As the car sped violently down the highway, it hit him that he had lived in the land of the celibate for so long, he had forgotten that his penis had, well, a voice. And apparently opinions. This carnal revival left much to be desired. For while knowledge is considerable power, what actions lay waiting for him to take?
The truth lay in his hands. And with that truth, the responsibility to make penis feel like part of the family again.
Head Heart Feet and Soul. These no longer were the only instruments of light and right but so was he… or it. Yes, he was male, surely it must be too. It’s… His opinions on the matter assured this. No longer did the devil lay hidden in his pants to be crushed under foot (the very idea sent the now thoughtful master into shivers) but he… it… he had as much truth to say as the rest of the saints. “Saint”, a snicker rose from the master as the highway winds leapt up his face, patting him ever so gently on the head. A saint. Yes, Saint Phallus of The L’groin Territories. He quickly regained composure. No need for everyone to think him mad at the point of his revelations.
Maybe it was the realization that Phallus was not living up to some misguided hedonist potential… whatever. The end result was the same. He should’ve asked her to stay. He truly should have said, “stay”…
Confessions of a Dickhead
An UNKNOWN story
© Tracy J H