Yes, you read me right! I want a picture of your private parts. Or to be more correct; your penis. Your erected manhood. For an art project. I want to eternalize your heat-seeking moisture missile hopefully at an art event, or some fancy, big museum of modern art. Who knows? I believe the topic of dickpics is here to stay for a long time. Because let’s face it; as long as men have cameras on their cellphones, they will keep on taking pictures of their boner and send them to women, wanted or not. So please feel free to send me a picture of your beaver basher, your meat sword, your ding dong or fuck stick if you like. I promise it’s not a hoax, and I promise to be descreet! Send it to: email@example.com
I remember my first dickpics all too well. It was about fifteen years ago. It wasn’t asked for. Not at all! I barely knew the guy. I didn’t even know he had my number. I certanly couldn’t recognize his. I just recieved a message, opened it and BANG! There it was. The dickpic. In my face. Burned into the back of my eyelids for a very long time. And he didn’t send just one. He kept on and on, and I was like “Okey! I get it! You’re spanking the monkey. Frequently! Thank you for the notifications!”. The man was also a drug addict with a certain affection towards amphetamine. I don’t know if you guys know what that drug does to your joystick, but I can assure you it doesn’t make it any more desirable. Because size do matter! Most grown women are not attracted to the peckers of eleven year old boys, and that is what the pep pill does to your wiener. From danger noodle to ding ding needle on a dusty mirror with white lines. And the pubes, man! It was like a ginger jungel with a single, misplaced mushroom sticking out of the middle of this out of control growth. If you absofuckinglutly have to send a picture of your beef whistle to a stranger of the opposite sex, trim that land of grass, man! You’re sending a selfie of your sweetest spot. Make it pretty! Well, the unwanted photo sessions stopped suddenly when the masturbationist went off to do some time. For burglary and vandalisme though, not sexual harassment.
When that’s said I believe there’s something a little valiant and hopeful about sending a picture of your family jewels to a lady of your desire. It is after all the most precious part of your body. She could share it with her girlfriends, and you could be ridiculed for all eternity, or banned from all kinds of sexual intercourse for years to come. To face that risk is bravery. Or just stupidity. I think there’s a very fine line between those two traits in the search for some lovin’. One thing is for sure: if you don’t risk any, you won’t get any, stupid or not, but perhaps it’s for the better to wait until she actually asks for it.
I am! I’m asking for it! I want you to send me a picture of your disco stick! Really! Please do!
I want a thousand pictures of them drum sticks out there. I want pictures of your white, your pink, your black, your yellow, your brown and your purple one-eyed soldiers, at attention, ready to be displayed as glorious art at an exhibition. And I want your stories. It’s not required in order to send a picture of your fudge sickle that you tell me about yourself, but if you like, I would love to hear how you find the courage to expose to me, a stranger, your love muscle. Just because I wonder why men would dare to do so. Most grown woman wouldn’t send pictures of their snatch to other than their husbands if at all, or paid for. I say grown women because a lot of young girls don’t know that sending a picture of their blooming flower to men is not a very good idea. Sending pictures of your genitals to someone whom you’re not married to is in general a bad idea to both men and women, but for different reasons because men and women are not equal! We are as different as our reproductive organs. As are every single individual custard launcher. They are as different as your faces, your personalities, your childhood, your background and your experience of exposing or not exposing your spawn hammer, your yogurt gun, your quiver bone, third leg, schlort, baby-maker or whatever you prefer to call your cranny axe. You can trim your pubes if you like to, but it’s not required. It’s not for my personal use. (Or maybe it is if I really enjoy the image of your excalibur). The main point is to expose them as art. So if you feel like getting your cherry slammer made into art and eternalized at an art exhibition, please send me your dickpics to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Ps: All personal information will be stored on an external hard disc and locked up at a secure place for my eyes only, and destroyed within the year of 2021. Thank you in advance for your contribution to modern art!