My dick is such a sad, shriveled little prepubescent joke that the moment women see it they double over howling.
They grab the pathetic pink button between thumb and forefinger like they’re picking lint off their sweater, then wrench it back and forth as hard as they can—like they’re trying to start a dead chainsaw—screaming with laughter when it just quivers and shrinks even smaller.
They call it “adorable” while tears stream down their faces, then hold it up to the light between two fingers and announce it’s basically a clit with abandonment issues.
In a dick-measuring contest, the other guys have to squint to even find it; the judge mistakes it for a stray pube, and every actual clit in the room starts a slow clap out of pity while mine just hangs there, humiliated, too tiny to even twitch in protest.