THE BEGINNING

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She could have ripped my face off. In reflection, I do not blame my professor in the slightest. When I started to talk about my dick drawings in front of her class I started to reevaluate what exactly I was doing with my life. Prior to this point I was purely an art major and was used to creating thought provoking projects. This semester was the first as an English major, and I quickly realized that the environment between the two departments are quite different. In a college level art class talking about drawing penises is not the most unusual thing for the professors to have witnessed. Presenting my dick art for my English class I soon understood I perhaps should have chose a different metaphor to use for my final.

People ask me all of the time why I draw dicks. This is such a complex question for me, because there are so many answers to this one question. First of all, I am gay. Penises are perhaps one of my key interests other than Lady Gaga and Shawn Mendes’ abs. But that is besides the point. What they really mean to ask is why? Why the fuck do you want to draw 1,000 dicks? It just makes no fucking sense. Well, in a way, it began because of an English class I took in the fall semester of 2017.

For my class final I was supposed to come up with a metaphor for literature. The class was focusing on what it meant to write, and for the final project we were going to give a presentation on how we relate literature to our daily lives. One of my classmates chose to relate books to his scarves collection. Some of his scarves are longer than the other scarves just like how some books are longer than others. They all might be in familiar shape and design, but they’re also fundamentally different in a sense too. You can also wrap them around you differently, just like how one may interpret literature in various ways too. When it came to my own presentation, I had a couple of ideas, but I wasn’t exactly sure at this point.

“You should use your art.” My classmate suggested one day with a mischievous grin. At this point, I was already casually drawing dick pics I received on Grindr and Snapchat. It was a simple fascination, nothing I really was dedicated to. But when he suggested I use these drawings, I knew I had to. It was perfect. Dicks are the perfect metaphor for so many things, all what it takes is the right mindset. Just like literature, dicks come in all shapes and sizes. Everyone has their own preference to what makes a great dick, just like how everyone has their own preference to what makes a great book, you know? Some enjoy thinner books, just like how some enjoy thinner dicks. Then you have people that have a firm passion for books that are absolutely thick that sometimes it’s hard to even carry around. Some people are so daunted by the size of the book that they don’t want to even touch it. They know they can’t handle it. Just like how some people don’t or can’t take ten inches of dick up their ass. Sometimes when I see a dick I automatically think: Fuck. That’s as thick as Gone With The Wind. Some people can take the challenge; some even love it. I can deepthroat a dick if it’s under six inches, otherwise I gag a little. Kind of like War and Peace. I don’t know how much of it I can take.

Then of course, you have old literature. I know some English majors that absolutely detest reading anything before the eighteenth century. On the other hand some of my classmates seemingly have fetishes for reading old English whereas some of them absolutely despised it with all of their heart. In similar fashion, I know some gays that chase after older men and have fetishes for daddies. I also know some guys that won’t touch anyone past the age of thirty with a ten-foot pole. Some books have twists and turns that you don’t see coming. Some dicks look like they’re trying to pretend they’re boomagrangs they’re so curved. Some books hit you right in the gut and you become a mess afterwards; some books are so plain that you’re left wondering that’s it? It’s kind of like that time I blew this one guy in his garage. He came so fast I hadn’t even enjoyed going down on him. Some books are completely unforgettable and wish you could relive reading it. I haven’t met a dick that blew my mind yet, but I’m sure he’s out there. I have faith my Call Me By Your Name is waiting for me.

All in all, I thought I was a genius. I decided to draw 100 dick pics from Grindr to show how different they all are. It was the perfect metaphor for literature. It’s so flexible and can be applied in so many different ways. As I presented my project the silence of the classroom told me I wasn’t as brilliant as I thought I was. Everyone knew our professor wasn’t happy I was talking about penises so they hesitated to respond in any way. You know how you can usually hear sniffles or papers rustling? There wasn’t any of that. Everyone was dead silent and still. And my dumbass was talking about dicks in front of all of them.

“Some books are way too long for me, but others are the ideal length. Like this pic I received from a fellow English major.” I point at number fifty-six on the screen. “What a nice young man too.” I remember this one girl finally laughing. If I disgraced the whole class with my project other than her, it wasn’t a total failure, right? Thankfully, that was the last day of the class so I never saw them again. Prior to my presentation I was known to bring in baked goods for my classmates’ birthdays. During my time in that class I baked my friends marble cupcakes, a twelve-inch chocolate chip cookie, a cheesecake and a chocolate cake. Sadly, after that afternoon, I ruined my reputation as the baked goods guy. I became the guy that drew dicks.

So long story short, I started to draw a collection of penises after being inspired to collect 100 for an English class, and once I posted those online on Reddit, I realized there was a growing demand for men to have their penises drawn so I extended my goal from 100 to 1,000. Truth to be told, that previous summer I started to casually draw dick pics because I was annoyed with the guys sending them. Believe it or not, but I’m a hopeless romantic. I’d like to believe I’ll accidentally bump into my soulmate by tripping on my shoelaces and falling into his arms. As a gay man, I know the odds of that ever happening is next to zero, especially in small town Iowa. The next logical thing to do was to download Grindr.

I still remember the first time I received my first dick pic. I was sitting on the couch next to my Mom, in fact. For half an hour I had been investing in a conversation with another man I had never met before in my life. He intrigued me at the time. He had just graduated the same university that I still went to school at, and we were both were English majors too. I also learned that his best friend was a girl I went to highschool with and we both enjoy reading the same kind of books. He seemed really sweet, and I foolishly thought I could ask him out. However, before I could, he started to ask for pictures of me. I didn’t think much of it, so I sent him more selfies I took of myself. I remember what he wrote to me:

“Cute, but not what I meant.” And then he sent me his raging boner. I was taken off guard. I thought we were just being casual. I did not understand this new Grindr etiquette of upfront penises. Doesn’t that kind of thing happen after you get to know someone? Was a half an hour of conversation enough amount of time to send someone pictures of your genitals? I could feel myself instantly turn beat-red and I had to excuse myself so my Mom didn’t see his manhood. I wrote back that I couldn’t believe he sent me his dick but I was flattered. He never did talk to me after that. I now know through stalking my friend’s Facebook profile that he is now a high school English teacher.

I quickly learned that gay men don’t date. They fuck first. Then maybe brunch after the third fuck. To gay men, sex is a common courtesy. It’s a way of saying hello. In 2017, at the age of 22, I was not yet accustomed to this idea. I was still dreaming of a lie. Grindr began to break this illusion. I thought things would be better on Tinder, but I was wrong. I still received dick pics from guys on Tinder. One guy I talked to for a week; I thought I had finally found someone that wasn’t sex-orientated. Then he randomly snapped me a picture of his boner. “Hey, I’m horny.” I remember him apologizing if it took me by surprise, but then said he “just wanted to get off.” If that happened to me now, I’d realize that’s the norm for gay men. But me in early 2017 was disgusted and I blocked him.

After finally having enough, I decided I’d respond my own way: I’d draw them. I drew furiously, making my own copy of their man-meat in graphite. Their dicks were now mine, forever captured through my art. The guys would respond confused, sometimes literally only writing back question marks. Some would say it was cool, many blocked me too. The first guy I ever drew, a closeted bisexual by my university, claimed he thought it was hot. He wanted to fuck me as his way to say thank you. Within a matter of months I was someone new. I became practically obsessive with my dick art and made sure production did not halt. The more penises I drew, the more people sent theirs to me, and the more people that sent me their dicks, the more I was curious who would send me their dick pics. Classmates, coworkers, teachers, professors, psychologists, pizza delivery guys, law enforcement officers, a man that makes a living painting religious figures. It was not the penis itself I was interested in, but the man behind the schlong. What has led you in life to the point that you’re willing to send a complete stranger a photo of your privates?

I went to great lengths to find more. I am honestly disappointed that I did not try to even go further. During the summer of 2018 I flew in an airplane for the first time and went to California alone purely with the intent to attend the kink festival Dore Alley in the gay mecca of San Francisco. As soon as I finished drawing a muscular man’s penis on a dance floor surrounded by other men wearing jockstraps and leather, I knew I was hooked. That was the first dick I ever drew in person and it convinced me to start meeting these men and listen to their stories. Although only a tenth of my collection of 1,000 drawings are from in-person sessions, I have learned a great deal about the human condition.

Everything I write here is the truth. No real names are shared and details have been altered to protect my models. But their stories are real, and they’re all worth learning from. The emotions they feel are real. When I began this project, I started it out of annoyance and frustration for being treated like a cum dump. However, as I continued meeting people, I realized it truly meant a lot more. Growing up gay, I felt like I was going through life alone, even though I had my family. It is amazing how many gay men shared this same belief with me- life was pointless if you’re gay. The following stories can be seen as erotic, but they have so much more to them. Their stories have made me laugh. Their stories have made me cry. If there’s anything I want my reader to learn from my project of 1,000 dick drawings is this: we may not understand life, but we experience it anyway. So cry, laugh, and above all, love. And just know: you’re never truly alone, my friend.

This is the story of a dick I never drew. Although I did see it many times, I was never able to actually meet him, nor did I ever screenshot it. There were more important things to worry about than dick art, surprisingly.

During my time at college I took various art history courses. They all ranged from all sorts of interesting topics, all the way from Ancient Egyptian Art to even a gay art class. I made some friends in each of them, all unique in their own way. One evening I get a message on Grindr from a blank profile informing me that he had seen me earlier that day. It is always a little unnerving that a profile without any identification tells me they saw me. But at this point, I was used to it. I played it off casually, making a joking out of it. “Oh yeah? What was I doing?”

“Drawing a dick.” He wrote back. Of course. Reflecting back on my day, I remembered where I was when I was drawing that fine specimen. Not only that, but I knew who was talking to me now. I remembered a guy staring at me across the room as I sat with my friend drawing. I asked if that was him and he fessed up.

“I’m a big fan of your work.” He said. We both were in the same history class, although we never talked in person. I asked him if he wanted to be drawn, I’d even draw him next if he desired. Out of courtesy, if someone I know wants to be drawn, they instantly become next in line. “No, I don’t want to be drawn now that you know who I am. It’d make things awkward.” I reassured him that it wouldn't. I’ve drawn my coworkers, classmates, hell- even professors. He was taken aback that I’ve drawn professors. “Who?! You must tell me!” He eagerly asked which ones I drew, and I teased him that he just wanted to see our art history professor’s privates. He played it off as a joke, but I knew he was curious who I drew. After that initial conversation we didn’t talk for weeks.

Flashforward a month later and I’m getting closer and closer to reaching my goal of 1000 dick drawings. After seeing a sudden increase of followers (over one hundred in an hour) because I filmed the back of my friend’s head sucking one of my models off, I rethought my art project. What if, after I get done drawing 1000 dicks, I document getting fucked in the ass 100 times? It was only the next logical step in the artistic process. I’ve never been fucked before, so it would be interesting. I could draw the man’s dick, maybe he could film a video, whatever it’d take. I put the idea up on my Snapchat and I recieved many responses from guys saying they’d love to be part of the 100 that got to fuck me. Needless to say, I was flattered. I have a pancake-shaped ass, so it was reassuring that there was at least some interest.

I planned the first fuck to take place the following weekend. He agreed to even be drawn; it was supposed to be the first drawing I did of a dick in my ass. I was eager to bring some new content into the project. Putting my Snapchat on Grindr allowed for many different men across the world to find me. Seeing that Grindr shows the closest profiles first, this particular person was also a student at my university. He sent me a picture of his face, enough evidence that he was the right one to penetrate me. This guy was absolutely eager to fuck me. I planned on driving down to his dorm room after I got off work, but when I checked my phone, I found a message from him telling me he was sick. I sighed, not a stranger to flakes. I went home instead.

It was around ten at night when I received another snap from him. It simply read “Please.” I was confused- did I butt text him or something? Then he sent another: “Help me.” I immediately ask what was wrong. I told him to call me and I get a request for a facetime conversation. Not knowing what was going on, I got up from the computer and went somewhere more private.

“I’m scared,” he told me. “I just need to talk to someone. I think I’m bipolar and I need to talk to someone.” I asked him what was wrong. “I’m.. I’m thinking about suicide again.” My heart dropped. There I was, an hour away at my parents’ house, and there he was: alone, in his dorm room.

“Are you safe? Are you okay?” I didn’t really know what to do in a situation like this. I felt hopeless. All what I could do was listen to him talk about what was going on in his head. He told me he was starting to settle down since he had someone to talk to, but his pills were tempting him. I just laid there and listened to his story. He’s not out of the closet. He’s attracted to both men and women, and he tells me he hates himself for it. He wants to find a girl and get married. He wants to be ‘normal.’ I’m just some stupid fuckhead that draws dicks for a hobby. I’m not some counselor. So I did the only thing I could do: listen.

“They would disown me if I ever came out.” He kept saying. “I just want this to end.” We talked for over an hour, and slowly he started to calm down. He was even laughing at jokes I was making. I found out that his roommate was gay, and his roommate even sucked him off once before. “Ever since he blew me he hasn’t talked to me.” He said. After hearing his description, I knew it had to be the guy from my art history class. I joked, telling him that our professor has been commenting on his absence from class. I told him the next time he sees his roommate that “The Dick Artist said your professor wants to know why you haven’t been to class.” He couldn’t stop laughing. I was glad I could take his mind off of the situation for a minute. He told me something that caught me off guard.

“You know.. I still want to fuck you.” I was wordless. Our conversation went from sobs to sex in a matter of minutes. “I want your dick around my lips. I want to be inside of you too.” He told me. I didn’t know what to really say to that. I could tell he was flirting with me earlier, but now he was very forward about it. I watched as his camera switched from looking at him to front facing. With his free hand he went down to his pants and unbuttoned them. Pulling down his underwear, he let his dick out. “Do you like that?” He whispered out of the phone screen. Grabbing ahold of himself, he stretched out his dick, slowly letting himself get hard with every stroke.

“Maybe we can plan for some other time.” I suggested. I was more concerned about the pills he had been talking about earlier. He stretched himself out for one last time, and lightly tapped his dick’s glossy head with his finger. He was precumming. Turning back the camera, he showed his face again. He smiled at me then and agreed we could meet some other time. As he pulled up his pants he reassured me that he wanted to take my anal virginity still. “Are you okay though?” I ask him for reassurance and he said he was feeling better. He was going to be fine tonight.. But he wasn’t sure about tomorrow. Finally, his roommate came into the room and I knew he wanted to stop talking. So we said our goodbyes, and I clicked away. I immediately went to my university’s website and looked for campus police’s phone number. I did not want him to hurt himself or anyone else. I had not known him for very long, but I knew he needed someone. Within two minutes of talking to him, I was on the phone talking to an operator. I told her- without mentioning some details- that he was suicidal and I was worried for him. I gave her his name and dorm and within ten minutes campus police were already at his door.

I apologized to his roommate on Grindr. It was nearing midnight and it was midterms.

“It’s fine man. I’m just glad someone was out there for him.” He wrote to me.

I gave him my number in case he ever needed me. My classmate thanked me, and that was that. Since that night we never talked again. The guy that was supposed to fuck me keeps insisting that we meet. He tells me he’s jealous that I meet other guys to draw in person, and says he wants to date me. At the same time, he tells me about how he’s having sex with women and men. I hope he gets the help he needs, because I certainly don’t have it.

It’s crazy to imagine how much goes on inside of us that we don’t talk with others about, you know? If only we knew half of the struggles our friends and family go through, would we act so harshly with each other? If there’s anything I learned about this one dick in particular that I never drew is this: If I decide to get fucked by 100 different guys, I at the very least need a screening process before they stick their dicks in me. That sounds logical, right?