by Jenelle Watson
From as far back as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by erections. I think it started when I was a kid. I was raised in an uptight family. My parents were very religious.
That didn’t stop me from looking up ‘penis’ one day on Wikipedia after my homework was finished.
That was as far as it went until shortly after I turned eighteen. There was this guy who seemed to like me. Why he’d like a little small-titted, stick-figure Asian girl, I don’t know, but he wanted to hang with me, and I felt very honored. Rudolph was his name, but everyone called him Rollo. He was tall, white and covered from head to foot in black hair. Oh, I suppose he wasn’t hairier than most young men, but to me, he seemed like a Greek god. A hairy one.
We got closer, Rollo and I. He was a great conversationist. Or maybe, I should say, he was a great listener, because while I’m generally shy, once you get to know me, I’m a real talker! After one of our many long conversations, he leaned over and kissed me. I had been expecting that. In fact, he didn’t kiss me as soon as I would have liked. I went through a couple weeks of thinking there was something wrong. Like I wasn’t good enough looking or something.
But finally he did, and from that time on, we were kissing all the time. Of course it didn’t take long for his hormones to kick in, and pretty soon all he wanted to do is fuck.
I didn’t feel ready. Truth be told, I started to think of Rollo as a place holder. A guy who’d do until I found my true soul mate. It’s a funny thing about human psychology. Before Rollo, I was thinking I wasn’t good enough, and if any guy expressed interest in me, as Rollo had, I’d jump at the opportunity. A few weeks later, Rollo was no longer good enough.
But we were still together, and he wanted to fuck. The pressure started to build, and it wasn’t all one-way. I had this crazy notion that I wanted to see his penis. Not have it in me, you understand, but just to see it.
He kept pressing. In fact it got so bad, he started making nasty quips, mocking me, and generally disrespecting me. I should have seen the writing on the wall, but I didn’t. I wasn’t really liking him any more, but still desired his company. Go figure!
One day, I figured it out – what to do with Rollo. I told him I’d give him a handjob. That really was the perfect solution. He’d have his little orgasm, and I’d not only get to see the prick’s prick, but I could touch it, too.
So, I offered, and he accepted. Getting down to the actual business at hand was awkward. I mean, like what do you do, say “Take off your clothes, dude?”
Well, my parents were out of the house one evening, and that’s exactly what I did. Rollo came over, bringing a pizza with him. I supplied some soda and ice cream, we had a nice but nervous dinner,
Then, I invited him to my room, and basically said, “OK, take off your clothes, dude.” I realize it wasn’t very romantic, but as I understood it at the time, guys like that sort of thing. Being direct.
He did. He took his T-shirt off, revealing a nice hair-covered six-pack. Then he pulled down his pants and his boxer shorts, revealing a hair-covered penis.
I didn’t find it as attractive as I thought I would. Here I had been imagining penises for the past several years. Finally, I have the real, live thing in my bedroom, and I didn’t really care for it.
‘The show must go on.’ That’s what I was thinking. I didn’t trust what would happen if I just said, “Hey Rollo, I changed my mind.” I was a bit afraid of crossing him. Instead, I said, “C’mere,” indicating he should lay on the bed.
“Don’t you want to get naked too, Babe?”
First of all, I hated it when he called me ‘Babe,’ and I had told him like six times. But I most definitely didn’t want to get naked with him.
I’m kind of proud of my answer, because it worked well. “This is your treat. This is all for you tonight, Rollo.”
And with that, without even bothering to kiss him, I sat on the edge of the bed, reached over, and touched a penis for the first time in my life. It was soft, gushy, and covered with hair.
Not really knowing what to do, I just started playing with it. I rolled back the foreskin and saw the purplish-pink head underneath. I looked at his peehole, which I did find rather interesting. Then, I started feeling those funny grape-like balls of his within his hairy scrotum.
“Ooh, easy Babe. They’re sensitive.”
Ah, I guess I was squeezing kind of hard. I suppose they’re like ovaries, except external. I have no idea what it would be like to have my ovaries squeezed, but I can imagine it wouldn’t be great.
I noticed his penis was starting to become erect, and so moved my attention back to it. Within a minute, it was quite large, much larger than I would have imagined. It felt quite nice, both hard and soft at the same time. Hard inside, but the skin was soft and moved up and down easily.
“Woah, I’m gonna cum!” and then, squish, squish, squish, squish, his white, thick fluid poured out over my hand and stomach.
Right after that, he put his pants back on, and wanted to go home. Goodbye Rollo. That was the last I saw of him, although he tried to text and phone me like a hundred times.
Thinking back on it, I did find his penis fascinating after it got hard. And, I have to admit, I frigged myself after he left, and had a nice orgasm with images of his penis in my mind.
Fast forward nine years. I had several more boyfriends. Most were as dopey as Rollo. A few were more elegant. With a few, I had great sex, but with most, it was just OK. The good news is that most had much more interesting genitals. I especially liked the guys who shaved their balls, or at least kept the hair trimmed. There was one guy of Nordic origin. Blond hair, super-white skin, a thin but athletic build, and most importantly, good manners. We got close for a while, but then he decided he liked guys better, especially a guy named Jason, who I hated. Bummer!
In college, I studied art, and got a masters in Art Education. I thought I’d make a great art teacher. First, I can represent pretty much anything on paper. I have a nice imagination, so I can do neat tricks, taking real concepts and turning them into appealing surrealism. But I also knew that artists never make any money. So, I figured teaching art would be the next best thing.
Art is a great place to start with encouraging kids. If they can be made to feel that they are creative, then they start building a can-do attitude that spills over into their other pursuits, anything from academics to sports. Art can open all those doors, especially with a teacher who cares.
The problem was that the schools have no money these days. Getting a job as an art teacher is about as easy as playing clarinet in a rock ‘n’ roll band. Even if you get a job, it doesn’t pay as well, and generally doesn’t last.
That happened to me twice. I got in with the school system. Once in an elementary school, and once in a high school. In both cases, after one year, the funding was cut and the schools lost their art programs.
I ended up taking odd jobs in between, like substitute teaching, and just struggling financially. Struggling artist. You know the story. But I had intended to NOT be a struggling artist. That’s why I pursued art education. And still, I was broke, and had a $115,000 student loan that just wouldn’t quit.
One day, during a quiet time at the cash register in the grocery store where I was working, I got to talking with a woman, Nancy Fillmore, who asked “What do you really want to do?” after I complained about being a cashier.
“Teach art. No! What I really want to do is create art.”
“What stops you?”
“Artists make even less money than cashiers,” I laughed.
She didn’t laugh with me. She was serious. She asked, “How do you know that’s true?”
I couldn’t answer, the next customer was pushing up behind her. She handed me her card and left.
The card said “What Stops You?” in big letters, and below it was her contact info followed by “Master NLP Practitioner.”
She fucked up my mind. For the next several days, that little conversation was all I could think about. Finally, I got up the gumption to call her.
We talked a bit, and then she came right out and informed me that I couldn’t afford her. I was a bit offended, but I asked, and found out she gets $300 per hour. She was right, I couldn’t afford her!
She left me with this: “You are stopped at what stops you! What if you weren’t? What would you do then?”
Little did I know how much that simple little bit would change my life.
It took me days to understand not only what subtle message she was trying to tell me, but also what, exactly, to do about it.
I told a few friends, and even customers during slow times in the store, and the idea of Etsy came up. That’s a website on which one can sell homemade products.
That evening, I looked it up on my crappy old laptop, and got all kinds of excited.
Within a week, I had twenty pieces listed on Etsy. I had some pencil drawings, some oil paintings, some watercolors, a sculpture, and even a photo listed. They were landscapes, flower arrangements, portraits of interesting people I had concocted in my head, and some other things. All were very good quality, and my prices were reasonable.
Nothing sold. I tried lowering prices. Nothing. I tried raising prices, and put six more pieces up, thinking maybe I had just missed the mark. No good.
Then I tried eBay. Nothing. I was so fucking disappointed. I had thought I discovered a way out of my financial trap. And, if it had only worked, I would have been able to do what I love, and get properly paid. It was looking like I’d be a cashier for the rest of my life. That would be a short life, because I’d probably die of depression.
I don’t know if it was angry rebellion that drove me to do it, but I tried one final piece on eBay. It was what’s commonly referred to as a ‘cock pic.’ One of my former boyfriends had posed for me with my favorite thing: an erection. This was something I created on a tablet as computer art, with distorted colors. It was just his well-defined torso and that marvelous cock of his. I placed it in the Adult category on eBay, thinking that it wouldn’t sell, but at least someone would get to see my favorite kind of art by looking at the listing online.
It sold! It only brought $20, but it was an easy sale, being a PNG file. All I had to do was email it to the buyer. The buyer thanked me within an hour and asked whether I had more. As it turns out, I did! Off eBay, we worked out a deal that brought me another $120 for seven more pictures.
I never told the buyer that it was a one-off. I mean, it was perfectly OK to list the same picture again on eBay, so I did.
And the fucking thing sold again! This time the same picture brought $39. Who’d pay that much for such a thing? But someone did.
OK, now I was on to something. Problem was, I didn’t have what I needed. I had long ago broken that Android tablet that I created those images on. I never could get comfortable drawing on a computer, but on tablets, I’m really at my best. I’m embarrassed to say, I didn’t even have money to buy a tablet. What I had made on eBay went to pay a dentist to whom I had owed money for over a year.
The other problem was getting guys to pose. Oh, I suppose I could look at pictures online, and do it that way, but it isn’t how I created those first pictures, and wasn’t so sure I could do it that way in the future.
Oh yes, I was really looking forward with excitement now. The future suddenly looked bright!
Well, I couldn’t do anything the next few days. I had renewed my listings on eBay, and made another $78, having sold two more copies. But I still had to work at the crappy grocery store.
I decided to try the computer, and use an image from the Internet. For the first time in my life, I sought out penis pictures on the Internet.
One thing I knew for sure: I had to create more art. I mean $39 now and then is sure nice money, but I could see a spectacular future in this. All I’d have to do is keep creating things, adjusting this aspect or that, and eventually, I’d have products that I could sell in vast quantities.
I went to yahoo.com and typed in ‘penis.’ Seeing the heading ‘Images,’ I clicked that, and sure enough, there were penis pictures. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be so many.
At that very moment, I had to take a break. I stripped off all my clothes, and frigged myself silly, giving myself two orgasms in a row, rare for me.
There. Now I could think better. Back to Yahoo, I typed in “erection” figuring that would bring up more of what I needed. I saw some very nice erections, but that wasn’t quite right, either. Then I tried “posing with erection.” Bingo! That led to some websites that had some very nice-looking men indeed, posing in the ways I’d have a live model do it, if I could.
With my old version of Adobe Photoshop, I did my best, struggled all the way through, and had garbage in the end. Well, maybe tomorrow.
After another lousy day of cashiering, during which I could think of nothing but penises and art, I finally got home, and took another crack at that computer, figuring I could do it. No go. More junk. Absolute junk.
Oh well. I went to eBay to study the market. I found that you can enter things you want to research, and then check “Sold Listings” to see what exactly sold during the past month, and how much it sold for.
That led me to looking into tablets. I found one just like the one I broke for $65. That, I could afford, so I bought it.
Then came five days of agony. Oh, I so wanted to create new pictures, but the tablet took its sweet time arriving. Not having much to do in the meantime besides more research, I masturbated almost non-stop, other than working in the store, eating and sleeping. This whole penis thing had put me in a highly sexual mood. I remember at one point, putting my fingers around my hardened clit, and trying to imagine it was my penis. Fun, but fruitless.
I came home from work Monday night after my eight hours at the store and found a slip in my mailbox. The fucking package didn’t fit. I could pick it up at the post office. Ah, frustrating!
Tuesday, I told the manager I had to absolutely run an errand, and she was OK with that. The post office was a 45 minute round trip, but I had my package. I couldn’t wait to finish my shift to unwrap it, and press it into service.
No charger! I unwrapped it, and there was no AC adapter. Looking over the eBay listing, I should have known. It didn’t say a charger came with it. A quick trip to Radio Shack and $30 that I really couldn’t afford fixed the problem.
I plugged the tablet in, and it came to life. It took a while, but I was able to download the art program I used to use. It had been upgraded, so it took a while to figure out how to use it, but pretty soon, I was creating art again. Oh, that felt nice!
I had a picture of a guy posing with his erect penis on my old laptop, and was creating a very fucked-up version of it on my tablet. I mean ‘fucked-up’ in a good way. Let’s just say purposely distorted and with weird colors.
It took me a remarkably long time to figure out how to transfer the picture to my laptop, and get it listed on eBay, but I did it. Then it was time for bed.
A couple of my first pictures sold, but the new one didn’t. I must have missed the mark in some way. It turns out that it was a narrow mark. Easy to miss.
Over the next few weeks, I created several more pictures, and most were duds, but a few were best-sellers. I mean, really, surprisingly good sellers. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. I was now making over $500 a week!
The day came when I could quit my job! Oh, I was as happy as a little girl with a brand new Barbie doll! No, way happier than that!
Pretty soon, I was making over $1,000 per week, way beyond my greatest dreams. I never thought I’d be making $52,000 per year!
That gave me enough money to solve my last problem. I really needed live models. Trying to use pictures from the Internet was just plain difficult. You can’t tell still images to turn this way or that, to put their hand here or there, to angle this way or that.
Realizing how ridiculous it would be to hire guys to purposely have erections in front of me as art models, I delayed for quite a while. I even, foolishly, tried to date a couple of guys, in hopes of turning them into boyfriends who would model for me. How crazy is that?
I should probably explain that I was in no mood for a boyfriend. During the past couple of years, I had dated five guys. Each one started out promising, then fell apart upon close examination. One guy couldn’t stop exaggerating. He was the center of all his stories, which were always distorted, and it quickly became tiring. Another was just too heavyset. I guess I shouldn’t judge, but I really wasn’t interested in a 300-pounder. To my credit, I tried to like him. The last guy was a fuck-brain. All he wanted to do was fuck. And the schnook couldn’t even communicate. He wasn’t much of a talker, and he wouldn’t listen to me, ever. So, I had given up on guys.
I even, briefly, entertained the thought of a lesbian romance, but I wasn’t ready for that, either.
I guess the reality is that I had given up on dating, not on guys in general. I figured there was a happy ending for me yet. After all, I was only 27. That’s still young, right? Besides, I had a nice vibrator, and these days, lots of delicious dick pics to look at on the Internet.
That became my new hobby. I’d tell myself I was looking for pictures for inspiration on the web, but what was really happening is I’d see these guys posing with their erections, get all horny, and have a great masturbation session, pretty much every day. I was satisfied!
Except, what if I could have live models? I had the money, after all. But how do you announce to the world that you want guys to pose for you in that state? I couldn’t just place an ad in the paper. Or could I?
Craigslist! Yes, there was a category called Gigs | Talent, and it seemed like every adult video company in the area wanted to hire girls to do, well, whatever they wanted them to do, I suppose.
I placed my ad. Basically, it stated that I needed guys to pose in ‘erotic states,’ as art models. Intelligently, I didn’t post my phone number, because if I had, I would have had a zillion phone calls. As it was, I got twenty emails on the first day, so I pulled the ad.
I answered everyone, stating that they had to have shaved, or closely trimmed crotch hair, and reminding them that this would be an ‘erotic’ posing session. I also let them know that age and face didn’t matter, the only qualification being fitness.
I emailed back and forth a few times with the three most promising guys, and finally found a seemingly gentle soul who wanted to pose for me.
He arrived at the appointed time. He was a bit older than I expected, but that wasn’t an issue. By the time I was done with my art work, the age of the person could be anything. I just needed fairly fit individuals with inspiring cocks.
We talked for a few minutes. I offered him a glass of wine which he declined, and then I asked him to disrobe. He did so easily. Evidently, he had modeled for artists before. He was shaved. That was the one thing that was going through my mind. What if he had disregarded the instruction that my models have to be shaved? He was also soft as a noodle.
“Go ahead and get hard,” I told him.
“I need you to be erect.”
The poor fellow looked like a deer in the headlights.
After a long hesitation, he stated, “Oh, I didn’t know it was going to be like that.”
“Dude, what did you think ‘erotic’ meant?”
“Do you need the fifty bucks?”
“OK, if you really don’t want to do this, you can go. If, on the other hand, you want to get paid for an hour’s work, get hard.”
Perhaps I was a bit harsh. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you. I thought you know that’s what this was about. I do dick pics. I sell them online. Your face won’t be in it or it will be so distorted no one will recognize you, if you’re afraid of being recognized. I also won’t jump your bones. That’s not what this is about.”
He laughed nervously. “Oh, I wasn’t afraid of that.”
“What is it, then?”
“I’ve just never, well, um, posed with an erection before.”
“But you’ve posed nude, right?”
“Oh yes, for many art classes at the college and at the art coop, in my younger days.”
“Well, it’s the same thing.”
“Except for the hardon part.”
“Can you do it? Are you willing? By the way, if this goes well, I may have you back for future sessions.”
“OK, I’ll give it a try.”
“Go ahead and get hard.”
He started listlessly stroking his penis. It stayed soft. I poured myself a cup of coffee while he continued trying. It might end up being a long session.
After several minutes, the poor fellow wasn’t getting hard.
Normally, I wouldn’t have done this, but I was thinking that if the guy couldn’t pose, it would have been a wasted evening. More than likely, the other models couldn’t come right over on short notice.
“Would you like some help?”
“No! Um, no thank you.”
I waited several more minutes while he continued uselessly stroking himself.
Exasperated, I came over to him, knelt down in front of the stool he was on, grabbed his penis, and put it in my mouth. He tensed up, and I expected him to object, but he just took my treatment quietly. That did the trick. Now, he was good and hard, and ready to pose. He was smiling. So was I. I hadn’t expected that to be so nice. Oh, I had sucked guys before, but it had been a while. Plus this shy guy was really quite good looking for an older fellow.
I ran him through three or four poses until I found the one that was just right, grabbed my tablet, and got to work. I was worried that he’d go soft half-way through, and I’d have to go fluff him up again. That turned out to be a non-problem. He stroked himself from time to time, staying nicely hard the whole time.
It took only a half-hour to get the shapes right. I’d finish the colors, shading and smaller details later.
I thanked him, and sent him on his way, but not before recommending some Viagra for his next visit.
“So, you’ll have me back?” he asked.
I assured him that I liked him as a person and a model, and I would invite him back if I needed additional modeling, which was likely.
I had two models scheduled the next day. The first was the same age as me, twenty-seven. This guy could have been short, he could have been ugly, and for what I was doing, he’d still be a good model. He turned out to be like 6’3″ with light hair, a very attractive square jaw, and a heart-melting smile.
His name was Kenneth, which made me laugh internally, because he looked quite a bit like the Ken dolls that were popular when I was a kid.
I thought he might be rather full of himself, because when I answered the door, he walked into my apartment like he owned the place, took off his clothes right away, and asked how I’d like him to pose. He also told a couple of relevant one-liners, which were actually funny. I laughed, and noticed how his face dimpled and his brilliant blue eyes sparkled. I also noticed how seeing him nude had an effect on me. I was feeling a sort of electrical current in my vagina.
‘Oh, stop it, Jenelle,’ I was thinking. ‘Be professional.’
I put him in a few poses until I found one that I liked. Then asked him to get hard. Without asking, he got out of the pose, sat on my sofa and promptly started to masturbate. Another twinge in my vagina! In a minute or two, he was rock-hard, went back, and took up the pose again.
Oh, my, what a penis! First, he was totally shaved, which I like. He was circumcised, which is something else I like, although I’m not fussy about that, and he was light-skinned. Funny thing is I like very light-skinned and very dark-skinned guys. First-generation Norwegian or first-generation African will do fine, but I don’t find anyone of in-between colors that attractive. That’s probably because I’m in-between colored. They say opposites attract. Oh, but his penis was having a real effect on me.
‘Good,’ I was thinking. ‘My art work will be very inspired. I’m sure it wouldn’t be as good if I didn’t find the guy’s erection attractive.’
I had to work quickly, since I had booked another guy for 75 minutes later. Kenneth continued to talk as he was posing. Occasionally, he’d stroke his cock a bit to keep it fully ‘up.’ He told me that he could make a living as an art model, but makes plenty of money from his other business, which is writing computer games. He said that he had never posed erect before. He was finding this session ‘refreshing.’
I asked him why he poses, then.
“Well, Jenelle, I suppose I’m a bit of an exhibitionist. There’s something about getting nude in front of a group that I just love.
Now, this, what we’re doing today, takes it to a whole, wonderful new level. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t need anything more. I’m enjoying posing for you, that’s all.”
“Thank you, I’m honored.”
“There is one thing, though.”
‘Oh, oh, what’s he going to want?’ I wondered, suddenly rather worried.
“Jenelle, would you mind if I go in your bathroom and jerk off after our session?”
“Oh, certainly. You can jerk off right here, if you want. It’s not like I haven’t already seen you hard and touching yourself.”
I didn’t want him going in my bathroom, and hoped he’d be OK with that. I had a bunch of panties and bras drying on the shower curtain rod, and somehow that embarrassed me.
“Frankly Jen – can I call you Jen? I’d get a kick out of that. I mean, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, everyone calls me Jen. Can I call you Ken? No, I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’d enjoy watching.”
‘Geez, Jen!’ I inwardly exclaimed. I couldn’t believe I just said that. I guess since he admitted being an exhibitionist, it was alright if I admitted being a voyeur in a round-about way.
After my rough drawing was done, he stepped out of his pose, still rock hard, ambled over to my sofa, sitting right in the middle and taking up the whole thing, and started jerking off right there in front of me. I couldn’t quite tell whether it was OK to just stare at him or not, so I sheepishly looked away, but then glanced back at him from time to time. I wish this had been an oil painting, so then I’d have something so I could appear busy, some brushes to clean or something. Instead, I made do with starting some of the shading on the tablet.
I hadn’t thought to provide him with a towel or anything. A minute later, he tensed all up, and silently came. No shouting or anything. Being a rather elegant fellow, he didn’t just squirt his cum all over the sofa or floor. He did something I had never seen before. He squeezed the tip of his penis closed. I quickly grabbed a towel from the kitchenette, and handed it to him. He let out the cum in a single large spurt that left a nice little puddle soaking into the towel. I really wondered what that felt like, holding the cum in like that. I knew I’d have to review what I had just seen that evening while I masturbated.
I thanked Ken profusely, who thanked me profusely. I gave him his $50, and sent him out the door, both of us being quite happy with the session.
A moment later, I noticed he had forgotten his nice leather jacket. At least I think it was forgotten. Maybe he was trying to insure that we’d see each other again?
The next guy came only a minute after Ken left. He was a short, swarthy fellow, just the color I don’t like, my color. He was sporting a three-day old beard, which I also found unattractive. He came in tentatively, like he didn’t know what he was doing. I was hoping it wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened with that first guy.
We made brief small talk, then I asked him to disrobe. The small talk was brief because this was a monosyllable guy. You know the kind, the one who keeps everything locked up inside himself.
He slowly stepped out of his jacket, his button-up shirt, then his shoes, socks, and finally his pants, leaving his boxer shorts on.
Then he walked over to me wearing a weird expression. He came right up to me as I was just starting to form the thought, ‘What the fuck?’ in my mind.
He tried to plant a big sloppy kiss on my face, as I turned sideways to avoid it. He pressed his boxer-covered crotch against me, and I could feel his insistent hardon pressing through the cloth against my belly. I twisted to get away, but he grabbed my wrists so firmly they hurt instantly. I screamed. It did no good, he didn’t release his grip, continuing to press me against the wall. I screamed again, and he let go of one wrist just long enough to slap me across the cheek. I started hitting him as much as I could with my free hand, but he was holding me too close. It had no effect on him. He reached with his free hand and awkwardly pulled down his boxers. Then he started grabbing at my skirt.
The door flew open, and in a move so quick I couldn’t quite take it all in, Ken was on the guy, hit him hard, and was pressing him to the floor. The guy was screaming like a girl, and then more quietly said, “I was just fooling around. I wasn’t going to do anything.”
Ken turned to me while still holding the guy down and said, “Are you OK? I came back because I forgot my jacket. I heard screaming.”
Quickly regaining my composure, I said, “You got here in the nick of time. I’m so grateful!”
“Do you want me to call the police?”
Ken, I don’t think the police will do any good. What proof do we have?”
“Right. I believe I ought to teach this guy a lesson.”
“Don’t kill him! Don’t injure him, although he certainly deserves it.”
No, I’ve got a better idea. And with that, Ken unbuckled the guy’s belt, and pulled down his pants. The guy didn’t even attempt to struggle. I guess he knew when he was beat. He did whimper like a little baby, though.
I saw that his ugly little penis was embedded in some course black hair.
“How does it feel to be the one getting raped, asshole?” Ken asked in a calm voice.
“No, no, I didn’t mean…”
Ken slapped the stupid man across the face. He then stood back up. It seemed for a moment like he was going to let the man go. But instead, he swung his leg back, and then brought his foot forward, kicking the man right in his naked balls.
The guy curled up in a little ball, pressing his hands to his balls, and started crying, just like a child. We just let him be like that for several minutes, as he stayed curled up, and continued to sob, although more quietly.
Finally, his pain was evidently subsiding, and Ken helped him get his pants back up. He then instructed the man to sit at my little dinette table while he lectured him on good behavior.
In a surprise move, Ken then asked for the man’s wallet, which the guy relinquished without protest. Ken thumbed through it, finding the man’s ID, took a pen, and wrote everything down. He gave the wallet back and quietly said, “Go, get out of here.”
As you might have guessed, over the next few weeks, Ken and I got close. He did pose for me several more times, but as my boyfriend, not just a model. We have been together five years now.
I no longer live in that little apartment. I quickly moved into his place, where he insisted on being present any time I had more models over. Since he worked at home on his computer games, that was easy to do. Interestingly, some of the models seemed excited to have two of us, a guy and a girl, watching as they posed with erections. Ken seemed to enjoy the shows, too.
My artwork took off! It got to where I was making over $8,000 a month from eBay sales of dick pics. Then I switched to helping Ken out. His computer games are marvelous, and make us a ton of money, His one weakness was the artwork. I started doing his graphics, but now we have a staff for that.
One day, I sent Nancy Fillmore, the NLP practitioner I met in the grocery store, a check for $300. I’m sure she has no idea where it came from. I think she deserved it, and ten times more, for that matter, for the free phone session in which she set me in such a marvelous new direction.
A couple of years ago my participation in art dropped off somewhat. Having kids has a way of taking up all of one’s time. Every now then, just for old time’s sake, I’ll do up another dick pic. Ken is my model. He has no trouble getting hard for me, then afterward, well… I’m sure you can imagine.