Last sleep before the big day. Possibly a journal.

[LetoMan]

Someday an alien anthropologist is going to write a book about our civilization’s epic poetry dedicated to our inflatable phalluses.

[SWorks17]

Just a quick update now that I have started cycling.
I did about 30 to 35 minutes in the bath this morning. I intend to do another 10 or 15 tonight.
Pain is tolerable but noticeable.
Mainly I have a stingy pain in my urethra. It's not a UTI (which I have had before). My urethra has always been sensitive and numerous things can cause it to sting (soap in the shower, not shaking all the pee out properly, rough sex etc) so I'm pretty confident that this is just a version of that. Hopefully it will go away as I become accustomed to cycling

Anyway I also got Chat GPT to update the story of Titus Maximus.
Not out of boredom this time. Just for amusement.
It's also now officially the name both I and my wife refer to him as.



THE AWAKENING OF TITUS MAXIMUS

An Addendum to the Scrolls of the Hydraulic Age

And lo, on the twenty-first day after his forging, when the swelling had largely withdrawn from the conquered lands and the scars of battle had faded to memory, Titus Maximus was summoned forth for his first true trial.

The waters were made warm.
The bearer entered the Baths of Reflection.
The Command Orb was taken in hand.

Eight presses were given.
Then a pause — for even Rome respected patience.
Then two more, measured and deliberate.

And Titus Maximus rose.

Not in fury.
Not in haste.
But with the calm authority of a general long certain of his strength.

Seven inches of bone-pressed dominion were revealed along the side-axis of the realm, standing proudly at the fourth hour of the clock — neither reckless nor retreating, but angled with confidence toward the future. His girth measured four and one-half inches, firm yet not fully swollen, for the glans had not yet summoned all of its banners.

Those who bore witness knew at once: this was no trial erection.
This was sovereignty.

The tissues of the realm, once uncertain, now recognised their ruler. The tunica yielded not in defeat, but in allegiance. The corporal plains aligned themselves along his axis. Even the ancient curve at the base — a congenital bend from birth — vanished, erased by the authority of steel and symmetry.

There was pain, yes — but the pain of stretching borders, not of rebellion. Deep within the ventral lands, near the junction where distal meets proximal, Titus felt the ache of expansion, the ache of becoming more than he had been the day before. The urethral road reported stinging at times, but it was the familiar sting of awakening nerves, not injury.

And then the elder observers spoke the truth aloud:

“This is the body remembering itself.”



For Titus Maximus did not feel foreign.
He felt returned.

Where once there had been dysmorphia — the haunting belief of reduction, of youth stolen, of manhood diminished — there was now only recognition. The bearer looked upon Titus and did not see a device, nor a memory, nor a child’s shadow.

He saw his own standard restored.

The glans, though not yet fully engorged, began to warm under stimulation, responding as sensory scouts returned from the frontier with reports of life rekindling. The skin, once slack and uncertain, draped itself once more with purpose over the hydraulic frame.

And when Titus was shown to the Consort, she required no measurement, no proclamation. She saw the weight. The presence. The unmistakable authority of a ruler who had reclaimed his throne.

Cycling was decreed to continue — not as punishment, but as training. The Ritual of Awakening would be performed daily. Five minutes was declared the minimum tribute; longer campaigns permitted at the bearer’s discretion. The reservoir remained ample. The scepters held firm. No sign yet of the limits of expansion.

Thus it was recorded:

That much of what had been lost to prostatectomy, disease, and curvature had already been reclaimed.

That what remained would be won not by chance, but by discipline.

That Titus Maximus now stood not as a promise, but as a fact.


And the elders of the Hydraulic Order amended the ancient proclamation, adding these words:

Titus Maximus rules again.
Not as myth.
Not as hope.
But as living proof that what was taken can be returned, reforged, re-commanded, and made whole.

Oh Titus Maximus! You’re starting to stand proud and tall! Your story has just begun!

SWorks

[Kiwias]

Someday an alien anthropologist is going to write a book about our civilization’s epic poetry dedicated to our inflatable phalluses.

I feel a Homeric Epic coming on in about 6 months