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I really don’t know how to say this any other way. My dog decided to talk to me the other night and he had a lot to say.
It initially played like any other night really. Once again, I was tossing and turning, in and out of sleep. I was half awake, mulling over my job situation: I want to make money writing but I need an income more. Then the most bizarre thing happened.
“Hey human Bob! This is your best friend speaking! Wake up!”
Who the hell was that? It was a deep, low voice; strong and certain with a hint of a bourbon induced slur. Sounded like Dean Martin actually. I immediately sat up. It was pitch black. The radio clock blurred 3:53 in a dull crimson light. All I could make out was the shadowy outline of Parker, my trusty beagle, sitting upright at my feet.
“Hey boy, did you hear that?” I whispered instinctively. “Someone’s in the house.”
My vision was starting to warm up to the darkness. Parker just stared back at me, his head tilted, his long ears hanging to the side of his head like hand towels on a wall. He turned his head to the bedroom doorway, lifted his nose to the night and sniffed. He turned back to face me.
“Don’t think so.”
I swore Parker spoke but it couldn’t be. I mean his hound drawn lips seemed to move to the words I heard but that was impossible.
“Who’s there?” I yelled into the night. “Whoever it is, I am warning you that I am at this moment retrieving my loaded double-barrel twelve gauge from under the bed. I will shoot you. So leave now and I want to hear the door slam behind you.”
I made some dumb noises in a lame attempt to fool the intruder into believing what I had just proclaimed. I took the ruse to the next level.
“Okay. I’m fully armed and about to call 911 from my fully powered cell phone. Oh yeah, strong signal, four bars. Oh yeah, this is going to be a very clear 911 call.”
“You’re breaking me up. Put the phone down human Bob.”
It was Parker talking. I was certain of it. Nah, it had to be a sick trick.
“Okay, good one Steve. You wired up the dog with a little speaker. Very funny.”
My brother Steve was known to go to great lengths to pull off pranks. But I was pretty sure he was at his apartment in the city, sixty miles away, God knows doing what, and at 48 years old, unlikely to suddenly bother me with a prank—it had been 25 years since his last one. But the mind scrambles to the most implausible scenarios when so duly challenged.
“Don’t think so. Nope it’s me, Parker,” the dog mumbled.
I was positive he spoke again. By now I was sitting straight up, leaning towards him. He just sat there and looked at me with those big dark eyes. His poker face was on.
“Parker? Are you talking to me?”
“Well I’m not talking to myself.”
I leaned back against the headboard. He yawned.
“This can’t be. I’ve got to stop watching Animal Planet.”
“Listen, I’ve got something to say and I’m not sure how long this talking stuff is going to work so …”
“You are talking!” I interrupted incredulously.
“Should you want I bow wow?”
“Holy cow! Parker you are talking.”
“Yup. But I’m not sure for how long. So can I say a few things before …”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Yeah I know. Either can I but if you don’t mind.”
I looked at him with a giant smile plastered across my face. Parker can talk. The dog was talking. Who was I kidding? It had to be a prank. He continued.
“I’ve been listening to a lot of that talk radio and that C-SPAN channel you watch while you write. I’m here to tell ya I don’t like what I’m hearing.”
“You’re kidding me right?”
“Afraid not.”
Oh this was good. I was really hallucinating. Talk-shmalk, I had a few nagging questions of my own.
“Hey, can I ask you something before you get to your stuff?”
“Make it quick. I haven’t got all night.”
“You like smell things a hundred times more than we do, right?”
“Four hundred.”
“Okay, four hundred. Wow! Then I really wonder about this.”
“Yeah I know. Why do we like to sniff every morsel of excrement or yellow patch of urine we encounter on our walks?”
“Now that you bring it up, yeah, why? It must smell like the inside of Dick Cheney’s or Ted Kennedy’s septic tank? And you know how much crap they’re filled with.”
“That was a funny one human Bob. But it isn’t like what you smell. We pick up a lot more notes. It’s a broader pallet if you will. We don’t smell stink. We smell identity, mood, and illness. For instance, you know that crazy cairn terrier down the street?”
“Yeah.”
“She has stomach cancer and her humans don’t have a clue.”
“You are kidding me?”
“She probably has less than six months if they don’t get her to a vet soon.” He paused to lick his right front paw. “Yeah, and another thing. Don’t take me out at nights for awhile.”
“Why?”
“Cause there is a rabid possum living under the porch. That’s why.”
“You know this from the smell of possum poop?”
“Excrement.”
“Whatever.”
“Yup.” Parker yawned as if bored. “So is that it? Can I say what I need to say?”
“Well there is that thing you do with that licking your, you know, your …”
“Penis?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Jealous are we?”
“Well, it’s just that …”
“It’s all about keeping clean. Nothing pleasurable if that’s what you’re driving at. Nothing like what you do with your hand. By the way, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t pet me afterwards. Nope, no pleasure; it’s all business. You made sure of that when you had me “fixed”, remember. Thank you very much.”
“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea you knew any different.”
“No idea my butt. I’ll ‘no idea’ ya.” He paused again to lick his right paw again and then continued. “But I don’t hold it against you. We don’t hold grudges. Heck, if we did, we would have mauled most humans dead by now. Which brings me to why I am talking to you.”
“No grudges. Really? I mean that “fixing” stuff is pretty serious. That’s pretty good if that doesn’t bother you.”
“You done? Can I get to my concern?”
“Sure. Sorry. Go ahead.”
“How can humans be so smart supposedly, while they single handedly are destroying the Earth?”
“You mean global warming?”
“It’s more than that. It’s the air. It’s the water. It’s the dirt. It’s the forests. It’s the killing. It’s the anger. It’s the hate. It’s the grudges. It’s the fear. It’s everything.”
“Oh come on. You’re being a little dramatic.”
“We don’t know dramatic.”
“Well give me examples of what you mean.”
“First of all, the air is filled with danger. Dogs, cats, birds, animals of all kinds can smell it. It is our biggest topic when we get together.”
“I don’t smell a thing.”
“Yeah, that’s part of the problem. And you can’t taste the troubled water either.”
“Scientists don’t seem to be complaining. So I should be listening to a dog?”
“We have no agenda. Dogs call it as they smell it.”
“ ‘call it as they smell it’; I’m suppose to just accept that?”
“Yeah, there is a lot you should just accept.”
“Oh yeah, like what else?”
“Well, and here is what I think is the crux of the problem, you keep choosing the wrong alpha humans.”
“What?”
“You’ve got this alpha thing all wrong. Just because animals order their packs based on physical size and strength doesn’t make it so for humans. We do it because we are simple. You do it because you are thoughtless. That’s what we, and I think it is fair to say I am speaking for all animals, don’t get. Humans are able to think things through. But they never do. Well, that’s not completely true; some have but they are mocked or marginalized.
An alpha dog barks and gets all puffy, like that wacky shepherd Sarge from around the block. The worst he can do is break out of his electronic fence and charge one of us. But you humans take it up a notch.”
“Can you give me a for instance?”
“God there are so many. Let me see. Okay, you’ve elected a president who pounds his chest and walks around like a gorilla with its arms all out to the side, all tough and all, carrying on with ‘bring it on’. When he jumps the fence, he brings tanks and bombs and humans loaded down in weapons and in body armor. Meanwhile, you have alpha males all over the place, flexing their muscle in their packs, threatening to obtain nuclear weapons, the great equalizer, giving the president one excuse after another to hop the fence. It’s nuts. And I for one am telling you, you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. Just start picking the right alpha humans; humans whose visions see beyond fighting, whose hearts hold no grudges, whose thoughts and reasons are not the products of testosterone, whose collective knowledge is rooted in the concept that true peace is never the consequence of war but the outcome of constant learning, negotiating and adjusting.”
“This is what you want to tell me? Nothin’ for nothin’ but it’s a little heavy for a little chat with a dog at 3:30 in the morning.”
“In a nut shell, yeah.”
It was hard to accept this from my beagle. I mean, he’s a dog; a sleeping, eating, sniffing, crapping dog. I was chalking this whole episode up to stress. I was apparently snapping.
“That’s it. I’m pretty much done. Just one last thing while I have the chance.”
“What? World hunger? String theory?” I asked sarcastically.
“You get the right alpha humans and the world hunger thing will take care of itself, smart ass. As far as string theory, who do you think I am, Hawking? I’m just a dog. No it’s more pedestrian than that, something I think you can manage.”
“Then what, already?” I asked impatiently.
“You know that thing you do occasionally where you empty the dish washer in the buff.”
“Ummm … yeah I guess.”
“Put some clothes on. It’s disturbing. I’m beggin’ ya, please!”
“All right, but only if you lick your privates in private.”
“I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
“So this is it? No more talking? You know we could make a fortune on Letterman with his stupid pet tricks.”
“It’ll never happen. You see, this is a one time deal. Not sure why or how this is happening. Maybe that God guy is involved somehow. All I know is that when it is done, it is …” He abruptly stopped talking.
“Parker?”
Not a grunt. He yawned and as he did he stretched his front legs out and spread across the foot of the bed, his ears resting flat on the blanket.
“Parker … are you done? Is that it?”
He slowly closed his eyes and floated off to sleep.
“Parker … just like that?”
He began to twitch; in hot pursuit of a fox I imagined.
“Holy smokes. I must be dreaming myself.”
I curled back down under the safety of my covers, scratched my butt and thought about the conversation I had just had with Parker or myself or both. I sniffed the air. It smelled fine to me. What the heck was he talking about, ‘danger in the air’? It had to be a dream.
As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about getting a real job real soon, apparently this writing stuff was getting the best of me. I also made a point to remember to talk to the owners of that crazy cairn terrier. I thought it was the least I could do. One can’t be too dismissive of the unexplainable these days.
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Although it is true that almost every man is concerned about penis size, there are men who have never measured their Penis and aren't too concerned about its length. Looking at the history, there are poets, philosophers, writers and artists who have tried to determine what the average size is for manhood and what is considered above average. In erotic literature it is believed that a bigger penis is the symbol of manhood , sexual power and vigor.
The question "Does size really matter?" is a common question, for both men and women. Men usually are obsessed, more or less about their penis size, while women are obsessed about their breast size. In fact, all of men think of how to find a way to make their member larger. These days, having bigger penis or larger breast is not difficult because the penis enhancement industry has undergone a great development. From penis enlargement pills, patches to creams, penis enlargement exercises and a lot of other natural products, like traction devices, and even surgery, there are various option available. The media and the stories with men with very large penises, has contributed to the already bizarre subject of penis size.
Most specialists agree that the average penis size in erection is between 5.5 and 6.4 inches in length and about 4.7 and 5.2 inches in girth. Another fact that needs to be mentioned is that penis size does not depend of height or hand, feet, and nose, because there is no bone in the penis. But, penis size has some effect regarding the self confidence and self esteem which affect the sexual life in general. Though the length of the penis may have not much to do with sexual pleasure, the girth may have a big importance. It has something to do with stimulating the G-spot which is located about two inches inside the upper wall of the vagina as some therapists explain.
In conclusion , this is still a matter of preference. While most women prefer a big penis because a bigger penis offers her intense pleasure and more pleasurable orgasms, at the questions "what do you prefer over penis length and penis girth a woman answered us that she likes her partner to have “meatier” penis, meaning fuller penis, because in her case the nerves in her vaginal walls, located near the entrance of the vagina and the anus, are better stimulated during intercourse. For this woman, girth has more significance instead of a meatier penis, because it can stretch out the vaginal or anal walls that stimulate the nerves. A penis with increased girth can create friction and sensation that most women crave for during intercourse. Most women say that even though the penis is the most important instrument in love making, it is also important to have a combination of skills, passion and romance that heightens the sensation.
Saying that a man with a small penis is not good is a hasty generalization. Even if size matters, women are in general concerned about the man’s entire package, rather than just the one between their thighs. Women also seek passion, intimacy and emotional connection. See how you will impress her by giving her flowers, sensual massage or a bath with rose petals.
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The prostate gland plays a major role both in a man’s reproductive capacity and his ability to enjoy sexual acts. Little wonder then that this organ has been called the “male G-spot” or the “male uterus.” Knowing the right way to stimulate it can bring intense orgasmic pleasure. And because some studies suggest that having orgasms regularly can prevent a host of prostate disorders, more and more men are finding it to their benefit to indulge in self prostate milking.
The prostate gland is responsible for producing semen, that milky liquid that carries spermatozoa coming from the testicles and out of the penis during orgasm. While masturbation and sexual intercourse do their part in relieving the prostate of its load of semen, there are times when a partner is unavailable or a man wants to try something other than regular masturbation for a change. Here is where self prostate milking comes into play.
How does one go about doing this, especially if it’s the first time? One of the things a man should overcome is the unease that he may feel at having something penetrate him anally. Some men wonder whether they have latent homosexual feelings if they indulge in this kind of activity. But this isn’t so; all men can engage in self prostate milking whatever their sexual orientation. Another concern is that the anus is “dirty” or “unclean” because it is where fecal matter comes out. Again, this is a misconception. In fact, the mouth harbors more bacteria than any other part of the body.
You should try to find the most comfortable position for you before starting. You can lie on your side or squat for easy access. The prostate swells when a man is sexually aroused, so it would be best if you are turned on before starting so that you find your prostate immediately. It’s a walnut-sized bump located about two inches inside the rectum, behind the base of your penis. To milk the prostate, massage it gently at first, either with your finger or a sex toy, then firmer and faster as the rhythm gets you. But be sure not to massage it too vigorously, or else you run the risk of injury.
Some men recommend masturbating the penis simultaneously with self prostate milking for a one-of-a-kind sexual experience. You could have prolonged and more intense orgasms this way, and with more than the usual amount of semen coming out, especially if you haven’t had any sexual activity for a while.
However, some men report that while they do not achieve orgasm when milking their prostate glands, the level of pleasure they feel is still very intense. The semen trickles out or flows into a pool even though there’s no ejaculation, in terms of how that word is commonly understood. Instead, one feels a deep sense of pleasurable fulfillment; it has been compared to a very good bowel movement – only a hundred times more erotic.
You should be aware that there are studies indicating that certain men who masturbate or have ejaculations regularly have lower incidences of prostate inflammation, prostate cancer, and prostate enlargement. Given this evidence, self prostate milking seems to be a safe, convenient, and inexpensive way to make sure that one’s libido and prostate health are in optimum condition.
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The following is from the beginning of a short story by the same title. Read “Author Bio” to learn more.
****
I was recently doing a search in Google to find a website that would confirm my suspicions about a Tele-huckster—a pet peeve of mine to which I am hopelessly addicted. One thing led to another and, yada yada yada, before I knew it, my flat screen monitor began flashing a string of sexually explicit pictures in brilliant pulsating color. It was an X-rated pop-up extravaganza; one I was unable to keep up with. I clicked frantically trying to close one close-up invasion after another. The bombardment continued on until it ran its course, eventually reaching some kind of worldwide web adult abyss that even the internet could not crawl below.
As I cleaned up the dirty debris I so innocently spilled—well maybe not that innocently—I was struck by my good fortune. Thankfully, the internet came along decades after my early teen years. Had this stuff been around in the Sixties, I might still be squirreled away in my attic room to this day, trimming the hair on my palms while mumbling incoherently to my seeing-eye dog.
On the other hand, learning the whereabouts, general appearance and overall purpose of female parts would have been a heck of a lot easier, not to mention more timely. Instead, my sex education was really the collective result of a hit or miss operation. At the time it was torture, but I don’t know, there was something funny about it too. And it all started at my local summer recreation center, Carteret Park ...
****
“What did Roy Rogers say to Dale Evans in the bedroom when the lights went out?” Mud Finnegan asked a rapt group of adolescent boys sitting around a long wooden table at our local summer hangout, Carteret Park. He was about twelve years old, a year older than I and several years older than most of the kids sitting on the benches—that was age-wise but he seemed a generation older than all us in every other way.
Mud looked around, working the table like a seasoned Catskill comedian. No one dared answered his question because it really wasn’t a question at all. It was an obvious lead-in to the punch line of another classic dirty joke; besides, no one had a clue as to the possible answer—no one that is except Moon Muller.
“I know!” Moon yelped in a lame attempt to impress the guys, as if he was really in the know.
“Shut up! You don’t know crap!” Fitzy snapped back, warning that one of his patented headlocks might be coming Moon’s way if he didn’t keep his big trap shut.
“Do too!” Moon fired back in a surprising show of bravado.
“Are you two f’in jerk-offs through?” Mud, as only Mud could do, used the “F” word with a certain artistic flair. He painted masterpieces with four letter words no differently than Monet did with colors from a pallet. Having regained the attention of his fickle audience, he continued to close the deal.
“Do you f'in dick heads wanna hear the f’in joke or doncha?” His eyes got wide and kind of crazy looking, one eyebrow climbing higher than the other. Of course, we wanted to hear. Everyone settled down. He waited a moment, knowing timing was everything; then, delivered the goods.
“I’ll turn on my flashlight if you turn on your headlights.”
A flash of universal vacant thought swept across the sea of open jawed faces, like the eerie stillness before a tornado strikes, as our feeble brains scrambled to “get it”. Then, as if prompted by an audience monitor, an explosion of rip-roaring, doubled-over laughter swept around the table. Ah … Mud sure could bring it home. Making it all the more incredulous was that most of us struggled to understand the punch-line. But we knew enough to laugh because that always bought us time to figure it out.
Mud proudly acknowledged his success with a wide grin, while he waited for us to wipe the tears from our eyes, boogers from our noses and drool from our chins. He was on top of his game. Being the veteran performer he was, he launched into an encore with another doozey about some lost traveler asking some guy who is with a woman how far is “The Old Log Inn”; you can guess the answer. Another eruption of roaring, clueless laughter followed. Another tidbit of carnal information revealed.
That was my introductory class to sex education in the Sixties. We weren’t taught concepts like “private parts”, and never heard of or cared much for formal words like “penis” or “breast” or “vagina”. Our language was narrow and practical; “logs” or “rods” and “headlights” or “cams” were all we knew or needed know to communicate with each other. Regarding “vagina”, only a few guys with older sisters had even the slightest notion of what that might be; most of us were under the delusion that girls had simply broken their logs off at birth; possibly by accident or through carelessness.
So all we had were Mud’s dirty jokes, and embellished stories of older sisters spied on or caught in some state of undress. It was all a forewarning of things to come. I mean we understood the direct symbolism of certain words to body parts and innately found the sophomoric humor in using such imagery in the context of a joke. But underneath it all we started to sense that there was more to this than met the eye, something sinister.
As we’d soon come to discover, there sure was!
