Genital Personification: The Love Story

Genital Personification: The Love Story

	‘Twas those warm summer days where I learned more about myself then I had ever learned about anything before. I would spend hours locked away in the confines of The Abuser’s trousers, languishing in the warm air, waiting for my next view of life, of freedom. Alas, even granted that view I was typically awarded with nothing more than the bowl of a toilet, the palm of a hand, or the inside of a sock; for my life was the blatant definition of repetition and pitiful anticipation.

I will admit though, that the rare occasions where I could breathe life from this world in places other than a bathroom or a bedroom were truly glorious; for all of that hope growing deep within me and The Twins would simply climax and spillover at the seams. And even disregarding the moments of freedom from the prescribed, it wasn’t all bad; for there was one thing that made it all bearable, the thing that managed to keep me sane, to keep me from exploding in a deplorable plea of desperation, all in the hopes of a release. It, in a way, was a release of its own. Although the inside of that sock was nothing incredible, the way it rubbed against me, the friction, the movement, the feel. Normally, it began as nothing, and at times, I would be slightly sensitive and it would in some minor ways tantalize me, but it wasn’t the initial touch itself upon which my desire rested. I craved the climax, to allow my seed to flow forth; for he was The Abuser, and I was the Abused, and his weapon of choice was the sock. There were times where he would use his hand, or he would use a pillow case, and even sometimes he would mix these with lotions and creams, but it was the sock whom I met with more often than anything else.

I must say that to an extent, I and that sock were closer than anything else; although, it is true these were merely my feelings as opposed to mutual agreement; for, the sock itself seldom spoke; regardless, these feelings changed one day; they changed the day I met her. The most beautiful thing my head had ever sensed, and although I could not see her myself, I could tell that, that in my dark little area of earth, my dark little area of pants and sometimes underwear, that she was a beautiful flower.

I met her through The Abuser, and while it is true I don’t know the specifics of the events (given my woeful imprisonment) I still felt an attachment. I knew, this creature, this… beast… was the definition of beauty. My body would become stiff and rigid in her presence, and The Twins found themselves working at quite the accelerated pace as well. I craved her; I needed her; I would have her.

I remember one day, one of the days where me and the beautiful flower (as I had grown accustomed to calling her) were together for an exponentially large amount of time, I felt something, it was a hand. It grazed the tip of my head as my entire body was erect. The tender softness of long and delicate fingernails, the light smell of perfume: ‘twas not the touch of The Abuser, but rather, The Abuser to The Beauty.  I could feel divine sensations of electric pleasure run down my shaft and into the body of The Abuser; I desperately craved more, to vomit my white silky pleasure into the palm of who I dubbed The Seducer.
I truly do regret to inform that I was not blessed that night with anymore pleasuring; although, I must admit that simply being in such close proximity to The Beauty was pleasure all on its own. But observe my words with careful consideration, for I say that night, and with that I imply that yes, I was met with much more pleasure in the future, but I shalln’t get ahead of myself; for, patience is known by all of the wise men to be a virtue, and it was one that I had spent my life learning. But I must cease this digression; for, I shall elaborate on our promiscuous journey.

There was another night, one much like the last, except the difference between them was that the palm of The Seducer was much less inhibited. This time though, in addition to that of the typical smells, I could smell alcohol; of course, this did not bother me, and in reality, would only prove to be a a sign of the future, a foresight into near events. It would serve as a messenger of pleasure, so to speak. I remember her hand, as it had become quite accustomed to doing, tracing around the edge and occasionally rubbing my head, causing me drool with delight. The inside of The Abuser’s boxers, like normal, were becoming quite damp from my excretions.  It was this night though, that something unexpected happened. I do not know if it was merely the influence of the alcohol or an act of God, but I remember the zipper of his pants opening, causing a soft light to rain down and a wave of fresh air and perfume to bathe me. I didn’t know what was happening until finally, her hand slipped inside and aimed me out of the opening in his boxers and then through the zipper. I felt her palm go up and down my shaft, the same electric pleasure I had always experienced amplified by at least ten fold. After several moments of abuse, I felt insurmountable delight rise up in me and I felt my liquid diamond overflow. I shot it out on to her hand and on to his pants, and even after the main wave had subsided, I felt more overflow, running down my shaft. I had never felt so pleasured, and because of this, I had in a lot of ways forgotten about The Beauty, but not in all ways.

And while all of this may seem to be more extravagant than anything else, and it may point at me being spoiled beyond belief, I can assure it certainly wasn’t the end; for, I had yet to even meet The Beauty, but the moment drew nigh, but at the time, this was little to my knowledge. I was so mystified by the beauty of The Seducer’s palm that my desires gravitated around her instead; there is almost humor in how naïve I was towards the meaning of pleasure. Though, with time comes experience, and with experience comes knowledge.

I remember another evening, this one similar to the others; I was erect, the hand of The Seducer was coated in its usual scent of perfume and fortunately enough, alcohol. I indeed prayed to once again feel her soft touch, her gentle caressment, her steady movement; yet, I was granted with something far different this time around. I remember this time the zipper opened and I waited with great anticipation, but this time, the pants dropped. Needless to say, I was greatly confused, but I was also quite excited; after all, what matter of delight waited in the edges of the unknown; oh, how little I knew. The boxers dropped too, and I viewed The Seducer in front of me and with that, I grew even tenser. My already tight body seemed to strain at the sight of her. I craved her touch, I needed it. That was when I saw a small piece of tight cloth on her drop, and judging from where I was on The Abuser, that had to be where another genital was. Surely, it was someone like me, a friend who could share alike in the pleasure, but I was mistaken.

	When the cloth dropped I viewed in front of me something of unparalleled magnificence; I asked myself if it was true, if it was possible that what was in front of me could be her, The Beauty. She truly was the delicate flower I had always imagined; she was a rose of paradise. ‘Twas then that exactly what I willed came to fruition: we grew closer. I remember that in close detail her beauty was incomprehensible. Simply indescribable in anyway, anyway other than perfection; although I have heard that God is perfect, and even he would be nothing in comparison. I saw past God as I looked into her; I saw past perfection; I saw something that no genital had seen before; I saw true liberation.
“My beautiful!” I called out to her.
“Could it be?” She asked to herself aloud.
“My sweet, you, I have waited countless lifetimes for; you, the very essence of thrill and pulchritude!“ I began, but soon found myself without words for her beauty left me awestruck.
“I have long waited for you as well, my fair, confectionary prince.” It was with those words my heart soared, for I craved her, and now, I knew she craved me. We grew closer together, and I could smell her creamy delight churn within her. We remained silent as The Abuser manipulated me by contorting and moving his body while doing something I had no interest in to The Seducer. I could feel my head rub around the sides of The Beauty’s body; I couldn’t help but gaze into the dark, pink crevice of my sweet. It seemed like an endless bounty of pleasure and desire. I yearned to enter it, to become one with her.

	I continued to be patient, all though, through all the years in which I had practiced the art, it was never harder. I wanted so badly to overflow, to spray my liquid love upon her; if only I could have those dreams realized. Oh! How I prayed for it! At that time, I couldn’t help but ask myself what I would do if suddenly I was denied; if my dreams and hopes were shattered. Could I ever recover, and with the hope of having another chance of entry, continue on? Or would I simply end it then and there?

	In the end, it turned out that all my fears and worries were misplaced; for, I soon was granted entry. I felt my head pierce her mass and I felt pleasure reverberate up my shaft, into my body.
“By the infinite wisdom of the universe, this is pleasure! You, my sweet, are a gift from the ethereal heavens, a God sent from the elysian fields!” My name for her, ‘my sweet’, had seemed appropriate before, but after tasting her, it was an understatement; it seemed there was no word for it; for, it seemed to transcend reality, and no one had yet experienced it, so befittingly, there was no word meant to encompass such magnificence. Oh, how I desperately wanted to be the cream filling of her pie, to mix my expelled lust with her velvety lubrication. And with the blessing of God, for I presume such pleasure was divine intervention, I felt my juices flow forth and I felt crippling amazement consume me.

	My meager life as a genital, at that moment, had been completed; of course, that doesn’t mean I had simply given up; for, I had willed myself to do it again, to experience new pleasures and maybe, maybe if I could be so greedy, if I could be so brash, if I could be so selfish, to discover a greater pleasure.

	I remember I saw my first flower only that one time, for something must have happened, but The Abuser punished me many times before I was fortunate enough view another, but I must admit that there were indeed many more, and while the pleasure never quite matched up to the first, I felt that in some ways, maybe it was better that way; for treading on sacred ground was like walking on thin ice, you are simply asking for whatever dangers lie in the wake of the horizon to show themselves, and push themselves upon you, and to show you the error of your ways, and the flaws with your selfish nature and resolve. Simply the way of life.