I am now in a somehow shallow and distant, sexual relationship with a lot of men. Men which have dedicated a part of their lovelife and intimacy to me, or at least to my slightly perverted art; the dickpic-project. Some of them are single, some of them are not. Some of them are married, some of them are engaged, some of them have girlfriends, and some of them are just in a relationsship with themselves. Non of them, as far as I know, are gay, although I would like to have a gay dickpic department just for the comparison. If there are any.
I don’t know, yet, if any of them have their better halves permission to correspond their phallus to me, but that’s really not my responsibility, is it?! I can only imagine the conversation at the dinner table. “Bye the way, dear! I would like to beat the meat after we eat and send a picture of it to a complete stranger just for kicks. Do you mind? Could you give me a hand maybe? Darling?” Sounds like a disaster about to happen, a cause ready to be lost, the beginning of an end.
I don’t even know if it is to be considered as adultery to jack off to another womans request in the narcissistic order to make your pocket rocket a part of an art project of a still unknown artist. Is my art in fact an adulterine born of an adulterous union of me and numerous men? Am I in risk of getting my ass whopped over this bastard of online-infidelity? Is my art project an offence to some god somewhere? Is it, if not the first specific activity on the highway to hell, a gateway to a future of moral apathy and unrestrained indifference? Am I a bad, bad girl?
Anyhow, here I am, encouraging some men to be what might be consider unfaithful to their spouses or partners, and others to commit what might be condemned as an act of immorality, in the name of art. Invoking to be advocating the sexy side of feminism by pleading for strange mens picture of their goofy goober. Now, that’s a story to tell my prude brothers grandchildren. That is if his childrens generation survive the disastrous environment my parents generation have created for them long enough to give that bourgeois besserwisser a lineage.
How dare I?
I don’t know! Seriously! There are places in this world where I could get whipped or stoned or thrown off a rooftop over this impudicity, this indicency. There are places in this world where advocating the sexy side of feminism, what ever that may be, could get my head chopped off. Even in western history there have been times of death penalty for men fapping, and burning of women whose bare existens were considered the direct cause to holy mens sin of duelling with the pink Darth Vader and spilling their seed, which for obvious reason never were meant to be anything but prostatic fluid anyway, but never the less were considered more valuable than the lives of thousands and thousands of hotties that by the law of the same hand fucking brotherhood, were ruthlessly ended in torture and agony. How dare I? Well… In these times of lethal boredom in self-isolation, quarantine and empty streets worldwide, I guess the rules of how each and everyone is killing time behind closed doors, can be bent a little as long as you keep your hands to yourselves and wash them thoroughly before and after in responsible distance to your neighbours. I’m sure a little bollock service is good for your immune system and not to mention your sanity.
Stay safe, friends and stalkers ❤
365 sober days 