1 Dicks [continued]
…It’s more than just that. I mean what is a dick anyway? Having a big dick is partly attitude, partly blue jeans. That’s where I put more of my energy. The crotch-thing was a lot more reliable than breath-catching, which might really be just a bunch of ballooey. Face it, I myself really barely saw much for dick in high school, so what was I myself to know? Like give-away bikini tops, crotches were everywhere, and the pants a guy wore and the way he swung his legs around, these were the tell-tale signs of who he was and what he’d do or not.
Take a teacher in a nice pair of double-pleated slacks, ironed, creased, and cuffed. Kind of boring, but there is that master and servant thing going on there between the teacher and student; it’s no Night Porter, but, where does the potential for a sex scene drop out? Double-pleats. Any guy, teacher or not, who has to fluff up his lap with an air-bag, it doesn’t matter what he’s got there inside the breadbox. He doesn’t have attitude. He might have the hunger of a bear waking up in springtime, but he’s hidden the beast so far back in a dark endless cave of folded cloth, he’ll never get out of there. Guys with pleated pants, they’re born to dwindle in the background and masturbate. Appetite, yes. Adventure, no.
The flip side is a guy in really tight, straight-cut, black designer jeans. When he sits down, it’s the mumps, those two gobstopper-sized carp eyes floating to the surface. It’s just pure Archimedes. The stuff has to go somewhere. A guy sitting on his desk facing the class with his legs crossed wearing a set of these is making the day for any girl in class out for some pretty gross bird-watching that period. There he is, ass on the desk and, basically, his dick is in every girl’s eye, all squunched up there behind that inky black denim.
Even worse, when it’s so jacked up, like maybe he’s shoved a miniature valentine pillow in his underwear, it’s pretty obvious that he’s wearing bikinis, which means a couple of things: He either wants to be a Calvin Klein undergarment model, or thinks he is. When a teacher thinks he’s that, then he’s either really in the wrong profession, or there’s something borderline debatable hiding behind the stitching of that kind of rive gauche wannabe fashion dick hoisted up on the right side there.
Bunched-up power-dicks show the attitude of the guy that has to be put up with too; so, if that’s the inner-life of the teacher in question, my advice to myself was to skip it. The right look, it’s either in a pair of flat-front khakis or a pair of ordinary blue blue jeans. The crotch area, when the teacher’s sitting, with one leg draped over the knee of the other, doesn’t bulge like he’s wearing the mouth of a horse down there, nor cower like a baby bird in the nest when Mommy’s flown off for five or ten minutes. It’s got the home-made mashed potato look: A good convex scoop chucked between his legs, smooth, with a few lumps. It’s the difference between the real pearl, a little misshapen by nature, and the cultured one that wears its shapely perfection like vanity.
My taste is for the former, where a guy is cumfortable enough with himself just to be who he sits. It’s like make-up for girls — the best make-up being when it looks like there’s none at all, or when there is none at all. Wearing underwear’s probably necessary to guys, though, like a lens cap is to a camera. Mr. Bigdick wasn’t really about size, even though I did think about it a lot; it was about pants mostly.