A Letter To My Prostate


November 13, 2012 - Writer: Matt Houghton | Artist: Magoz



Dearest prostate, Really? I mean, really? You really thought that hiding in my asshole was a good idea? Let’s take a little sexual tally here, beginning with women. Multiple orgasms without a refractory period? Check. Erogenous zone with most densely concentrated nerve endings located conveniently on the (near) exterior of the body? Check. Ability (or at least rumored) to have more than one kind of orgasm? Check. And finally, a G-spot accessible through the main sexual orgasm where dicks and fingers and dildos and tongues are already going anyway? Fucking check. Men, now: one orgasm, one way. That’s it. Yeah, there’s peeing while standing up, patriarchy, and it not being as big of a deal when we’re fat and gross or whatever, but we’re talking sexual capabilities, here. It’s the dick and the balls, plain and simple. Unless, of course, we go up the asshole. The asshole. Man’s asshole. My man asshole. Not quite the bleached and bald beauty found puckered in porno after porno. No, the hairy, dark, stinky shit-stained asshole that is my asshole. You decided that up there was a good spot to hang out? I cannot conceive of how you possibly made this decision. Did you look at the exterior – flecks of shit and toilet paper clinging desperately to webs of stringy, knotted black hairs – and simply figure it would all work out?

“Well, the inside has got to be better. I’ll take it,” you must have rationalized. I can only imagine your dismay – after signing all the required papers, of course – upon entering your new home to find it bubbling with literal shit and nauseating pockets of ass-gas. The benefit of the doubt has been retracted, for I figure this must be some sort of cruel joke. “If he wants to achieve any significant difference in sheer physical pleasure, he’ll have to get his wife to claw at where his poo comes from while he jerks off and cries!” Or maybe it was some sort of feminist bartering tool, for dominating femmes everywhere to use as chips in negotiating a nine-inch-strap-on encounter. It could, perhaps, be a simple and kind gesture to the gays, as if to say, “well, if you’re going to be ostracized and demonized for shoving your cocks in each other’s rectums, may as well have a bit of fun while you’re at it!” While I can respect such a sentiment, I still wish the decision had been more egalitarian and accessible for awkward yet well-meaning straight men everywhere. And even more so, there’s now a whole gay stigma attached to the damn thing, as if macho conservative guys needed another reason not to stick a rubber pink dick up their butts. And just because you weren’t enough of a motherfucker already, you’re also the culprit behind the second most diagnosed form of the cancer in the world? I’m speechless, really. What the fuck is your problem, man?

So for now, I’m going to leave you alone. Maybe one day, with the right partner, or if I’m just so damn bored, I’ll come and say hello. Otherwise, keep lurking up my asshole for another twenty years, and eventually some doctor will come check you out on my behalf. Oh, and if you make me ejaculate while some sixty-five year old Asian dude in a lab coat has his lubed and rubbed-gloved fingers up my ass, I will fucking kill you. I mean it.


Matt Houghton, Magoz, SPLOOGED

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