Friday, March 04, 2005

Manhood? On the subject of penises...

The Naming of the Penis is a difficult matter.
It's not just one of those holidays flings.
Perhaps, you may think, I am as mad as a hatter,
- when I tell you that Peni are called a great many things...

On the Subject of Penises...
Jim pauses in his latest endeavor and frowns. After a moment's contemplation, he saves his work and firmly closes his new fantasy G4 titanium PowerBook. After a meditative sip of his drink, he addresses those around him.
There are some literary subjects that have become total cliché and attempting to describe an erect penis is one.

I am writing a sex scene and my hero is now crossing the room while fully erect. So, basically, his stiff dick is bobbing like a demented conductors baton as he crosses the room ... however, one cannot simply write, 'He crossed the room, his stiff dick bobbing like ... ' and so forth. Well, one could if one was writing that sort of scene (and one was half plastered), but cannot.

To write anything referring to his 'turgid manhood' is also somewhat tacky. Hell, just the term 'manhood' to describe the penis strikes me as idiotic. A dick is no more one's 'manhood' than a hymen is one's 'maidenhood.'

'He strutted across the bedroom, his hard manhood pointing the way' sounds somewhat he owns a badly named seeing-eye dog. 'Sit, Hard Manhood ... good boy.'

Just describing the state of erection is tough. It is a simple matter of erectile flesh and hydraulics, but damnably difficult to put into terms romantic.  
His penis, reacting to his viewing her naked flesh, achieved satisfactory erection, proving good vascular response and socio/psychological adjustment.

Oh, yeah ... baby, baby.

Terms like 'throbbing,' 'pulsing' and all other variations of this nature make it sound as if the silly thing had a blood pressure cuff wrapped around it.  
'His fleshy organ quickly surged into full alertness, throbbing and pulsing and otherwise scaring the **** out of him.' 

When I envision something throbbing, I imagine an action somewhat akin to a bullfrogs throat sack as it croaks. THROB! Frankly, with this in mind, if my dick ever took to throbbing, I'd call a doctor. Matter of fact, I would think that any woman, faced with an actively throbbing pulsing penis, would be somewhat concerned as well. (I don't know this for a fact, though ... Dian says that in certain situations, the sight is somewhat exciting, but the first time she experienced this situation, she looked for a stick to kill it with.)

And then there is the matter of size, shape, color and texture.

Well, he's the hero ... I suppose it should be heroic, but somewhat shy of practical joke size. Shape, now, there's another difficulty ... as well as color and texture. Hell, let's face it ... a dick is a fairly funny looking, if not downright ugly, piece of equipment. Veins, bumps, ridges and all that; a color that never matches the sheets, much less the surrounding flesh (or any flesh, for that matter); an overall look of a plum precariously balanced on a badly whittled rod. Let's not even mention it and simply stick to the concept of a literary description of my hero approaching the heroine.

Okay, he's naked and fully aroused ... does he stride? Stalk? Strut?

Strikes me as a situation that calls for something more than 'walk,' but something less than 'bound.' I could have the silly sod moonwalk across the floor, but the resulting mental image ... damn, too late! Oh, well...another round of therapy.

And what does the erect penis actually do while he crosses the floor?

Does it bounce against his belly, producing its own applause? Does it wave about in some sort of vague response to his stride? Would it be feasible if I simply had him hang a towel from the damn thing and skip the entire description?

And what about the heroine?

She is languidly reclining on the bed...and doing her level best to not bust a gut laughing, I suspect. Should she stare? Gasp? Giggle? Ogle? Chant 'boingy, boingy, boingy' as he approaches or whistle the 'Elephant Walk' in time to the swaying? This is supposed to be a moment of strong passion and deep emotions... but a bouncing, throbbing, column of manhood slowly moonwalking forward...damn, gotta stop that image ... strutting towards her cannot be what every woman dreams of in her fevered imagination. I want this scene to be equally stirring to both men and women, but fear that this is impossible."
Sailor Jim stares into the fire for a moment, then opens his PowerBook once more. "Screw it ... or, rather, let's not. I'll simply segue from her starting to slip out of her clothes to the morning after. Y'know, the standard story cop-out. Thanks for letting me talk this one through."
Sailor Jim


Sailor Jim walks in, somewhat grumpy, and orders his usual.

Okay, this is the first time --the very first time-- that I have found my quirky sense of humor turned against me. Last night, I shut my computer down, put the birds to bed, moved all the various cat people into the back of the house (so the birds could actually sleep) and took a warm shower.

Dian, as usual, had already showered and I noticed she had used a little Maja (an incredible perfume, I really recommend it to anyone who can find it).

Hot diggity, I knew what that meant and so did Squeeker. By the time I left the bathroom, Squeeker was happily leading the way like an oddly placed periscope on the sub of my body.

I opened the bedroom door and Dian was simply lying back on the bed, smiling.

I grinned back and started across the room.

And she started chanting 'Boingy, boingy, boingy' and broke up laughing.

Sailor Jim drains his drink and requests a second.

Now, I have as good a sense of humor as the next guy, even if the next guy happens to be Groucho Marx, himself, but ... well, let's just say that it was a deflating moment and leave the curtain drawn on the rest of the evening."
He takes a deep swallow of his second drink and mumbles, "Nor did it help matters when she commented, through her tears of laughter, that she finally understood the phrase 'hoisted on his own petard!
from "Naked Through the Snow and Bits of Other Silliness"
by Sailor Jim Johnston

Posted with Permission

Morgan Hawke

No comments:

Post a Comment