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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #629
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Gramma McKee's
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 Special Penis Advice"
888 888 888 888 888 " by McBoo
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 7/16/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Come closer, snuggle up, my little rutabagas, and let gramma tell you
about the first penis she ever felt-What?! What??! What's the big deal?
Oh, come on, grow up, already. Come on, you know you want to hear it, come
here, you little-- . . .
It was an autumn evening, late August, perhaps. I was a lass of
sixteen, with a clear head and a gut full of resolve. Shirts untucked,
zippers unraveled, and slowly, it emerged, blinking its one sticky eye like
a baby bird in an auburn nest. It was apparent to me that I should get on
with it, so-nowhere near ready to get down with it-I . . . grabbed it.
It was so soft! Soft in a good way, although frankly, I did not yet
understand what was good about hard. It was rock hard, but baby bird soft,
the tenderest skin I'd ever felt. This was the sword? The rocket? What
Grampa calls his "blood-engorged rod?" This was no weapon. This was a dear
little friend. Come closer, sit on my knee, and hear about how to make
friends with such a shy guy.
First, recognize its cuteness. I heard a man tell his son the other
day that men aren't cute; girls are cute, he said, men are handsome.
Bullshit, dearies. Crapola. Not only are lots of men cute, but cute will
get panties thrown at you in a way that handsome never will. Davy Jones
looked cute, acted cute and sang cute. The man was five foot two. Today,
at any given time, there exists an entire generation of women still at the
peak of their sex drive who would drive over Tom Selleck in armored vehicles
to get to Davy Jones. Sign me up for a Humvee. But, Gramma's mind is
wandering.
The penis has a cuteness all its own. We have already appreciated
its wonderful complexion. There is the smurfy little mushroom-shaped cap;
watch it change colors sometime. I like to think of it as the mood ring of
the genitalia. There is the bounciness factor: notice, during bathroom
time, perhaps, how a slightly hard penis will rebound from a gentle tug in
one direction, not unlike one of those bouncy-headed dog figurines in the
rear windows of cars. Boing, boing, slap, slap. Really, kids, it's a hoot.
It is more difficult to appreciate the testicles. Pubic hair is
coarser than other hair and when you first see it poking out of the goose-
pimply scrotum skin it often gives the impression that you are looking at a
magnification of a part of the body you really didn't want to see more
closely. Distract yourself by watching the testicles in action. Gramma
sometimes plays this game: what kind of animal does the scrotum remind you
of? Scrunchh! It's a Shar Pei! Stretch! It's Deputy Dawg! Swing!
Droopy! All you need is a hair dryer and a cold washcloth to have hours of
rainy day fun.
You want to know what else the penis does? Oh, you little dickens,
just you listen. Remember how the penis bounces when you pull on it? Guess
what? It'll bounce all by itself when a man dances naked. Oh, little smart
alecks, aren't you? Men hardly ever dance naked, do you say? Listen close
to Gramma: every man dances naked. In front of their girl. At least once.
Without being asked. Gramma calls it the "Prancing Penis Dance." No one
knows why they do it. Few will admit to it. But at some point, when it's
time for bed or a shower and a man finds himself undressed, he will smile
broadly and dance around in front of his mate. Some men, but not all of
them, will actually say, "Look at me!" I have found that the best response
is to, indeed, look at him. A shy giggle is appropriate, laughing out loud
is not. Smile bravely, remember why you were attracted to him in the first
place, think of England, perhaps, and let him finish. If you enjoy the
performance, by all means cheer him on, but you must understand that
encouragement will lead to repeat performances. Faking it, never a good
idea, darlings, is a particularly bad idea in this case. If you amiably
ignore the whole incident, the man will take it upon himself to wonder what
the hell he was doing. He has likely gotten it out of his system now. I
cannot say it enough-encouragement will lead to repeat performances.
What, darlings? Size? What about it? Is what true? Oh, heavens,
no. Each one is very special. Gramma prefers medium-sized, frankly. She
remembers a swarthy Cypriot sailor taking the size prize, even up against
the Norwegians, Irish and African-Americans. Gramma got very tired after a
little while and needed to stop. Also there were teeth issues. Hmmm,
". . . up against," that makes me remember a special penis time---what? Oh,
Gramma's fine for free information, but you can't be bothered to listen to
her special memories, huh? Go ahead, go on, why don't you just go ahead and
pick my brain and leave me here to rot. All week long, no phone calls. Not
even a "How are you, Gramma?" Then every Sunday it's the same freaking
thing: "Tell us a story, Gramma, tell us a story." Until I could scream. I
tell you a story, I wrack my brain for ideas and then, just when it starts
getting good, you bail out, you ungrateful little pukes. You're just like
your mother, that no-good tramp . . .
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #733 - WRITTEN BY: MCBOO - 7/16/99 ]