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Over the past few decades, the sex-positive movement has made significant progress toward embracing and supporting all types of sexual expression. Slowly but surely, the movement has evolved from a fringe subculture into a significant force for social change that is helping to make our society more open and tolerant of all forms of sexuality. However, despite this increased level of sexual tolerance, there is still a lot of work that needs to be done. For example, sex-positive culture still has a long way to go before it catches up with my strange and baffling penis.
You’re probably thinking, “That’s nonsense. The sex-positive movement embraces body types of all kinds.” I appreciate the sentiment, but you have not seen my bewildering puzzle-penis, and so you don’t know what you’re talking about. Believe me, if you took just one look at my cubist riddle-box of a dick, you would not accept it, and you would not be tolerant of it. Instead, you would call animal control and tell them to bring “an ocean of poison.” And then you would go insane.
Please know that it’s not my intention to undermine the significant impact that the sex-positive movement has had on our culture. I’m simply saying that we still have a few more decades to go before we as a society can accept my cock, which looks like M.C. Escher tried to paint the Holocaust.
I also want to be clear that this is not meant to be a moral indictment against any member of the sex-positive movement for not being “progressive enough.” The sad fact is that nobody, no matter how tolerant they claim to be, has been able to accept my abandoned cat’s cradle of a dick. A gender studies professor at Harvard once asked to see my penis, and when I showed it to her, she told me to get out of her office and never speak to her again. As I left, I heard her smashing things in her office and screaming, “Euclid was wrong!” over and over again.
…we still have a few more decades to go before we as a society can accept my cock, which looks like M.C. Escher tried to paint the Holocaust.
As it currently stands, nobody’s heart is big enough, and nobody’s mind is open enough, to accommodate the Satanic belch of a nighttime labyrinth that I have between my legs.
So, before our society can truly call itself open-minded, it still has some work to do. The sex-positive movement needs to work toward destigmatizing men whose genitals look like Cthulhu sneezing in a defective ladder factory. It needs to expand its conception of what constitutes “acceptable body types” and “physically possible geometric forms.” Because right now, sex-positive people do not think my anger-tinged Sphinx eye of a penis is very good at all.
I should add that I don’t ejaculate semen. Instead, when I orgasm, I squirt a toxic puff of steam into the past. My vaporous ejaculate appears three months before my orgasm occurred, and it usually ends up suffocating a rare and exotic bird. When I tell people this, they are angered and horrified, and I immediately feel like an outcast. Even among supporters of the sex-positive movement my penis has been called hurtful things like “freakish” and “God-disproving.” Among certain prominent factions of the progressive left, the phrase “Oh No” has been applied to my penis as a proper noun.
If we want to truly call ourselves an enlightened nation, this has to change. We can do better. We have to.
