor daughter because her aunt had breast cancer.

This last argument – lower incidence of STIs – is supported by our very own Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.  However, even the CDC admits that the various studies, especially regarding a much lower transmission of HIV in heterosexual men who were circumcised, were conducted in Sub-Saharan Africa, where education about HIV transmission and prevention is not widespread, where dry sex is commonly practiced, and where unprotected sex with sex workers is the norm.  Supposedly the survey of the studies controlled for all these factors, and that may be true, but provided parents raise their Western children (and everyone with whom I had these discussions was Western) properly, none of these things would be true.  Well-educated, privileged parents would teach their spoiled children about HIV/AIDS and other STIs, and how to use barrier methods for birth control and disease prevention when having relations with sex workers or anyone else.  Chances are the topic of dry sex would not even come up.

Of course I feel like I win each of these arguments with logic.  But my trump card is what actual doctors recommend for babies born in the US.  The American Academy of Pediatrics: Circumcision Policy Statement begins, “Existing scientific evidence demonstrates potential medical benefits of newborn male circumcision; however, these data are not sufficient to recommend routine neonatal circumcision.”  The AAP policy statement goes on to say that the potential benefits and risks of circumcision should be fully explained to parents, taking into account cultural and religious factors.

This is where I again call bullshit.  Really?  A man in the sky told people that cutting off part of their sons’ penises would mean they were chosen by Him and therefore special?  Maybe special because if they lived through such a procedure – considering the lack of sterilization, medication, etc., thousands of years ago – that would mean they were stronger than the boys who hadn’t had to endure such mutilation.  Because we all know there is no man in the sky.  And if there were would he really be all that into cock?  Wouldn’t he want to fuss with pussies too?  Oh, no, because God created man in his image.

So is God circumcised or not?

I swear.  True (logical) story.

And the winner is: @boxspring.  He got a prize that I hope he enjoys.  Several other people guessed correctly as well, but he was first.  I withheld the correct answers and posted daily clues because I was having fun with y’all’s guesses.  I’m most confused by the guess that the substance in the bowl was a condom; I’ll have Shaye explain it to me in person.

I swear.  True story.

Of course he called when I had just about given up on life.  Why does he always do that?  I asked him what I’m supposed to think of him and he wouldn’t tell me.  I said I didn’t want to assume the wrong thing because I would be embarrassed so why doesn’t he tell me what to assume.  He has he’d be embarrassed to tell me.  We aren’t getting anywhere fast are we?  So then I asked him if he would like it if I assumed what I would like to assume.  (He knows what that is ’cause he knows I like him.)  He said right not he’s in between liking it and disliking it.  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?  So I asked him when he’ll know.  “I don’t know, a couple of days, a week, two weeks.”  So then I asked him to explain why he doesn’t now know.  HE was tired and didn’t want to go into it last night ’cause it would take too long.  So when will he explain it to me?  Talk about some quick subject changing.  I asked him why he’s so loathe to explain it to me. “‘Cause sometimes I’m shy.”  I’m so frustrated!  I even told him that I would like to

My nose is all red from blowing it too much.  I’m afraid to put makeup on cause when I blow my know it will rub the makeup off around my nose – which I would have a lot of makeup on anyway ’cause my nose is so red.  I’m miserable.  I can’t find a good book to read.  I don’t have enough money in my checking account.  I can’t go to the gym.  I’m fat.  I’m burnt.  My bread is going to turn out really fucked.  I want to figure Henry out.  I still haven’t gotten my NaNa shoes.  It seems to have been a long time.  I’m coughing a lot.  Why do people keep parking in my space?  I want a car.  I have a bunch of bills to pay and I don’t have any money.  My nose is stuffed so it’s kind of swollen so it looks even bigger than usual.  I wrote Julie a letter.  I sort of called her a flake for saying she would send me a Christmas card but didn’t.

I was just thinking about what I’m gonna do when I go up for [Step-Sister]’s graduation.  Erica  will probably want to see me.  I wand to be able to tell her I have a boyfriend.  That would be a shock and surprise to her  And I don’t want to have sex with her, dammit.  Especially if Henry and I are together and going at it regularly.  We had better be is all I can say.  I have been more than patient thus far.  I’ll try not to suffocate him.  Will he even care if I go see Erica?  Why do I always jump so far ahead of myself?  He’s still in between.  He’ll probably veer off the wrong way.  Shit.  I don’t like not knowing.  It’s very irritating.  New Depeche Mode isn’t as good.  I’m tired of coughing up phlegm.  I love that word.  It sounds like flem but it’s spelled phlegm.  Wonderful.

[Continued from "Correctional Officer, Part 5."]

I tried to be a “better” wife.  Only the damage was done.  I figured everyone was miserable in their marriage and I was just one of them.  Even my attempt at some naughty, dirty, mind-blowing sex had failed.

The Ex continued to pester me about having “too much” contact with Correctional Officer.  I deleted emails I had sent to and received from Correctional Officer.  I began to use a different email account so the Ex would think CO and I were no longer in contact.

During a fight with the Ex I challenged him to check all of my email accounts.  You know, like they do in the movies.  The scene where the person being accused of cheating says to the suspicious spouse, “If you don’t believe me, go ahead and check” and then the suspicious spouse thinks better of his loved one and doesn’t “check.”  Well, the Ex called my bluff.  He checked.

The Ex knew my email passwords, and he looked at all my accounts.  And he saw that I was still in contact with CO.  I tried to change his password so he couldn’t even check his own email as a way to prevent him from getting to my emails.  I remember being in a panic in my office at work.  I remember the view across Broadway Street in Oakland when I talked on the phone with someone at AT&T/Yahoo in desperation.

One day while walking home from BART after work I got a call.  It was from CO’s area code so I thought it was him calling me from a phone other than his work phone (the number of which was always blocked).  It was a woman.  She introduced herself as CO’s wife.  Uh, hello.  I got dizzy.  I sat down on the sidewalk.  She asked me if it was true that her husband and I had sex.  I was tired of lying, and I figured she had it on good authority that the sex had occurred, so I admitted it.

She then screamed, “Fucking whore!  Fucking whore!”  It took me a little bit to realize I didn’t have to listen to her and I hung up.

Immediately I tried calling CO.  He didn’t answer.  I called his work.  I was told he had just left.  Fuck.  I was going to try to warn him that when he got home he was in store for some serious shit, but I couldn’t.

The next day I called him at work.  He said he couldn’t talk to me and he hung up.  I didn’t push contact with him.  I figured it was best that he work on his marriage without me gumming up the works.  No need to end two marriages.

Because mine was most definitely over.  I had been miserable for years.  Not completely miserable, but I had been telling the Ex that I couldn’t take various behaviors for a long time.  I had turned into a nag.  I hated having to ask the Ex to do things around the house that he should have done simply because we were two people living together.  I felt disrespected and taken for granted and had for a long time.

I felt like I kept giving in to whatever he wanted and got nothing in return.  When he wanted a huge television that we couldn’t really afford, we bought it on the condition that I would no longer have to ask him to unload the dishwasher, his one major kitchen chore.  Of course that didn’t last.  He still has that fucking 50″ tv though.

I swear.  True story.

[To be continued ….]

It’s a contest to identify the pictured substance.  Winner gets a special photo.

Rules:

1. First one to get the complete correct answer wins.
2. Contestants enter by making their guesses via commenting to this post.
3. I will post as a comment one clue per day for each day there is not a winner.
4. Contestants are encouraged to enter as many guesses as they’d like, with only one guess per comment.  Only the first guess in each comment will be considered.
5. Winner will be announced on Saturday, March 13, 2010.

[Continued from "Prague, Israel (Part 2)."]

Israel and I both worked and lived together.  Israel and I both worked days, and I also had some shifts at night.  I was a shitty waitress and I knew it.  I didn’t like having to be really nice in hopes of a tip with only minimum wage guaranteed when I made more than minimum wage when I worked at night as a hostess.  The good waiting shifts were taken by people who were actually good at waiting on people.

Around the same time I began going to school in earnest.  Junior college.  Pasadena City College.  I had graduated from high school a year early, but then had taken a bit of time to realize that I did want to go to college.  That I mostly worked nights was convenient not only because I made more money at night, but also because I could attend classes during the days.

School during the day and working both days and nights meant I did a lot of coming and going from my apartment, sometimes at “odd” hours.  For the most part this didn’t bother or have any effect at all on my neighbors.  One neighbor, however, noticed.  We’d often run into each other in the lobby of the building, or in the back yard where he smoked and I took my puppy, or in the front yard.  When he saw me in the front yard it was usually because I was on my way to my car to go to school.

Because I was on my way to school I was usually in a hurry.  The neighbor was not in a hurry at all; he didn’t seem to do much more than hang out in or near our apartment building.  So he walked me to my car on a number of occasions, and attempted to engage me in conversation.  I had been working at a bar for a while and had begun to see the lame signs that I guy was “interested” in me.  Lame because the guys would pretend to care about what I did with my time when they really wanted to know, “You wanna fuck me?”

My neighbor was interested in me for sure, and pretended to care about my comings and goings.  He asked me where I was going in my car.  “To school.”  He asked me where I go at night.  “To work.”  He asked me where I worked.  I did not want him to come to the bar where I worked to talk to me.  There, I had to be nice to the customers and I was trapped at my hostessing station.  So, I told him I worked down the street.  It wasn’t a lie, and he had seen me come and go to work by foot, so I figured that would be enough for him.

And it was, sort of.  The neighbor continued to be overly solicitous whenever he saw me.  One day he knocked on my apartment door and held out, like a proud child, a rather scraggly looking potted plant.  I thanked him, but I really don’t think I was particularly encouraging.  I still have the plant.

I tried my best to keep our interactions short but sometimes when I was out with my puppy I had to talk to him until she was done doing her thing.  It was dark one evening when he found me in the building’s front yard with my puppy.  It must have been a rare night that I had off from work, and I was not in the mood to deal with him, but my puppy was taking her time.  I wanted to go.

Finally, I began walking up the building’s stairs to my apartment when the neighbor yelled after me, “I wanna get with you.”  I certainly would find that refreshing now, but 19-year-old me was freaked the fuck out.  It didn’t help that I found the man repulsive.  Then, as I was retreating further up the stairs, he held up his wallet and said, “I’ll pay!”

I picked up the puppy and ran to my apartment, where Israel was home.  He could see that I was upset when I told him what had just happened to me.  He thought it was funny.  I did not.

I swear.  True story

[To be continued ….]

The phone isn’t ringing.

Those guys were asking me an awful lot of questions last night.  I can just see myself following Henry around and pacing.  I’m such a geek.

Now I’m listening to “Love Line” everyone else has lame love problems and I can’t get anything.  The phone isn’t ringing.

I want hairless arms.  This is a very lame call.  How did she get on the air?  The screeners are fuckheads.  They think they have some lesbian love triangle thing going and the Poorman is being a geek about the whole thing.  What a sexist dork.  Shit, I just want to kiss someone.  Is that so wrong?  Is that too much to ask?  I think not.  Will I ever meet anyone else?  How will I ever meet a bunch of girls who like girls.  My hair falls out a lot.  Oh this poor guy has sex only two to three times a day.  Shit, two or three times a year would be great for me.  I’m so depressed.  The phone isn’t ringing.  I just want to die.  I want some sex.  This is depressing.  I don’t know why I get so hooked.  This boy’s driving me batty.

THE PHONE ISN’T RINGING SHIT!

Why do I put myself through this?  Why do I have to think about him so much?  I hate this!  I get so damn frustrated!  Hey, what would happen if I put everything on the line?  I’m just afraid nothing.  But actually I have no idea how he really thinks or how he will really react.

It’s gorgeous outside.  Wonderful weather.  Apartment A has their air conditioner on.  I think I’ll get stoned and go run.  This is one of the best reasons to live in beautiful Southern California.  Why would anyone with naturally curly hair want to live where it is excessively humid?  Their hair would always be frizzy.

This chick’s on drugs.  Well, not any more, but she still isn’t all together.  The screeners are really fucking up tonight.  Now this guy as a “friend named George.”  Who gives a fuck.  What is the point?  Who cares?  Not me.

Listening to this depresses me cause people have two boyfriends or too many lovers.  Shit, I can’t even get one.  This chick is pregnant.  I’ll never have to worry about that.  I just don’t know about sex and drugs.  They make people act weird.  When I thought last night that Henry had done heroin I got knod of protective.  But he wasn’t doing heroin, he was snorting coke.  Maybe it’s some sort of dealing with his feelings.  Fuck, I wish I could help him.  I can see it now – everyone expects Maury to die from doing just a little too much heroin.  Henry acquiesces to Maury’s pleading for someone to “party” with him but Maury, because he’s so fucked up, sets him up with just a little too much and Henry dies.  But Maury’s just fine.  Irony galore.  I think I’ll have to go run off my depression.  I want to talk to [Step-Sister] about butt talk and boys.  She seems so well-adjusted and normal.  It depresses me cause I’m so fucked up.  At least I sure feel like it.  I don’t want to end up like [Sister].  She’s twenty-two not cause it’s May 6 but I don’t even meet any people so I don’t think I’m in danger of getting married.  She didn’t get married until she was twenty, I have two more years.  I better get a car now that my dumb mother has gotten my hopes up.  My eyes are always watering and I wish I knew why.  Fuck, I need my jacket back.  Maybe I’ll have to call Henry before he goes to work in the morning even though I know he hates me.

Why are guys do dumb?  Then again, girls are dumb too, just in a different way.  Why do my eyes have to water so much?  They have no reason.