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| There are those moments when, for some unknown reason, my penis seems to look much larger in its flaccid state than it normally does. This isn�t something that happens very often, and I�ve had other men tell me that they have the same thing happen to them sometimes; so, it isn�t unique to me. It�s as if Junior is filled with blood, though stays floppy. There�s a certain amount of pride that comes with looking down at your limp penis and seeing that it is the size that it would normally be only while erect. He-he, pride indeed! At any rate, I was out and about today, and I visited a public restroom. I could feel that I was �hanging well� before entering the restroom, but I hadn�t realized how well I was hanging. I decided to take advantage of this rare occasion. I stood about a foot from the urinal, placed my hands at my hips, and maneuvered my body in a way that allowed me to piss on the sad little clump of freshener�forever failing at its job�hoping that another guy would walk in and see the meat I was sporting. I waited. Pissed. Waited. No one came. After realizing that I was going to be the only spectator of this most magnificent penile anomaly, I decided to bag up my unusually large luggage and leave the facilities�feeling the loss of not being able to win that secret contest that is constantly going on in public restrooms everywhere. Feeling the loss of not having it recognized that I have the biggest dick in the bathroom. Of course, the penile anomaly was giving a false impression�I�m definitely not hung�but an impression I would�ve had no problems with sharing with others. Leaving the restroom, bereft of the moment, I started to leave the building (I had been walking around in the building for quite some time before entering the restroom looking for a poster or sign to give me some direction or information about something I was needing to know about). A few steps out of the restroom, I realized that my fly was down. I stopped where I was and zipped up. I noticed a small group of people standing a few feet away, two females and one or two females, all black. They all saw me zipping up my fly. Not wanting to waste the opportunity of showing off, I gave my pack a good grab, readjusting my willy wonka, pulling it away from the chocolate factory and leaving it at rest 9:00, as if to underline my right front pocket. I thought to myself: Did they notice? The answer to that thought came quickly. As I turned left to head down the corridor, I heard one of the women say (loud enough that I think she wanted me to hear), �Damn, white boy packin!� Elated, I pulled up one of my pant legs and began to walk with a limp. Okay, I didn�t really do that. But I did walk with an air of added confidence . . . until I got to the door that would lead me out of the building. Out of the warm building and into the fucking freezing snowy outside. Yes, yes . . . it was cold�very cold. Men, my fellow males, you and I know what happens to our Patriot Missile when it gets cold. It transforms into a blue headed turtle.* That is, it shrivels. Well, I�m the kind of person that suffers from significant shrinkage. It can be extreme. Facing that extreme shrinkage, I felt a tear well up in my left eye. As I opened the door and I felt it shrink (boy did it shrink), that tear spilled over the edge of my lid and began its lonely trek down my cheek, until it became forever lost in a plume of coarse hair on my chin. Accepting things as they were, I decided to face the day with my chin up and my chest out. I marched my way through the freezing wind and little pelting balls of ice. Chin up, chest out, testicles snug in a tight wrapping of shriveled ball-sack flesh, and my frozen one and a half-incher huddled in a flap of loose, wrinkly skin�almost vanishing into a forest of pubic hair. I did not let the transformation of my big floppy dick into a baby-peewee ruin my day, oh no. Never! *sometimes the turtle has a white-ish head. |