A Sincere Plea

Once thought lost forever, this piece has been restored. Enjoy.


To start off, let me just say that I hate to do this. It embarrasses me. I even used to treat such solicitations with scorn and suspicion. And I’m still pretty sure that a lot of those other posts were never as drastic as the writers said: some of those people were definitely out to get weed/pizza money or sex.

That accusation isn’t doing me any favours, when I’m about to go begging myself. All I meant to do with that intro is state how much I hate having to do this. And I do have to do this.

Anyone who’s seen my latest tweets and posts has probably got something of an idea of my current situation. (And by the way, thank you to everyone who’s given me emotional support; you have no idea how much that has meant on its own.) Well, that situation has only gotten worse, to the point that I’m reduced to begging. I hope you will hear me out and just trust that I need your help. I’ll explain.

My disgusting, misshapen asscheeks have drooped very low into the toilet. I am typing this on my smartphone. They are huge, and long. They are droopy like bloodhounds’ ears. My long asscheeks are jammed in the toilet bowl and have pretty much packed it to capacity. They’ve sunk almost all the way into the bowl and the water is just touching them. When I was a child, I’d go swimming in the creek, those summers when the sun was heaviest. I’d stand at the edge, balancing on the rocks that seemed to change position each visit, even though I went every day. I never memorised their arrangement. I’d stand on them before wading in, and I’d extend one leg, to dip my toe just into the water. It would barely break the surface, and I’d rarely even find out the temperature; I just did it because that’s what my brother used to do. That’s what my asscheeks are doing to the toilet water. I’m stuck on on the toilet and they just brush the water like when I was a child at the creek. To add to their humiliation, every now and then a turd collides with them like an iceberg did the Titanic.

My tiny dingus is still above the seat, however. It’s flopped on the seat while my big cheeks anchor me down in the bowl. It sits there like a weird little vegetable that was left out of the crisper for a day. I hate to look at it because it is not good to look at. It is truly abhorrent. I hate my tiny dinger.

My scrotum is its own set of problems. It’s not above the seat; it is wedged up underneath it. I can’t see what’s going on down there, but it does not feel good. I am certain that some pubic hairs have become stuck between the seat and the rim, held there by my own weight. This is kind of stretching my scrotum, pulling it towards the front of the toilet, making it taut. Dust is gathering on this nearly-flat surface, like it’s a little platform. I suspect that some bugs have even made a nest on it. Its tautness also means that my balls are unable to rotate or drift around as they normally would, which feels like it might be a bad thing. I am almost certain that they are calcifying in my sac.

Any attempt to lift myself off, and the cheeks get caught even more. They wedge up under the part of the toilet that the water runs down (that bit around the inner sides). They also will probably still catch under the seat, even if I were to get them out of the bowl. And I am pretty sure that the ass hair is stuck under the seat too, although it also seems to have picked up some of the water (long). The water is cooling my asscheeks and they’ve probably gone all prune-like. When I try to picture the very “tips” of my cheeks, they are white and soft and moist.

All I have access to is my smartphone and my schlong. I do have power for my phone, because I brought my charger, and I am able to aim my piss into the bathtub from where I sit. This setup is actually not so bad; I recommend that you all try it next time you use the can.

What I’m asking for is this: I want to get washed. I want to be mopped or hosed down by a kind soul, including my poor dinger. I want someone to come around and wash me, and soap the dingus up just a little bit, and give it the tiniest wash and not laugh at it. It is a bad and small dick. I hate it and I hate when people laugh at it. Please do not laugh at my bad and tiny pecker that looks like a wrinkled carrot or turnip.

So I throw myself at my readers’ mercy. If you can help, that would be appreciated. Ask me for details on how to arrange this; surely someone knows someone. I can’t promise that there’ll be a big reward, but you will get some kind of thanks; if I get access to pens and paper, maybe I’ll even send a handwritten note. (This might warrant a request for money so that I can buy said materials.)

Please, if you can, help me out with my plight. I figure with support from friends and fans (I feel weird saying “fans,” but hey), it should be do-able. But if you can’t help, no worries. And on the off-chance that you can spare some change, maybe I’ll order some delivery food. Thanks.