So I’m sitting there on cam late one night, last week. My dick’s hard, and I’m double-fisting it for the benefit of guys who are watching. My legs are spread wide. Anyone watching can see me clearly from the nose down to the dark shadow between my butt cheeks.
I’m not the only guy in this chat room showing off on cam. Not by a long shot. There are four, maybe five of us, and a good thirty or forty men watching. I’m getting a lion’s share of the compliments in the public chat room, though. Men are asking giving me the kind of compliments that my voracious ego eats up—telling me they love the look of my dick, telling me my body type strikes their fancy, that my beard and smile are sexy. And of course, my pleasure at the compliments just makes me smile more broadly. Everybody’s happy and horny and sailing briskly on a sexual buzz.
And oh, the private messages. A lot of them were coming my way, that night. Most of them were of the Hot cock!! variety, to which I’d reply thank you!! Conversations as fleeting and short-lived as soap bubbles, for the most part. A few men have turned on their own cams in the private message window for me, so that I can watch and listen to them pleasuring themselves as they stare at me. I’ve got whispered compliments from these men coming from my laptop’s speakers. They overlap each other and form a sexy sound as I edge myself closer and closer to orgasm.
Then I got a private message request from a guy I didn’t know. I checked out his profile. He was a handsome older gentleman, fit and firm, well-groomed, from an expensive suburb of Chicago. I accepted the request and was rewarded with a message that read, You have the most beautiful dick on here.
Well. My ego lapped that one up. Thanks, I typed back, and then moved the head of it closer to my cam for him. I’m glad you like it.
Like it! I love it! said the guy. I remember when my penis used to look like that.
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but I assumed he was saying something about how he used to get so hard in his younger days. Maybe he had erectile dysfunction, now. I didn’t say anything for a while. Then he typed another message. Then I got penile cancer, he said.
Oh, I’m sorry. The sympathy in my message was intended to be genuine, but there’s really only so much I can type when my brain is on sexual overdrive and my fingers are covered with my precum.
I was diagnosed when I was fifty-four, he wrote, and I went through four years of radiation and chemo, but there wasn’t much they could do. So now I’m left with a two-inch stump.
Gentlemen and ladies, I’m here to attest to the fact that nothing will kill a boner more quickly than someone telling you about his two-inch amputated stump. Absolutely, positively nothing. I’m one of those people who, when someone regales me in person with a jolly story about how they broke a finger in a slammed car door, will have to cover his ears and shout “LA LA LA LA LA!” at top volume to avoid fainting outright. Want to tell me about some YouTube video you saw in which a football player splintered his tibia ? You will watch me turn gray and slither into a puddle of moaning near-consciousness beneath my chair. I am a wimp when it comes to hearing about other people’s accidents and medical procedures and vaccinations.
So when this gentleman started going into what I thought was unbecoming detail about his amputation, my dick withered in my hand. All I could do was shudder, minimize his window, and put my softening toys away for the night. Sexy time postponed, at least for that night.
But then it happened again two days later. Same site, same kind of situation. I was stroking off on video and holding an outrageous flirtation with another camming top on the site in the public chat room when I got a private message from a sexy bottom guy who started out with some outrageous flattery along the lines of, OMG, I would pay to fly you out here to fuck me if I thought you’d do it.
I’d consider it, I told him.
That dick is so hot, I’ve got to have it, he told me. I’m serious about flying you out here.
And I was serious when I told him I’d consider it, I told him back.
All we’d have to do is wait until my swelling goes down, he said. I was just in for prostate surgery two weeks ago.
Wincing and already regretting the words as I typed them, I told him I was sorry to hear that.
Oh that’s okay, he said. I’m just lucky to be alive still! Then he proceeded in exquisite detail that wouldn’t have been amiss on an episode of one of the CSI procedurals to outline how he’d been diagnosed as having early onset prostate surgery. I started to go woozy when he began outlining for me the cocktail his anesthetist used to knock him out; by the time he was discussing exactly how much the surgeons carved away, I was so unaroused that my dick had actually retracted eight inches into my pelvis.
Then it happened a third time that same week, when I turned on my cam on another site and some guy immediately said, Wow, that’s a hot hard-on. I hope you know to use it or you’ll lose it, because after I came down with high blood pressure, I was never able to get an erection ever again. And now that I have testicular cancer. . . .
Well. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a fucking conspiracy. I was seriously beginning to wonder if I had a secret archenemy who was enlisting minions to deflate my dick and my puffed-up ego with salvos of medical chat that would attack me directly at boner ground zero. Because it surely was working.
My modest suggestion to viewers of cam shows is to keep the chat light. You know. Focus on sexy talk. Instead of talking about scalpels cutting into soft, diseased flesh, keep your focus on dicks shoving into tight holes. Instead of talking about how miserable are your bandages, talk about how hot you look in bondage. Don’t chat about hospital gowns. Talk about your fucking jockstraps.
As for the use of the word stump? I’m place a moratorium on it. Nobody wants to see me pass out on cam.