Primp Lick
The limp prick is “the ultimate sexist put-down” (Fear of Flying, 90). Impotence, the inability to “keep it up”, Bond continually ridicules gadget man Q, comes with old age, the waning of years and masculine strength. Men are failures in bed if they can’t get it up. In our quotidian thoughts, a failure in bed means a failure in life.
Is there a dissenting opinion to this emasculatory view of the limp prick?
How about this: just who are the men who are able to rape and pillage? They certainly don’t have limp pricks, even when it comes to defiling and dehumanizing women they don’t love, don’t even know, who scream in agony and cry for mercy during the violent act instead of moaning with pleasure. These are not loving men; they gorge themselves on power, relish physical superiority; their erections have nothing to do with relating with others and everything to do with treating others like objects of domination. Transformed into robots by the governments who order them into the fray when they have no personal interest, they treat the living world as a mechanical tool, using at will, abusing in use.
Some people want to be transformed into machines running binary either-or code. Pornography depicting objectification and subjugation, even rape, is more of a turn-on than sex between two lovers, in which the observer cannot imagine a part to play. Gradually the limp prick disappears, replaced by a permanent hard-on, a never-ending predatory hunt to satisfy an insatiable hunger, to involve and insert, pound into submission with infinite readiness.
To fuck, father, forget.