Hi sweet friends. We have once again taken a much needed hiatus to regroup as The Struggle. We’ve both been in deep, dark work holes and are finally reemerging into the world, slightly banged up and with a few new grey hairs. My personal hole was so deep and dark that I haven’t had a chance to post a story I wrote SIX WEEKS AGO. Oy vey. The good news (pause for laughter) is that it’s still relevant as ever and, related, Kevin Spacey has really disappointed me. Here goes, babies. We’re back.
It’s September 26th and yesterday I saw my third unsolicited dick of 2017. That’s right: my third. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of THREE dicks and I am sick of it. Now before I truly go off on a rant, let me take you on a journey of penis past.
The first unsolicited dick visited me in June of 2017. As a challenge to myself I decided that after a fun-filled week and a half of travel around Europe with friends, I would hop on a plane to Paris and travel around solo for five days. I know: what a challenge. But it was scary and fun and lonely at times and an experience most people don’t get. I traveled to a city I’d been to where I kind of (read: not really) understand the language and can get lost for hours in the boutiques and bakeries and the occasional museum. It was a rush and I met a lot of interesting people, ate an obscene amount of gluten, and shopped my Paris lovin’ heart out.
So it was much to my chagrin that on the last day of Eat, Eat, Eat (my Parisian version of Eat, Pray, Love) I was hit with my first UNSOLICITED DICK™ of 2017. I had spent the better part of an hour admiring a hidden waterfall in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. A young French boy ran circles around his elderly grandfather blowing bubbles, giggling, and just being adorably Parisian in general. I was reflecting back on the past 5 days and was excited to have finally faced my fear of traveling alone. I was armed with a bag full of stinky French cheese, bread, and wine and I wandered out of the waterfall cave to find a place to sit and eat my last French feast.
When suddenly: UNSOLICITED DICK: PART 1 hits me square in the eye! Ok, it didn’t really hit me in the eye but as I wandered out of the dark cave my eyes settled on a large bush. Behind that bush I saw a pair of sneakers, then a surprising amount of leg, and then a small, sad, wrinkled old pecker staring me straight in the eye. I made direct eye contact with the gleeful older man attached to said dong, and yelled the most profound thing I’ve ever said in a time of struggle: OMG! EWW! FUCK NO! WHY!? GROSS! NO! WHY!?
Yes, I am a writer.
I sprinted away from the dirty, petite, penis des buttes as fast as my semi-functioning legs would let me and after lots of heavy breathing, pleading, and questioning I settled into my French snacks to disengage. I mean, I was disgusted but nothing stops me from eating.
Which brings us to UNSOLICITED DICK 2: REVENGE OF THE DICK. We fast forward a mere 48 hours and I’m walking through Greenpoint with my sister. My jet lag is slowly destroying me but we’ve had a wonderful day wandering around Brooklyn and catching up. We turn down a side street and I’m staring straight into the fully unzipped pants of a flopping, flaccid, Greenpoint’ed schlong. I was a 15 year old teen and he was Anthony Weiner sliding into my DMs like he hadn’t played a huge part in Hillary losing the election. I was shook.
After essentially having to throw my blissfully unaware sister over my shoulder to get away from the quickly approaching trouser snake, I was speechless. Two in two days! On different continents! Why me? Why now? Are my eyes pregnant?!
My sister has a theory that I’ve brought this upon myself because I’m a fan of art that celebrates the human form. I have a tiny ornament of a naked man hanging above my bed, one of these planters, and a print by my favorite illustrator displayed in my apartment. I like the human form! I just don’t like it when specific parts of the human form are shaken in my general direction without my permission. I’ve been on tinder on and off for three years. I’ve seen things, ya know?
Which brings us to September 25th. It was an unseasonably warm fall evening in New York and I dragged my sweaty bod to Chelsea to meet up with a friend after work. It still felt like summer and I had big plans to organize my closet and write that night. I climbed the stairs to leave the subway when BAM! UNSOLICITED DICK 3: DICK HARD WITH A VENGEANCE!
Now I don’t want to be grotesque (might be the first time I’ve ever said that), but I would be remiss not to go into a little detail here. I took one step towards the exit and on the landing above me was a tall man turned sideways. I noticed he was shaking a large, dark, water bottle rather aggressively and took another step. It was at that moment that I realized he was not shaking, but jerking, and it was not a water bottle but the LARGEST PENIS I HAVE EVER SEEN IN REAL LIFE BEING ANGRILY STROKED FOR ALL UNASSUMING EYES TO SEE.
It was the most hauntingly graphic thing I’ve ever seen and I’ve accidentally clicked some weird links on a late night when I’m bored.
But Jesus Christ, this thing was angry. I turned around, sprinted out of the station, and immediately called my friend to scream into her ears about the experience. She heard something along the lines of “monster dick…sob…shaking…sob…I hate New York…sob…so big and scary” while quietly talking me off the proverbial genital ledge. I spent the next few hours trying to burn the image from my memory but unlike the perp in question, I just couldn’t shake it.
So that brings us to today. I am a 30 year old woman and within the past three months, I have seen three unsolicited dicks in a variety of horrifying and harrowing instances. Every curve, every shadow, every nuance of those skin flutes is forever entwined in my memories forever. For-ev-er.
Now this is the point in the story when I ask you to scroll up and check the date my eyes were last assaulted. September 25th. That’s right. I wrote this NINE DAYS before the Harvey Weinstein scandal broke. We are living in a garbage fire period in history and so much of it could be avoided if guys could keep their dicks in their pants. I love that these brilliant, talented women from all over the world finally feel comfortable confronting their attackers. I hate that many of these women have been living in fear and pain for years. For every woman who has stepped forward to yell #metoo, I can’t even fathom the number of women who are still internalizing their trauma. My hope is that this opens up a new world where victims no longer need to feel ashamed or embarrassed. And that any person who has ever abused a position of power or taken advantage of anyone has to finally own up to it.
And with this, I present to you a public service announcement.
Dear Men of the World,
Dear Harvey Weinsteins, cat-callers, man-spreaders, man-splainers, gropers, grinders, flashers, rapists, and dickheads,
Unless requested, please stop showing women your dicks. We live in a world where the biggest dick of all is up at 2 am igniting a tweet storm that is likely going to end in nuclear war so for the love of all that is good, please keep your dick in your pants.
Here’s the thing: a large majority of women LOVE dicks. I can’t even tell you how many hours I’ve spent on dating apps in the past three years trying to find a good one attached to an even better dude. It’s really hard, no pun intended. But I want to choose when I see these dicks. Nobody likes a surprise dick.
So I’ve made you a handy cheat sheet. Print it out and slide it next to that just in case condom tucked into your wallet. Make it your phone background. Angrily close your computer after reading it and go hate-bate in your bathroom. I don’t care – just read it and try to absorb it.
- Unless a consenting adult says some variation of the following phrases, keep your dick in your pants:
- Lemme see dat hog
- Gimme the juice big boi
- Do me now, cowboy
- I have to be up in 6 hours but mama wants that D
- Wanna foooooooooook?!
- I wanna lick, lick, lick, lick you from your head to your toes
- I wanna move from the bed down to the down to the floor
- Can I please see your penis, sir?
- Are you in a private space? Or are you in a medical facility trying a new outdoor approach to medicine? If you answered no to these questions, keep your dick in your pants
- Do you absolutely need to take your dick out? As long as you’re in a safe and private place, whip it out and use that hard-on to text the girl you had a one night stand with – even if you didn’t like her – just to make her feel better and to be a gentleman. So useful! (You know who you are. Dicks.)
So that seems pretty clear, right? Next time you’re thinking of showing the big guy some air, donate $25 to Planned Parenthood instead. It’s a win win situation: I can sleep at night without haunting nightmares of strange dicks flying at face and you get the satisfaction of knowing you helped someone in need. Wow!
Men of the world: stop showing me your unsolicited dick. I’m cutting off the next one I see.
Love always,
Chelsea ❤
The Struggle 