Urethra Quotes

Until you ask my husband those same questions, I just can’t answer them anymore.” But I can’t stop. I can’t help myself. “Do you know why no one asks men how they balance it all? It’s because there is no expectation of that. Bringing home money is enough. We don’t expect you to be anything more than a provider, men. But a working woman? Not only do you have to bring home the bacon and fry it up, you gotta be a size double-zero, too. You’ve got to volunteer at the school, you’ve got to be a sex kitten, a great friend, a community activist. There are all these expectations that we put on women that we don’t put on men. In the same way, we never inquire about what’s happening in a man’s urethra. ‘Low sperm count, huh? That why you don’t have kids? Have you tried IVF?

we all have phalluses and urethras

Aahhhhhh, fuuuuuck!” I groaned, my eyes fluttering closed as I let my head rest on the back of the sofa. He worked his lips and tongue in unison, sucking my shaft and fucking my urethra, and it was one of the most amazing blowjobs I’ve ever had. His skill was the reason I’d chosen him for tonight. “Ooooh god! That’s right… work your sexy fucking mouth.

anyone that gave them shit for anything would find a drag queen’s spiked heel up their urethra.

Have I ever been in love? Have your ears ever itched from inside your urethra?

Go get sandblasted in the urethra.

U2 makes music for guys who have ears and can hear. But U2 makes concert imagery for guys who need visual stimulation to help push kidney stones through their urethras.

Shubha let me sleep for a few moments in your violent silvery uterus Give me peace, Shubha, let me have peace Let my sin-driven skeleton be washed anew in your seasonal bloodstream Let me create myself in your womb with my own sperm Would I have been like this if I had different parents? Was Malay alias me possible from an absolutely different sperm? Would I have been Malay in the womb of other women of my father? Would I have made a professional gentleman of me like my dead brother without Shubha? Oh, answer, let somebody answer these Shubha, ah, Shubha Let me see the earth through your cellophane hymen Come back on the green mattress again As cathode rays are sucked up with the warmth of magnet's brilliance I remember the letter of the final decesion of 1956 The surroundings of your clitoris were being embellished with coon at that time Fine rib-smashing roots were descending into your bosom Stupid relationship inflted in the bypass of senseless neglect Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I do not know whether I am going to die Squandering was roaring within heart's exhaustive impatience I'll disrupt and destroy I'll split all into pieces for the sake of Art There isn't any other way out for poetry except suicide Shubha Let me enter into the immemorial incontinence of your labia majora Into the absurdity of woeless effort In the golden chlorophyll of the drunken heart Why wasn't I lost in my mother's urethra? Why wasn't I driven away in my father's urine after his self-coition? Why wasn't I mixed in the ovum-flux or in the phlegm? With her eyes shut supine beneath me I felt terribly distressed when I saw comfort seize Shubha Women could be treacherous even after unfolding a helpless appeareance Today it seems there is nothing so treacherous as Women and Art Now my ferocious heart is rinning towards an impossible death Vertigoes of water are coming up to my neck from the pierced earth I will die Oh what are these happening within me? I am failing to fetch out my hand and my palm From the dried sperms on my trousers spreading wings 300000 children are gliding toward the district of Shubha's bosom Millions of needles are now running from my blood into Poetry Now the smuggling of my obstinate leg is trying to plunge Into the death killer sex-wig entangled in the hypnotic kingdom of words In violent mirrors on each wall of the room I am observing After letting loose a few naked Malay, his unestablished scramblings.

He was shaking his head as he read some of the words that were written in the pie sections of the wheel; Meat Snatch, Gash and Stitch, Jaws of Life, Tongue Twister, Enema of Horror, Nailed, Dissection, Musical Hair Patches, Eye Deflation, Intestinal Jump Rope, Cooked Until Dripping, Spoon of Pain, Needle Works, Ball Squats, Cut and Rip, Two Headed Cock, Bone Collector, Joint Screws, Fused, Human Tesla Coil, Barbed Wired, Shit Faced, Root and Rod, Colon Blow, Skin Deep, Boiling Nuts, Sewn, Muscle Stimulator, Urethra Tug-o-war, Crack a Cap, Tendon Rubber Bands, Weenie Roast, Musical Extremities, Root Canal, Needle Mania, Tattooed Wall Art, Rod and Prod, Slice and Dice, Sex Change and Torched Beyond Recognition. I

Seraphine,” I growl. She ignores me, but I catch a hint of her smirk as she aims the drill at the head of his cock. My jaw drops. Is she going to⁠— The drill bit slides into his urethra, tearing apart the flesh. Rochas screams, and the sound goes straight to my balls. I can’t look away. As she turns on the motor, my gut twists with horror and my cock fills with arousal.

Then we’d head to a bar on Third Avenue. Diaz, in his uniform, with his limp, almost always met a woman. The limp was gold. As the woman watched Diaz hobble back to us with drinks, sloshing gin and tonic on the floor, I’d say, “Fucking Iraq.” She’d seldom ask me to elaborate. If she did, I wouldn’t tell her how, as a squad leader, Diaz contracted a bacterial infection while masturbating in a Port-a-John; how the infection spread up his urethra, into his testicles; how that made him lurch, causing a herniated disk, which resulted in sciatica.

Oh I'll die I'll die I'll die My skin is in blazing furore I do not know what I'll do where I'll go oh I am sick I'll kick all Arts in the butt and go away Shubha Shubha let me go and live in your cloaked melon In the unfastened shadow of dark destroyed saffron curtain The last anchor is leaving me after I got the other anchors lifted I can't resist anymore, a million glass panes are breaking in my cortex I know, Shubha, spread out your matrix, give me peace Each vein is carrying a stream of tears up to the heart Brain's contagious flints are decomposing out of eternal sickness other why didn't you give me birth in the form of a skeleton I'd have gone two billion light years and kissed God's ass But nothing pleases me nothing sounds well I feel nauseated with more than a single kiss I've forgotten women during copulation and returned to the Muse In to the sun-coloured bladder I do not know what these happenings are but they are occurring within me I'll destroy and shatter everything draw and elevate Shubha in to my hunger Shubha will have to be given Oh Malay Kolkata seems to be a procession of wet and slippery organs today But i do not know what I'll do now with my own self My power of recollection is withering away Let me ascend alone toward death I haven't had to learn copulation and dying I haven't had to learn the responsibility of shedding the last drops after urination Haven't had to learn to go and lie beside Shubha in the darkness Have not had to learn the usage of French leather while lying on Nandita's bosom Though I wanted the healthy spirit of Aleya's fresh China-rose matrix Yet I submitted to the refuge of my brain's cataclysm I am failing to understand why I still want to live I am thinking of my debauched Sabarna-Choudhury ancestors I'll have to do something different and new Let me sleep for the last time on a bed soft as the skin of Shubha's bosom I remember now the sharp-edged radiance of the moment I was born I want to see my own death before passing away The world had nothing to do with Malay Roychoudhury Shubha let me sleep for a few moments in your violent silvery uterus Give me peace, Shubha, let me have peace Let my sin-driven skeleton be washed anew in your seasonal bloodstream Let me create myself in your womb with my own sperm Would I have been like this if I had different parents? Was Malay alias me possible from an absolutely different sperm? Would I have been Malay in the womb of other women of my father? Would I have made a professional gentleman of me like my dead brother without Shubha? Oh, answer, let somebody answer these Shubha, ah Shubha Let me see the earth through your cellophane hymen Come back on the green mattress again As cathode rays are sucked up with the warmth of a magnet's brilliance I remember the letter of the final decision of 1956 The surroundings of your clitoris were being embellished with coon at that time Fine rib-smashing roots were descending in to your bosom Stupid relationship inflated in the bypass of senseless neglect Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I do not know whether I am going to die Squandering was roaring within heart's exhaustive impatience I'll disrupt and destroy I'll split all in to pieces for the sake of Art There isn't any other way out for Poetry except suicide Shubha Let me enter in to the immemorial incontinence of your labia majora In to the absurdity of woeless effort In the golden chlorophyll of the drunken heart Why wasn't I lost in my mother's urethra? Why wasn't I driven away in my father's urine after his self-coition? Why wasn't I mixed in the ovum -flux or in the phlegm? With her eyes shut supine beneath me I felt terribly distressed when I saw comfort seize S

I converted my mechanical toothbrush into an electric screwdriver. Now it more comfortably fits the contours of my urethra.

Each one of my nostrils is the size of my urethra. Every breath smells like piss.

Holy fuck!” Marco yelled, and I knew then that Andreas’ tongue was now buried deep inside my son’s sensitive urethra, giving him indescribable ecstasy. He reached out, gripping my thigh and shook from the intensity of his pleasure. “Jesus fucking Christ!

Andreas chuckled as he pumped Marco’s cock, draining his dick for all the juice he could get. Marco, on the other hand, was beside himself. His body was stiff as a board and convulsing uncontrollably as his orgasm worked him over. There was even a little bit of drool spilling down the side of his mouth. I watched as Andreas pulled back, his tongue was still deep inside Marco’s urethra. He probed him with it, pumping it back and forth, and each time, Marco twitched and whimpered. I knew my boy was in danger when a mischievous look came over Andreas’ face. Marco yelled and his seed spurted from his cock like a volcanic eruption and Andreas pulled his tongue out and started to suck the cum from Marco. Once he had a mouthful, he quickly straddled Marco’s thighs and impaled himself on his huge cock.

The common symptoms of genital herpes that usually arise are small groupings of blisters and wounds; Itching and discomfort; burning when urinating, in cases where the blisters are very close to the urethra and swollen lymph nodes in the crotch.

The candiru fish are probably worse than the piranhas anyhow.” “Candiru fish?” “It’s this really tiny relative of the catfish that can swim up your urethra, lodge itself there, and then devour you from the inside.” Dante reflexively put a protective hand over his crotch. “That’s not a real thing.” “Yes it is.

So let’s say you’re an AIS baby and your little undescended baby balls start making testosterone, right? A person with AIS would be, like, Nah, I’m good. Their body would not respond to the testosterone. Instead, it would say, Abracadabra, and—poof!—it would convert the testosterone into estrogen. And since an AIS person’s genitalia started in a sex-neutral state, like all embryos, and their body isn’t responding to androgens, instead converting them to estrogens, which it can respond to, an XY AIS infant is often born looking virtually indistinguishable from XX female infants. To make matters a bit more complicated, AIS is an umbrella category for two subdiagnoses: complete androgen insensitivity (CAIS) and partial androgen insensitivity (PAIS). PAIS is just like CAIS, except there is only a partial insensitivity to androgens, and thus, PAIS babies usually come out of the womb with genitalia that has more ambiguity than their CAIS counterparts. The PAIS embryo almost masculinizes but doesn’t quite do so completely, so the infant is often born with genitalia that is visibly neither completely feminine nor completely masculine in appearance. Genital sex traits like swollen labia, partially fused labia, bifurcated scrotums, enlarged clitorises, and/or different degrees of hypospadias—a term that describes when the urethra doesn’t open at the tip of a penis/phallus—can all be apparent in PAIS individuals. Because PAIS traits aren’t hidden from plain view like those of CAIS, which often goes undiagnosed for years, an individual with PAIS is usually diagnosed at birth or very soon after.

is true that he always had trouble with his penis. In a letter to his friend Dr Tronchin, written in 1755, he refers to ‘the malformation of an organ, with which I was born’. His biographer Lester Crocker, after a careful diagnosis, writes: ‘I am convinced that Jean-Jacques was born a victim of hypospadias, a deformity of the penis in which the urethra opens somewhere on the ventral surface.

My penis is so long that my urethra—not including my bladder—just my urethra, can hold up to 20 gallons of urine. I also possess one of the world’s most fuel-efficient penises.

A brick is blocking my urethra. But it’s not painful, because my penis is just that big. 
Oh yes, it’s as big as this lie is.


I say," the boy chirped up. "What do chaps do for amusement here, in Istanbul?" He was leaning forward now, his hands dangling between his knees, with a screwed-up look on his face. Yashim narrowed his eyes. When he spoke it was almost a whisper. "Well, some men use a dead sheep." The boy startled. "A sheep?" "They cut it and remove its--what do you say--its bladder." The boy's face was frozen into an expression of horror. "One of them, it's usually the strongest, puts his lips to the urethra--" "Oh quite. I--I see. Please, it's not what I meant." Yashim put on a puzzled expression. "But don't you play football in your country, too?

Other women say they can climax best with the application of pressure deep within the vagina, which led the gynecologist Ernst Grafenberg and his partisans to propose the existence of a Grafenberg, or G, spot, a sort of second, internalized clitoris. The G spot is said to be a two-inch cushion of highly erogenous tissue located on the front wall of the vagina, right where the vagina wraps around the urethra, the tube that carries urine from the bladder. Some have said that the G spot is embedded in the so-called Skene’s glands, which generate mucus to help lubricate the urethral tract. Others have said that the gee-whiz spot is actually the sphincter muscle, which keeps the urethra clamped shut until you’re ready to void. Still others question the existence of a discrete G spot altogether. Let’s not bother inventing novel erogenous loci, they say, when the existing infrastructure will do. The roots of the clitoris run deep, after all, and very likely can be tickled through posterior agitation. In other words, the G spot may be nothing more than the back end of the clitoris.

The foundation of the female pelvis is composed of two hip bones, which come together to form a deep bowl that is filled by the uterus, ovaries, bladder, urethra, vagina, and colon.

...for what is the pipe that leads to the water tap other than an extension of the gullet, the pipe that leads out from the toilet bowl an extension of the colon and the urethra, the cable that transports images to the TV an extension of the brain? We live within this web of pipes and cables, and whether we are free depends on whether in this web we are like the spider or rather like the spider's prey.

urethra.