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  • Bruce P. Grether

Where is your heart, REALLY?

Beneath the horns of the crescent moon, not long before daybreak, I'm sitting on a towel on the Ravine Bench that overlooks the inky forest, while in the eastern sky the brilliant gem of Venus balances out that tilted slice of bright lunar light. My house-pants are down around my ankles, and I've applied some 100% pure coconut oil to my penis, which now stands up and outwards as big as it gets, as if drawn by the tidal power to full attention. My legs are spread open wide in worship. The moon may be waning towards New Phase close to Midsummer Eve, but my erection pulses as my fingers slowly stroke along its lubricated length and girth, twirl over the ultra-sensitive flare of the mushroom head, while the other hand lower down caresses the generous weight and soft sac of my scrotum.

How can it be that this feels better now than it has ever felt before?

Still, this is the truth: I continue to train and educate my penis, and it constantly learns to provide me with ever-more exquisite, indescribably delicious ecstatic sensations! This is the legacy of what I call Mindful Masturbation--ongoing training and practice. Now, at the time of year when Nature's manifestations peak in the annual cycle, curiously I'm also more aware than ever of the male ancestors within me, an unbroken chain going back millions of years, an exquisite legacy of male potency, virility, manly pleasure-for-pleasure's-own-sake, hedonistic eroticism that plays its role in evolutionary selection. My beloved penis is the direct inheritance from all of those male animals. I've consciously invited the men of my ancestry encoded in the DNA of my cells to bathe in the ecstatic flow of my solosexual pleasure.

My penis throbs, just as I know it will stand stiff, engorged, activated and participate later as I write about this…

As an embodied male, really and truly where does your heart live? Something muscular, emotional, connected with feeling, indeed beats in your chest, just slightly left of center in most cases; your mind can think about what your heart knows and what your heart does, but can it truly feel? Can your mind do that most mysterious thing we call LOVE? Such questions I may not be able to answer--certainly not for you, my Phallic Brother. However, I do know that, as the poet James Broughton suggested, the head of my penis is the exposed tip of my heart.

"Hail, and well met by moonlight! Hail to the Living Phallus, Sacred Organ of Love!"

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