Hearing men talk, I get the impression they store sexual acts in a Precious Memories scrapbook. “We’ll always have that night in Paris.” They seem to be under the delusion that women will also remember sex fondly regardless of what came after.
But for women, sex is a portal which can’t be separated from the world it led to. If it led to nothing, looking back the sex seems bland and sandy. If it led to degradation, retrospectively the sex feels like a spider.
It’s like unwrapping a beautiful present only to realize it contains your parent’s head. Once you know what’s inside, you remember the ribbons differently.
Ultimately, the dick cannot impress unless the man does.
Your penis will never occupy a special place in anyone’s memory unless you- the being connected to the penis- made a beautiful impact on that person’s life. Otherwise, your best moves are quickly overshadowed by a donut vibrator as your weiner’s memory fades in the rearview mirror. To shrink, to shrink again, then vanish altogether.
Or does a speck remain?
Either way, it is the man that makes the dick. Never the reverse.
And when a man himself is something wonderful- when he has an uplifting transformative impact on people- when he changes their lives for the better- when he isn’t afraid to roll up his sleeves and get messy and dream, grow, hurt, be humbled, change, endure- when he can embrace pain & strive to become a hero like the ones in storybooks- then I believe his penis lives forever- growing longer & longer in the memory of everyone he touched.
It was given to me by an astrology non-believer who of course has Neptune in the House of Sex. Fascinating perverts.
