Monthly Archives: May 2015

The D.O.O.C. (NSFW)

Let’s talk about unsolicited dick pics. What I call, the “dick out of context” or D.O.O.C.

If you market yourself as someone who enjoys the presence of a penis from time to time, chances are you’ve been accosted by an out-of-nowhere cock photo at least twice. This is a phenomenon that deeply confuses me in hetero relationships. A dick or two between dudes, I get. Dudes love dicks. That’s why they’re always photographing them like tumescent lighthouses, beckoning from shores of pubey flesh. The angles are always unnecessarily grandiose. I half expect to see some forced perspective of a Lego man holding it up, like a tourist at the Leaning Tower of Penis.

But the effort and surprise delivery method is lost on women. I assume the end goal of a D.O.O.C. is for the recipient to be so overcome with lust and admiration that they simply must put the subject in or around their mouth. Or at the very least, shoot back a, “that’s a top notch knob”! But that’s not what happens. At least not earnestly. What usually happens is an uncomfortable series of “LOL”s and winky faces, and you can’t come back from that.

When I’m slapped with a D.O.O.C., I tend to scan the background for clues on motivation. CSI: Dimly Lit Bedroom. Because I have questions. What goes through the he-brain just before hitting send? And is there a feeling of disgust and/or regret once the uh…inflation is spent? Like, after I watch a poor quality clip on PornHub and snap back to reality a minute and a half in (for whatever reason…), I’m confronted by obnoxious moans and atrocious eyebrows that moments before had worked together to be my lady jam. Is it like that? Boner Blindness?

How often does the D.O.O.C. receive a vag badge in return? Can you imagine if women were canvassing the cellular world with guerrilla snatch chats? (That’s ‘ue’, like the war tactic…although gorilla with an ‘o’ would also apply in some cases). In any case, it would be terrifying. Nobody would unlock their phones with peace of mind again. But that’ll never happen because women tend to be a little shyer about our downstairs. Men are fucking proud of theirs, and that’s great. I hope to one day feel like showing my labia to the world. But I like to think I’d stop at “feeling like”.

A vagina out of context is just as ridiculous as a dick out of context, but I can’t speak with any authority on what is or isn’t sexy about the vag, so I’ll stick to metaphorically skewering the spotlight-seeking penis.

Since I’m not reduced to a puddle of slime when confronted with a dick pic, I notice the details. Like the strange raw donut that holds said dick in place. The…puffy island with one lone palm tree. You have to understand that I’m no Duchess, so the D.O.O.Cs that I receive often come from men with bodies similarly soft. Short of letting it peek out of a zippered home, they just can’t hide the fupa-like folds that surround their source of pride. And that’s what pulls my focus. The weird stuff. The incredibly deep belly button, the distinct ombre effect from base to head, the curve that intrigues me, if I’m being honest.

I just don’t understand why men think women want to see photos of their dick. I like to put cheesecake in my mouth, but that doesn’t mean I want to stare lustily at pictures of it in its absence. Usually.