Phallic Monologues
By James Nicolay

‘I’m more than a bird…’
– from the song Superman by Five for Fighting

MY NAME is Twink. I am four years old. I am small, cute, and shy. I always smell good. They always use mild soap to clean me. Shampoo is also good. I love the bubbles it makes. They always put powder all over me to make me smell good. They kiss me always and smile at me. Others think I am really cute. Sometimes when I pee, I giggle. I feel chilled, but it feels good. I am always happy. But one time I got scared. I heard a bad news. Soon they will undress me and cut my upper skin. That might hurt me. I pray to Papa Jesus so that I will not cry. I am also afraid of growing up. They say my head will turn big. I don’t even have a head! They say my skin will harden. They say that many hair will grow all around me. Like grasses! Oh, I will be separated from my friend Belly Button! Thank God, I have the twin Balls for my closest pals. But they always seem to be always shy and angry. They have wrinkles all over them. Oh, I must talk to them often than sleep all the time.

db db db db db

Don’t ever call me Dick. Call me Richard! I’m not a kid anymore!!! See I just got circumcised six months ago. Look at my head -- proud and always standing. That’s how strong I am. And mind you I need a lot of space to grow! Out you go, clumsy briefs; welcome boxer shorts! How can a fish grow and develop in a small aquarium! Besides it’s getting crowded here. These freaking hair follicles are sprouting like mushrooms everywhere. Plus I have the tendency to drool every time I sleep. No it’s not gross, you slimeball. It’s perfectly healthy. And I’m not being disrespectful each time I stand in full attention when a lady comes. I am a gentleman, mind you. Some day, some lady will be proud of me, you’ll see

db db db db db db

I am a penis. My master earns his pennies because of my undaunted effort to contribute my devotedly manufactured soulful essence to various sperm banks. I vomit at the thought of it. Sheeeesh. My beloved seeds taken away – frozen in some preservation tomb, half-filling its plastic cup which shares its color and bleakness, so that some ugly bitch will implant my handsome genes into her filthy womb. Aaaarrrggghh. The nerve. But that is far better than earning pennies by forcing my precious vulnerable head in and out of some freaking fairy’s or hag’s slimy halitosis-infested mouth with the hissing, slobbering tongue, and worse, some fecally brimming hole. Yucch. It’s not easy to be me when my master grooves into the stage of the night bar with the eyes of screaming fags melting my very soul. Oh, how I want simple life. I want to experience the safety of not having to reveal myself to various doctors for STD check-ups. I want to wear luxurious cotton-made underwear, not these foul filthy loin clothes with baconlike garters. I’m tired of being choked and forced into different places. I want to experience a peaceful slumber and faithful communion to some passionate vagina, whose juices will make me feel loved and longed for.

db db db db db

I’m an old cock. You can’t teach an old cock new tricks. So my owner went to the drugstore. Why? I can’t remember why. We just went there. I’m an old cock, I don’t know why. Oh, I remember. We asked for viagra. Out of stock. How about some Diatabs? The lady pharmacist gave us that puzzled look. My owner told her: You, bitch! I may be old, but I’m not stupid! Kung yung tae ko nga napatitigas nyan, e yung titi ko pa kaya?

db db db db db

Without me your male species will suffer the inability to remove bodily waste fluids that cannot all come out in the tiny pores of your skin. Without me, imagine what sex is like. Imagine the semen released through a male’s nose. Or mouth. Disgusting. Some people hardly know that I used to be a god once – or at least a symbol for a god. If you traced back fertility cults in India, most of the statues are made in my image called lingam. Brahma statues are conical - lingam in shape. Others adore my image and immortalize them through artworks. You’ll find me still honored as Baguio souvenirs – paperweights and ashtrays. Unfortunately now I am usually thought of as an icon for sexual perversion, patriarchal system, and chauvinism. Religion and etiquette have made my image a taboo. Gay websites turned me into a commodity. Perverts treat me only as a pleasure tool. Scientists treat me as a specimen for study and experiments. Most men are conscious of my size. They abuse me with their sexual exploits. I am tired of all these associations. If only people return to the basic definitions. I am simply the male organ of urination and copulation. Treat me with respect. I’ll stand by you.