Slaying the Snot-Sneezing Dragon

Guys in prison jack off so much they’ll try damn near anything. I used to spray hot water from an artificial lemon all over my sac when I busted just ‘cause I had nothing better to do. I once had a toilet in a cell with a stainless steel seat that...

By "dragon," Bert means "penis." And by "sneezing," well, figure it out.

I’m tired of writing about jail. I’d rather be a nutbust specialist. Prison is for assholes—and choking chickenomics is a far more universally appealing topic, judging the success of my past articles about cashin’ checks out the dickhole. I’m going to run with this. Especially since I’m all about makin’ sperm rain these days.

I’m on hiatus from the status-quo girlfriend-porkin’ lifestyle I’ve been living. Minus my formerly daily sucky-fucky seshes, I’m relegated to a prisonesque jerkin’ off routine. See, I'm currently at ma and pa’s crib maxin’ in the shade like a renegade. I can hear Suzie callin’ my name… Should I ask my ma where she hides the Vaseline and baby oil? Does anyone use that old-school trash other than detention-house delinquent dick-beaters? Part of me thinks that at the ripe old age of 32 I’m too old to blow the gunk out the balls while staying at the parents’ crib. It’s like I’m back in high school takin’ long-ass showers slaying the snot-sneezin’ dragon. I even tried to make sperm with the soap bar lather to see if it still burns a pee hole—and that’s an affirmative.

I recall a lil’ trick I learned when I was a young buck that involves plugging the dragon’s steamy blowhole if you pork lo mein what I’m chicken-chow sayin’. Word on the street is that if you finger the hole when the dragon is about to sneeze it causes the dragon to shoot the snot shot extra hot with a smoke ring on top. When I was growing up at the parents’ crib I remember beating off with smashed-up peach pulp when I was faded off the weed. It was so stupendous that the memory is giving me ideas—I think I might dick-stick something extra-ordinary tonight while simultaneously ticklin’ the taco-meat trail, chow mein?

Guys in prison jack off so much they’ll try damn near anything. I used to spray hot water from an artificial lemon all over my sac when I busted just ‘cause I had nothing better to do. I once had a toilet in a cell with a stainless steel seat that would get all cold, and when I flushed water would lick my balls. It was so dirty it felt good. I can guarantee that jails from the East to the West are full of convicts spreading and spraying the slime around. I need to find some more jail broads to get some detailed info on what they’re fuckin’ these days… I know they mold dildos out of soap bars and fuck summer sausage, among other inventive penal penile innovations, but what’s better than having another broad lick the clit syrup with the finger digging coochie canyon?

Unbelievably, I’ve never watched a porno with a jailhouse lesbian lickathon plot and right now I wish I had. I hope some day I’ll have the ability to find some ex-con honeys and have them reenact how they get busy in the slammer. Reality porn. That’s the future of fluid-spraying… I guess it’s a little unfair to label the majority of female inmates as filthy loose sluts who are prolific pussy-eating whores hell-bent on orgasming 50 times a day—I know I hate it when people insinuate that dudes get gay in jail.

I’ll never understand the clink-clink rape mystique. How does it work? I can barely fit a slimy finger or a lil’ balloon of drugs in my dainty butt-pocket, yet somehow Bubba just slips ‘n’ slides his foot-long hog in some unwilling, clenched butthole? I don’t want to say that that scenario never happens, but a lot of the time that stuff must be consensual. At the same time, from what I’ve seen, maybe only 1 percent of inmates get busy in the butt. Most of us just sizzle our dizzles all day, obsessively mangling our manhood.

If there’s a will there’s a way when it comes to the hog-flogging. I remember times in prison when I’d be lying in bed in the middle of the night with a raging bone rippin’ out the skin, angry at the world like a spitting baby snake seeking a warm hole to slither into. Nights like those are just like these sweet holiday vacation nights when I get to hammer away on the ol’ hambone dreaming fantasies of unfulfilled lusty desires. Lotsa times I think about an old lady named Ms. Spurkey. She is an old fat secretary/lunchlady/librarian vaginasaurus-mess lookin’ broad. I like to imagine her old wrinkled fat mouth wrapped around my jimmy like she’s bobbin’ for apples. I have no idea why.

Bert Burykill is the pseudonym of our prison correspondent, who has spent time in a number of prisons in New York State. He tweets here

Previously - Pissin’ out the Pain