Nov 16, 2023 3 min read Erotica

Justice on Strap-ons.

It felt good! It felt fun! The jelly cock stuck out from my body, bobbling about, this way and that. I gave my hips an experimental waggle first one direction, then the other. Neat! So this was what it was like to have a cock!

Photo by Ethan Haddox / Unsplash

Justice rocks this look - don't you agree ;)?

How I Learned Some Empathy, OR: How I Learned Not to Make Fun of Insecure Guys (Unless They Ask Nicely!), OR: Don't Mock a Man Unless You've Fucked A Mile with His Dick - by Justice Haze

Once Upon a Time, when I was a baby kinkster, I had never had yet the pleasure of plunging a 12-inch indefatigable plastic dick into the quivering, defenseless fuckhole of a willing victim. Gather round, my friends, while I tell you the story of that time, and how I crowned myself with everlasting glory.

Before I begin the story proper, you need a little background. I've seen a lot of cock. Big cocks, little cocks, short ones, fat ones, all different shapes and colors. Dr. Seuss has nothing on me. Because I have had great experiences with men of many different genital dispositions and conformities, I used to gently tease those who expressed insecurities or who worried about the adequacy of their dicks. “Don't worry,” I'd say, “I know you think your cock is super important, but I'm actually more concerned about the, uh, package deal.”

Story time: One of my partners (which one, exactly, is lost to my memory, obscured by the sands of time and the hedonistic blur of my prior promiscuity) expressed an interest in strap-on play. Being young and somewhat limited in the pocketbook department, I thought, “I'll get a cheapo, try out the concept, and if I like it, well, I'll get a better model later on.”

I was actually really excited about this. I liked the idea, and I like new toys. I went to the sex shop, my bemused husband in tow, and eventually selected an all-in-one option with elastic bands, a socket at the front, and a bright red cherry red jelly dick of an entirely respectable six-inch length. It seemed like the perfect starter kit.

I bought the kit and zoomed us toward home, where I tore off my clothes and eagerly tore open the package. I plunged the jelly cock through the socket, stepped into the harness, and pulled the elastic bands up over my hips and settled them into place. It felt good! It felt fun! The jelly cock stuck out from my body, bobbling about, this way and that. I gave my hips an experimental waggle first one direction, then the other. Neat! So this was what it was like to have a cock!

I grinned triumphantly at my husband. Then I looked down at the dildo. Then I looked up again at my husband. And slowly looked down again.

Something funny happened inside me at that moment. The room seemed to shrink and darken. I felt an icy wave of inadequacy wash over me as I looked at that ridiculous little cock. I realized, deep in my soul, that there was no way I could EVER please ANYONE with that silly little excuse for a dick. I looked back up at my husband again and forlornly quavered, before I even knew what I was saying, “I think I need a bigger one.”

Folks, I never saw anyone laugh so hard. He slapped his thigh, fell over on his side, and eventually fell off the bed laughing.

I don't know if it's social conditioning, I don't know if it's a deep personal fear of being inadequate, or if it's a human part of having a dick (there's some anthropological evidence for this, I understand). Maybe all three. In any case, there was something buried in my brain that caused me to completely change my perception of a phallus the instant it became a part of me.