Encounters with a one-eyed snake
I had my first encounter with a one-eyed snake more than twenty years ago. My grimaces from looking at the weenies could be summed up in a three-picture collage: an open mouth and big eyes full of horror, a frowning face, hiding under a mask of excitement; open mouth, absolute joy, and lust in the eyes.
Before all this, I learned that men have something between their legs that attracts their hands like a magnet. They adjust, scratch, fall asleep in front of the TV with their hands under their pants. At the time, it just seemed weird to me. The unfortunate one seen by the look of a child as he ran naked from bathroom to bedroom was my father. That's when I first saw what men pay so much attention to. I was petrified with fear and horror, and it was visible in my face. Like every child, I temporarily erased this image from my memory and focused on playing with Lego. At the time, they seemed more fun to me than that strange dangling thing.
As a teenager, I quickly remembered which part of a boy's body was the most sensitive. I didn't hit them between their legs on purpose, but it just happened because of my clumsiness. That's when I realized I should have been more careful as we innocently jumped on the bed and tickled each other. Unfortunately, the laughter was transformed many times in the boy's screaming in pain.
Later, I also met this delicate mushroom in action up close. At that moment, I didn't know if I would feel sick or if that creature would be able to get me on its side. I remember wondering how people can have something so ugly between their legs. It may sound ridiculous, but I was afraid of it. As if I had a poisonous mushroom in front of me. The penis jutted out, right in front of my face, upright and proud.
This encounter with a one-eyed snake up close was too much for me. It would be enough to observe it without experiencing oral sex and the eruption of the white liquid that stuck to my hair. Yet, despite the mixture of fear and disgust, I tackled it that day with a fire in my eyes. I was sick; tears came to my eyes from time to time. Although more reminiscent of a low-cost pornographic movie scene, in the end, I tamed the animal.
When the first shock passed, I fell in love with it, but slowly, step by step. So slow that my lips didn't even come close to it for years. More than the weenie itself, I was intimidated by all the comments. I thought I knew how to handle it. However, the next guy in line ruined this show for me. It seemed that the mushroom enjoyed my tongue's performance, but it wasn't, despite the white fireworks at the end. I used teeth, not enough tongue, and the fireworks came too fast; one time, I even heard that I paid too much attention to the family jewels. Have you ever seen them? The guy could be glad I did that at all.
That's when I drew the line, determined that we couldn't be friends. The boys changed, the years went by, and my will remained firm. I admit that I was interested in everything related to the penis nonetheless: the cap, the stem, the nuts. It was funny to watch it think with its head, but not enough to get down beneath the belt. I also quickly learned that sometimes it is a sensitive crying boy. "Be careful not to break it; watch your teeth; it's swollen, it won't work." It rises and falls, sometimes is stubborn and not working as it should, other times is glowing in all its hardness and puts on a fireworks show.
Eventually, I couldn't resist anymore. More mature thinking and a pinch of courage, that's all I needed. And it was damn easy and fun. So I started playing, and I liked it. I admit that I sometimes run out of imagination and would be lying if I never think about whether my technique is good enough and if my teeth are well hidden, but the small penis owner tips help me. If it weren't for them, both of us would be dreaming of an eruption of white lava so that we could end this torture.