I want a big dick but I compromised
on that like I compromised on priesthood;
sometimes the dream dies so the dreamer
can die at a date to be determined later.
There’s more time to think about this
bullshit than I like, and lately I’m noticing
how annoying it is when a pube slips
into the space between foreskin and frenulum,
playing both like a virtuoso, the way a cartoon flea
plays a dog’s hair so well the dog would drown
itself to make the music stop. That’s where
my dick is now, a tender button so soft
you could pull it like taffy, an object
so infrequently tangible I forget that it’s there.
Once I told my doctor this was a desired effect
but I think I was lying—I’m thinking of lying
right now to this website so I can get dick pills
you can chew like Flintstones vitamins. I have
no plans, I’m just scared, bored, and lonely
and want to be scared, bored, and lonely
with a rock-hard dick. Is that weird? Is that
selfish? Maybe the inability to get hard
is what trans women mean when describing
the phenomena of feeling like one has a vagina
waiting to be realized, like the cock must soften
before its inversion the way butter must soften
before it can be spread over toast. When you ask
your doctor about Viagra it’s polite to say
penetrative sex. When you ask the BlueChew doctor
about BlueChew, you don’t have to say anything
because you both know that you’re trying to fuck.
It’s polite to tell the BlueChew doctor that you’re
a man. It’s polite to tell the BlueChew doctor
that you’re trying to satisfy your intimate companion.
It’s polite to engage with the BlueChew doctor as if
there’s no pandemic and his product is being put
towards its intended use, not because the magic
wand feels rote. Do not tell the BlueChew doctor
that you’re sad and thinking about death, or that
when you think about dying you wonder if heaven
is a place where you can get drenched in cum
whenever you like. Do not send the BlueChew doctor
that GIF of Tina Fey saying I want to go to there.
After consulting with the BlueChew doctor
you may realize how much you’ve missed
the idea of fucking. For eventual relief, go outside
for several hours. Just let the trees pollinate you.