I like my pinga. I am sorry, let me rephrase it. I love you, pinga. I apologize for writing like you were not here.
I love feeling your foreskin touching the soft fabric of my underwear, it is always like a very faint and comforting tickling that warms up my spirit. I miss touching you, but it is warming to feel you down there, to picture you waiting for me in the dark corners of my pants; always ready for me, I can even feel you right now, pumping some extra blood in you as my thoughts tease you.
You are such a good friend, such a talented entertainer, such a reliable companion and confident, such a hard worker team player. I cannot understand those who complain about loneliness when they have you right their, at reach, always happy to receive some attention, always so intensely, explosively and generously rewarding.
You are my gate to the universe. You have been kissed by men from all over the world. Through you I can picture the cruising streets of Buenos Aires, the warm waters of the Parana river, the bath houses of New York, the forests of Colombia, the deserts of Bolivia, the mountains of Chile, the hills of Paris, the dark rooms of Madrid and Barcelona, the monster discos in Amsterdam, the college dorms in Boston and California, the wild animals in Africa, the streets Markets of China and South East Asia, the Carnaval in Brazil, the transparent waters of the Caribbean and the Mediterranean. I have not been in all those places, but I have been touched by all of them. Through you.
I miss you every time you are gone. I miss our younger years, when you were able to respond instantly with an erection. We were the best team. Do you remember when we were in the cruising streets of Buenos Aires? I would see a potential hook up, give you the command, and in five seconds I would have the best package trying to rip out of my pants to show off around. We were so effective during so many years! Your boners were legendary.
Then, our beloved Facundo died and something left from us with him. We stopped being there, relying on each other, and I lost my North. He was not there anymore. You were not the same anymore. I did not know who I was. I guess we mourned together those sad years, after all we do not need to talk. We can cry as one, in silence.
Then, when I thought we were getting together again, I do not know what happened. Something changed. It was not you, but everything. I was exhausted, sleepy, I was starting to wonder whether I was not just sad but depressed. Thanks to my doctor, I found out the problem was not you, it has never been you of course. The problem was my thyroid, fucking piece of malfunctioning shit.
Thanks to the doctor, thanks to the T4 pills, now you are back. If feels so good after all the years of draught. It feels good your warm reaction even when it is not as quick as it used to be in our Golden years. It feels good to know we can trust each other, I promise I will not make any choice without following your advice, and you always deliver.
You all out there, be ready for us, my Boner and I. I am ready to go conquer the world swinging my Boner like a sword. There are no butts we target that are not going to be slapped with my Boner. I will chop trees, cut into the weeds, clear the waters and lighten the ocean depths with it. We will let the gravitational attraction of the Dark Holes attract us and then we will feast on them, in an out. Be ready for us.
My adored Pinga, this blog is of you, by you, and for you.
I love you.