It's the sausage, you know, that we're all addicted to, us men. It's why we like doing the bbq, it's a metaphor. Look at my meat, watch it get hot and hard. Let me be proud.
We can all handle them well, straight or gay; we know what they feel like, we know what to do with them... despite any protest. It's what makes us all men.
It's how the sausage works, moving parts are endlessly fascinating. Sausage goes up, sausage goes down; bursting its skin, little and small.
Roll them around in the palm of your hand, make them stand up in the air, peel back the skin, taste the juices within. Feel the weight of it in your grip. Prick them and watch the fat bubble and spit.
I knew a boy who's Kranski I loved. I had a boy who's long and thin really did get in. My favourite boy's was a joy to squeeze, it made him smile, it made his eyes roll out of sight.
I love watching them packed away, wrapped and placed and rolled around, maybe, a little, too much, I know.
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