Sinful Sunday: Good Dick Day

We all have good hair days. We all have bad hair days. The same goes for skin, butts, and really any element of our physical appearance that’s linked in some way to self-confidence or body image – which kinda makes sense. The more time you spend scrutinising or judging something about yourself, the more likely you are to construct a spectrum on which to assess it (whether that’s ultimately healthy/helpful or not).

On Friday, I had a Good Dick Day.

After some great sex the night before, followed by eight hours of largely undisturbed sleep, I woke up feeling cheerful and positive. I worked from home in the morning, which meant camping out on the sofa in my dressing gown, with free and easy access to my body.

As my fingers idly brushed over my stomach and pressed into the base of my cock, I suddenly became aware of how warm and sensitive it felt. When I squeezed my hand around the thickening shaft, there was a stress-toy quality to the texture – squishy but somehow firm at the same time, with a level of ‘give’ that just made me want to keep flexing my fingers.

So I did.

I’d been playing for a while (and I mean playing – lazy and without real intent) when I noticed how clearly defined everything was. The wide, blue vein that gathers like a river from its various tributaries, and flows down the right side of the shaft, was puffy with blood. The coronal ridge jutted out so far that I could comfortably press my thumb up underneath it. There was a taut, unyielding quality to my erection itself; it strained and pulled without effort or encouragement on my part, as if it was testing how far the skin around it could stretch.

On that point, it’s important to note that dick image is rarely just about size (thank God!). We’re conditioned to attach many descriptors to the penis, some more positive than others, but as I’ve written before, visually appealing is not one of them. As a society, we think of it as strong, powerful, ‘manly’ (with all its questionable connotations), but also as functional, weird, or even ridiculous. Important, but ugly. A blunt tool: effective, but flawed in both design and appearance.

On Good Dick Days, none of those labels enter my thinking; instead, I focus on enjoying that part of my body for the way it feels, and for what it looks like. I’m able to find pleasure in the subtle changes in colour and texture that take place as it swells and throbs. I can study the network of purple venules that cross the shaft like lines on a map, ferrying blood into those thirsty veins. Most of all, I find that my own arousal is enhanced by the way I feel towards and about my dick. It becomes a virtuous cycle; a way of flushing happiness through my body, regardless of whether I have an orgasm as part of it.

And what’s not to love about that?