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There were many words he could’ve used to describe it. Phallus was a strong choice, but to him it seemed too clinic. Shaft held gravitas but didn’t match his style.
Instead he loved to call it his cock.
“You like it when my cock is jammed up inside you like that? My cockhead hitting your cervix. Pounding all up in your pussy.”
“You want my cock in your mouth. You wanna suck this cock, swallow it down your throat.”
“My cock is already hard for you, baby. Come on and get up on this cock.”
He strutted when he used the word. Stood up straighter. Got a little harder whenever he uttered it. Cock worked well for him.
But, for me, I loved to call it his dick. There was just something about the way those four letters played on my tongue, pushed through my teeth, and spat out of my mouth.
“Fuck, I want your dick inside me. Pounding me. I miss it when you’re dick isn’t in my pussy.”
“Please let me suck your dick. I want your dick in my mouth. I want to lick and suck your dick all night.”
“I can feel how hard your dick is. Your dick is happy to see me.”
When he let me play with it, when I was feeling whimsical and he was in a fun mood, I’d get eye to eye with his dick and whisper to it.
“That’s a fun dick, isn’t it. I think this dick likes it when I squeeze it, caress it. You like that, dick? You like it when I lick, right dick? This dick loves my lips, my mouth on it. You’re my dick, aren’t you? Your dick wants only me.”
He’d smile, pat me on my head, and say, “Yeah babe, my cock is all yours.”
I’d smile back and say, “Yay! Dick all for me.”
Then my mouth would be on it, bobbing up and down, licking and sucking. His eyes would roll back. He’d start moaning. I’d reach down and rub my clit, pussy already wet and wanting. And neither of us cared who said what about anything.
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