By Frank Weber
Copyright ©2024
It’s funny how words change.
How their meanings change.
How they mean such different things to such different people and all for such different reasons.
I’m sure you’ve heard the term, “whisky dick” before.
But what exactly does that mean to you?
In recent days, it’s come to mean that you drank too much and you can’t get it up from the booze.
In other words, you got yourself an alcohol induced ‘limp dick’.
When I was coming up, it meant something completely different…or maybe it was just us that thought so.
When I was in my twenties, ‘whisky dick’ meant that you drank so much you couldn’t cum, no matter what you did. The whisky kept you hard as granite all night, but you just couldn’t finish.
Pretty drastic swing in meanings, don’t you think?
I can tell you from personal experience that whisky can have that effect on a man.
I can also tell you that it starts out great – you feel like a freight train that can’t be stopped.
You feel like a monster of a man – a modern-day Viking Berserker.
But…after 30 minutes or so into it, you actually start looking for the finish line because that feeling is NO WHERE in sight!
You start to feel the drowsiness that whisky brings with it, but there’s no way you’re going to stop. As a matter of fact, there was only one time in my life that I finally had to straight out call the ball…and that was from pure exhaustion!Such a great feeling.
But it drained all the strength out of me.Imagine the absolute greatest run or power workout you’ve ever felt. So good you never wanted it to end because it felt like a validation…like you were earning the rights to something bigger than what you were doing. Sex is just the same, it just feels one helluva whole lot better.
Bragging rights are part of the game.
Let’s face it…a lot of guys do not have that kind of natural sexual stamina. It just feels so goddamn good that we give in to the feeling and let it all go.
Blame it on the animal, primal instinct inside of a man.
Sometimes longer, sometimes short and quick, doesn’t matter in the moment.
Ahhhh….but in your twenties, it’s the ONLY thing that really matters in any moment!
Youth and alcohol and sex are closely knitted together.
The lines get hazy and gray and fuzzy.
Probably a good thing for most of us, too…a little smokescreen never hurts.
It only helps the game.
I’m not sure where the term ‘whisky dick’ actually originated or what it originally meant.
All I do know is that we drank a lot of whisky and it had a great effect on us as twenty-somethings as we went out into the world.
But nowadays, if I hear the words ‘whisky dick’, it’s always used as a negative.
Nowadays, it means the total opposite of what it meant just 30-some years ago.
It’s become something that guys are ashamed to admit.
I can still hear those enchanting, intoxicated, panting whispers beneath me…“Are—you---even---getting close yet? Aren’t---you---getting tired?”
As her head fell back into the pillow and her eyes rolled back and she held on tighter, digging her nails into my arms and my lower back, claws into flesh.
Her entire body writhing in a whirlwind of ecstasy and pleasure and exhaustion, with each pulse and thrust, with no end in sight.
Ahhhhh, yes.
Yes, yes, yes.
It was mind-bending sex that never seemed to end…depending on how much you drank, that is.
And I’m not even talking about all the extra-curricular fun and licking and sucking leading up to it – I’m only talking about the actual intercourse.
Put it all together and you’re down for the night.Whewww! Those were some good days.
But I’ll tell you this… I never once thought “this is too much” or “this hurts” or “I’m too tired to keep going”. Not for one goddamn second, I didn’t!We just kept on drinking and we just kept on going and we had one helluva great time doing it!
Or maybe it was just something else in particular about us.Don’t know.Anyway…I got off track just a bit.
I guess my point is that I don’t give a good goddamn what you call it.
It’s kind of like drinking prowess…don’t judge a man by what he drinks, judge him by how he holds it. It doesn’t rightly matter how you get there – just get there however you can!
Guys like we were are a lot better off these days. You don’t have to drop a bottle of whisky to go all night. You only have to drop one ‘little blue pill’. I realize even Viagra is passe, but everyone knows exactly what I’m talking about when I mention the ‘little blue pill’.
The names keep changing but the song remains the same.
Anything to keep you going until you drop.
Anything to push you into a total, exhausted, overheated, sexual collapse in the sheets.
And then both of you’ll sleep like a baby.
About Frank Weber:
Frank Weber is a freelance writer from Erie, Pennsylvania. He has been published in several print and digital magazines, local interest books and advertising campaigns as both writer and model. His work encompasses a firm conviction, a simple honesty in written word and enough of a raw edge to make people feel what they read. Website: www.frankietatts.com
Twitter: @frankietatts_
Instagram: @frankietatts
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