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Joe Tells His Story:

    My penis made me locally famous. I didn't find out about it until I
got to the University. Before then my experience with women was
non-existent.  I'd been at a boys' school, and anyway I was pretty spotty.
I couldn't believe when, all of a sudden, at the Freshman Ball, I was
snuggling. I was even more amazed when we were in her room.  We were both
wasted. I didn't have a clue how to behave, I was terrified, but she knew
what to do and in no time we were naked, in bed. She was kissing my mouth.
My neck. My chest, my stomach, my....  -- She stopped.

    "Oh my goodness!" she said, incredulous, "Your cock tastes just like
CHOCOLATE!"

    Melanie (her name) wasn't a shy girl. She must have told her friend
Suzy. I realized this the next day when a very attractive girl, with hip
clothes and trainers, approached me in the Union Bar and just started
chatting. This had  NEVER happened to me before. She asked me if I wanted
to hear a new CD she'd bought, and then we were in her room. Halfway
through the second track we were naked. She'd hardly even kissed me before
her face disappeared under the duvet.

    "It does!", she exclaimed suddenly. "It bloody well DOES!!" 

    Two weeks into college I was still a virgin.  I had, however,
received twenty three blowjobs from twelve different girls and heard words
such as 'incredible', 'amazing', `Bournville', 'Swiss' and 'Belgian'
exclaimed by mops of hair beneath my bedclothes. I had also been requested
to immerse myself in a glass of milk and move vigorously to see if any of
the flavor rubbed off.  It didn't.

    I went to the Doctor.  She didn't believe me. Nor did she try it out,
which I thought shockingly unscientific. But she did see the state I was
in and gave me a salve.

    Okay, so I'll admit it. For the first year it was great. I could have
loads of women, any time I wanted. I got cunning and made them sleep with
me first. I got fussy. All the guys on campus were jealous. People who
didn't know me looked wide eyed to see one or more stunning girls on the
arm of a spotty, pale youth, with lank dark hair and glasses. "What's he
got?", they seemed to ask themselves.

    But when the second year came I got really tired of it. There was a
whole new year of girls who wanted to try me out. I felt like an object.
A specimen. And there was something missing from my life, a yearning. I
tried to have conversations with girls, in the coffee bar say, but all
the time their eyes  would be flicking to my crotch.  Their tongues would
run over their lips, their eyes would glaze over.  I would make a hasty
excuse and leave. It was about this time I began to get really upset about
it. Everyone had started calling me Hob Nob.

    When I say "everyone", it's not quite true: Some people called me
Willy Wonka.

    Hey, it is NOT funny! I was a person! I was more than a sexual organ
that just happened to be flavored like confectionery. Everyone stared at
me. All the girls laughed when they saw me. I overheard them talking about
me. About it! I think I had a bit of a breakdown, I couldn't take it. All
through my third year I stayed in. I saw no one.

    I had given up on my little University world. Everyone knew
everything.  Because I didn't have anything to do I studied all the time.
I did well and then I went to New York, Columbia, for a Masters. I took
a deep breath of fresh air.  Fantastic!

    It was great! Nobody knew me! If it hadn't been for the lousy beer it
would have been perfect. I met Laurie a few months later and we started
to go out.  I'd seen her around in the cafeteria on campus, but it was
only when I heard her give a paper on radical feminism that I really
noticed her. She wrote about the politics of oral sex. She stood at the
lectern in black jeans, white tee shirt, her hair tied back severely, her
little fists clenching to emphasize a point.

    "Oral sex", she had concluded, "is degrading. The worship of the
phallus only serves to enforce the enslavement of women. No woman should
ever do it, and I certainly won't do it ever again.  Ever.  Thank you."

    She stepped down from the platform to rapturous applause from a room
mainly filled by women. I was enraptured, entranced. I had to get to know
her.

    Well, eventually we got it together. Having no chocolate penis to rely
on, I had to be myself and for a long time she wasn't interested. But then
it all happened.  Nights discussing politics, poetry, walks in the park,
old Cocteau  movies.  Love, smooth and slow, calm as an angel. About a
year after we met, she was lying in my bed, naked, her black hair blooming
like an impossible rose against my sheets, her flawless skin almost as
white as they were. I was so happy.  I started to kiss her, to cover her
with kisses. I wanted to adore her, to make her feel better than anything;
sighs escaped her like wind from a wood across a wheat field...

    "No!" she said.

    She took me by the scruff of the neck. "Not there!" 

    I stopped.

    "Why not?", I asked.

    "I knew it", she said firmly. "I won't do it to you in return. I
won't. Not..."

    "I know," I assured her. "I *want* to do it to you. But I don't 
want you to do it to me, ever."

    "You will", she said, "You will! I knew this would happen..." 

    I didn't listen to her. I knew. There was no way I'd let her even if
she wanted to.  Never.  I covered the insides of her thighs with my face
and rested my hands on the tops of her legs. I pushed them part slightly.
She resisted a little but then she opened her legs wider and I --

    I lifted my head up.

    "Guinness!" I cried, "Guinness!!"
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