Part One + Part Two + Part Three

4.

Now you might be thinkin’ that I, for bein’ a warmonger and makin’ money off death in fights that I caused sometimes, that I died badly: somebody coming after me for revenge or the like. You might even feel I deserved that, and I wouldn’t argue with you. But that ain’t what happened. I had a heart attack in my sleep.

My wife Caroline had passed on a couple years before, and my oldest son and his wife and children had come to live with me in my mansion. I’d been ailin’ for a while, “declinin’”, as the doctor put it, and I had been coughing and feeling poorly before I went to bed. I didn’t know, though, that it was my last night on earth. I’d known, I woulda told my sons and his wife and his kids all that I loved ‘em. They knew, but you know, I still woulda wanted to say it, just one last time.

Sometime, in the middle of the night, I felt it. My heart skipped, stopped, skipped, stopped, skipped, stopped, stayed stopped. Afore I could fully wake up and move, it was too late. My body felt just real heavy all of a sudden and I started feelin’ cold and I thought, well, if this is how it ends, I ain’t gonna fight it. I had a good life. And I didn’t fight it.

I had a feelin’ like I was in a boat, rockin’ back and forth, to and fro, gentle at first, then harder, and then. . .Well, I ain’t got no way to put it ‘cept this: my mortal soul had shook loose of its shell, and I was floatin’, more like fadin’, into somewhere else. All this time, I hadn’t dared to open my eyes.

When I did, I was floating somewhere dark. Absolutely black. I was wearin’ these clothes and floatin’ on nothin’. I wasn’t scared, or worried, or excited; no, none of that. I just felt peace, as calm and comfy as a cat with a tummy full of fish. If I felt anything, it was a little happy. I mean I knew, I just knew I was goin’ up to Heaven and see my Caroline again, my mother and father, and my little boy Stephen what had died of the cough when he was six. I knew I was such a good person.

Then I heard this. . .well, sayin’ it was a voice is like sayin’ that a bucketful of ocean water is the Atlantic. Technically, it’s true, but the scale is vastly different, you see? But “voice” is the only word I have for it. It called my name.

“Weston Aloysius Smythe.”

I tried to say somethin’, anythin’, but I had no voice. Instead, I felt weight, even though I was still just floatin’ in nothing. It was my life, weighin on me, everything I’d ever done, all at once pressin’ on my soul. . .and it was heavy. It was the heaviest thing I’ve ever felt. And then the voice spoke again, tellin’ me about me.

“Father. Husband. Gun Maker. Business Owner. Millionaire. Inventor.”

I smiled. It felt good to hear the good parts of me, given in judgment. I felt a warm feeling. . .and then it spoke again, and what it said chilled me to the bones I didn’t have no more. It was one word. Just one word.

“Murderer.”

Even though I had my eyes closed, closed ‘em soon he said the word, I saw ‘em all, every single one of ‘em, in a second. Every single person killed on the raids I paid for, every person killed in the battles that followed, everybody killed by me. I finally understood what I’d fought off knowin’ in my life: all that blood was on my hands. I’d start fights to sell guns without carin’ if folks got hurt or killed, and I denied to myself that I’ve ever set a foot wrong. I wanted to say somethin’, anything, to speak up for myself, to explain it, to beg forgiveness, whatever all I could do. But I had no voice, just an open mouth makin’ a silent scream in the dark. And the voice kept talking, that awful, terrible voice that shook the dark and put cracks in my soul with every word.

“You Will Bear Witness.”

I was confused. I didn’t know what it meant by that. I wanted to ask, but still ain’t had a voice.

“And They Will See You.”

I was cryin’ somehow, and I wanted to beg for forgiveness, for mercy. I still didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it had to be somethin’ right terrible.

“Bear Witness.”

And I was fallin’, not floatin’ no more, fallin’ fast, faster than anything I’d ever seen, and tryin’ to scream and couldn’t, just fallin’, fallin’, and then I opened my eyes and I was layin’ on a hardwood floor. It wasn’t in my house, but it was still a pretty nice one. There was a big white canopy bed, lace and frilly cloth hangin’ off the top rail, over to my left. There was a spot wide enough for three of me where I fell, ‘tween the bed and what I think they call a “armoire.” Off on the far side of the bed was one of them big vanities, the kind what takes up the whole wall, has about 50 drawers and a big oval mirror on the top. Real nice, real expensive. I knew; Caroline had one.

I picked myself up, looked myself over, saw I was wearin’ the same clothes you see me in now, my favourite suit back before I died. I was wondering if maybe I’d just been havin’ some kinda bad dream, and if I did, how I woke up from it dressed my Sunday best in somebody else’s house. I didn’t get to wonder too long, though, afore I realized I was hearin’ a thumpin’ noise, gettin’ closer to the door, over beside the vanity. I ain’t ashamed to say I got scared, thinkin’ maybe I was still dreamin’ and some sort of monster was comin’ for me. It might seem silly now, but I was still pretty scared outta my mind, remember. I’d been alive, I would have heard my heart thuddin’ in my chest like it was fixin’ to break though, but the silence was even scarier.

And then I saw what was makin’ the noise.

A woman came in the door, half-crawlin’, half-draggin’ herself along. Her head was down, so all I could see of it was just a big mass of redheaded curls and the pink pale skin of her neck and the top of her back. She wore a white dress, one of the ones with the big puffy skirts, and I could tell she was wearin’ a corset under that she really didn’t need. I tell you true, she looked like a beautiful flower of womanhood, and I started to think maybe I’d gone to Heaven after all.

Then she looked up, and I felt my stomach sinkin’ back to Hell.

She had had a gorgeous face, before whatever his name was started workin’ on ‘er. She had a little dimple in her chin, a button nose, and full, sexy lips. She had some pretty ice-blue eyes, too. . .well, I say “eyes,” but I could only see one. The other was swollen shut from a fresh shiner; had a little cut under her eye that had opened up and was bleedin’. That cute button nose was bruised, crooked, leaking blood like there was no tomorrow and her sweet lips were split, wellin’ up blood like oil. She opened her mouth, let out a little whimperin’ sound and I could see she had a couple top teeth missing, so fresh out the nerves were still hangin’.

I recoiled from her at first, so surprisin’ was the sight of that pretty face all beat to shit. Then I remembered to be a man, and I went to help her up. . .and my hands passed right through her. I fell back away from her, away from the door, starin’ at my hands like they hadn’t been born with me, and gave a yelp. She didn’t notice me, so I tried to talk to her, ask her what was goin’ on, but she didn’t hear a word I said, she just kep’ on tryin’ to go wherever she was goin’, I didn’t know where. I doubt she knew anything other than she was just tryin’ to get away. It dawned on me she couldn’t hear me or see me, and that shocked me so’s all I could do was watch her crawl and drag on the floor, towards the bed, leaving a trail of ropey blood behind her. I was still starin’ when I heard heavy boots in the hall, walkin’ with a unsteady-soundin’ gait.

All I could do was stare when the man showed up in the door. He was dressed in nice black pants that were open and fallin’ down and a real nice white shirt that was unbuttoned and untucked and a half-undone necktie. His black hair was wild on his head and his brown eyes looked crazy, real glassy, like he’d been drinkin’ a lot, like he wasn’t just a angry drunk but a crazy one too. He called her all kinda names, too, he was on a good crazy rant, callin’ her a whore, a slut, a cunt, blamin’ his whiskey dick on her, from the sound of it. My guess was she’d called him on his manly inadequacy and he was pissed about it.

And he was yellin’ still – yellin’ “your fault, you fuckin’ whore, you bitch, your fault, you get it up” – when he pulled out the gun from his belt and aimed at her back.

‘Course, I recognized it right off, it was a Smythe Model 17 Revolver, came out a couple years ‘fore I died. The last one I designed before my ailin’ health made me step down and turn the company over to my son. I was proud of that gun. It represented everything I’d ever learned about makin’ guns, all in one pretty package. Right then, though, it was the last thing in the world I wanted to see ’cause I knew what he was about to do with it.

I yelled out “NOOOOOOOO!” and I moved, tried to cover her with my body, fell right through onto the floor. Nobody else even noticed me. I rolled over right quick, and I was looking her right in the eye, the still-open one, when he shot her twice in the back.

I’d fired thousands of guns in my life, and I swear they’d never sounded so loud, so scary, so final as when he shot her and I saw the light in her eyes go out ‘fore the shots had even finished echoin’. I saw her eye roll back and she fell, right through me, right onto the floor. I tried to pick her up, but couldn’t touch her. I screamed at him, some shit, I don’t rightly recall what, and course he didn’t hear me. He turned around and walked out like he’d just sent his kids to bed, not like he’d just killed a good woman.

I cried. I knelt beside her, closed my eyes, and cried.

When I opened my eyes again, I was out somewhere west. I could tell by the scraggly pine trees on the hills and the golden dirt on the ground. I was still kneelin’, right next to a railroad track, looked and saw nothin’ but tracks, some tents up in the hills a bit away, and more Chinamen than I’d ever seen in my life, layin’ ties and nailin’ down the tracks.

One Chinaman, the one right in front of me, was old, real old, had his hair in a long gray ponytail, wearing the a plain, dirty grey shirt and plain, dirt-crusted gray pants like all the other ones were. I couldn’t feel the temperature, but there wasn’t no shade where we was and I could tell from the sweat drippin’ off all of ‘em that it was hot out. That old Chink in front of me, he dropped his hammer all of a sudden and stood up in a slump and said “No more, no more,” and I could tell by lookin’ at him they’d just plumb worked him to exhaustion. All the other ones stopped and looked at him, some of ‘em were whisperin’ at him in their native tongue, and I couldn’t tell what they said but it seemed urgent. The old Chinaman didn’t hear ‘em or didn’t care, ’cause all he said was “no more, no more.”

A white man came over to him, a blond-haired white man wearin’ clean cotton pants and a frilly white shirt and didn’t have none of the sweat-stains on his clothes like all them chinks did, he came over to him and said, “No more?”

The Chinaman raised his hands up like he was surrenderin’ and shook his head. “No more,” he said, “no more, no more.”

“All right,” the white man said, and quick as a flash pulled a pistol from his pants and shot the old chink in the back of the head. A Model 15. “The gun that won the West,” we used to call it. Just like that. Quicker than it took me to say it. The old chink fell and died with his head layin’ on the rail, a big hole in forehead, his face lookin’ like he wanted to beg forgiveness for his brain spillin’ out and makin’ a mess on the tracks. The white man looked up and down the line at the others and said, “Anybody else can’t work no more, you just let me know.” Nobody made a sound. They all went back to work without a word, just left his body out there in the hot sun, and the white man went back to the shade of a couple pines not too far from the tracks, where he’d been sittin’ in a chair ‘fore he shot that Chinaman.

I turned away from the body, from the blood and brain spillin’ out on the rails and ties and dirt, ready to cry out to God to let me out of this Hell, I didn’t wanna see people get killed with my guns over and over again for the rest of eternity. That was my plan, but when I turned around and saw what I saw, well, my mouth just dropped open.

The murdered woman was behind me, still in her pretty dress, her face still all bruised up, two bloody holes in her beautiful chest. The old Chinaman stood next to her, his forehead damn near gone, his skull and widow’s peak collapsed into the hole and half his brain hangin’ down his face.

They were staring at me. No words, no pointing, no accusin’, no screamin’, just starin’. Straight at me. Didn’t respond when I screamed and jumped, just kept starin’.

They been there ever since.

***************************************************************************************************

I don’t know what happened to Samuel Colt in the afterlife, but this probably wasn’t it.

The two scenes are completely made up, so no credit due to David Milch here.

While I’m at it, I confess no certain knowledge of what happens to anyone in the afterlife, or even if there is an afterlife. I know what I would like to believe, but I don’t know whether or not it is true.  What was the Voice Of Judgment?  God?  Metatron?  Optimus Prime?  I don’t know.  It doesn’t matter.

The rocking sensation that Weston describes is what I have heard being used a description from people that claim to have had out-of-body experiences, or astral travel experiences.  It seemd to fit to me, what a soul would feel like shaking loose of its mortal moorings, so I went with it for Weston’s death scene.

After I wrote this, I went back and re-read Preacher, the wonderful graphic novel series by Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon. It wasn’t until that re-reading that I realized where I may have been influenced for the ghosts behind Weston: in Preacher, the Saint of Killers, the embodiment of the Angel of Death, is followed by the spirits of the people of Ratwater, Texas, the town where he was murdered and which he subsequently murdered after his resurrection. They, too, are invisible to anyone else. I might owe Garth Ennis a beer or something for this one. Meanwhile, Preacher is worth a read if you like modern cowboy stories, gun-toting women, and Irish vampires.

Yeah, Weston’s post-death visions are a little gruesome in the telling, but, you know, TV shows and movies make gunshot wounds look so clean, I had to go the other way and show them to be as messy and horrid as they, in fact, are. I halfway think that the antiseptic portrayal of gunshot wounds in the media is why people seem so cavalier about them in the real world. They don’t just make neat little holes. They make big, nasty, gaping wounds. Be happy I stopped short of describing the smell.

Part Five

VS – 3.8.10

For many men who suffer from erectile dysfunction (ED) or impotence, the new minimally invasive therapy may be just what the doctor ordered.  Men with ED are traditionally treated with oral medications such as Viagra, Cialis or Levitra.  This successfully works in 80-85% of men, at least for a while.  Then the medications may be less effective especially in men with associated conditions such as diabetes, heart disease, high cholesterol levels, or hypertension.

The next level of treatment may be self-injection therapy using medications that increase the blood supply to the penis.  This consists of using a small needle to inject medication directly into the penis 15-30 minutes before engaging in sexual intimacy.  This medication allows an erection to last for 30-40 minutes.  The other option is to use a vacuum device, which is a long plastic tube, applied to the penis.  The air around the penis is evacuated to create a partial vacuum, which allows blood to rush into the penis that is trapped by the application of a thick rubber band at the base of the penis.

If these treatments don’t work, then the man either gives up on his sex life or agrees to a surgical procedure to insert a penile prosthesis.  The most commonly used prosthesis is an inflatable prosthesis that allows a man to have an erection whenever he wants and the erection will last as long as the man wishes to maintain the erection.  After the man has ended his sexual encounter, he can touch a release button on the prosthesis, and the penis becomes soft or flaccid.  The prosthesis is entirely concealed inside the penis and no one can tell that the man has the prosthesis in place.  The insertion of the prosthesis usually requires a general anesthesia and takes 45-120 minutes to perform.  Most men will stay in the hospital overnight and are discharged the day after the procedure.

Now a new technique, which was developed by a Florida urologist, allows the procedure to be done under local anesthesia in less than 15 minutes.  The whole procedure is done through a small opening 1-2 inches long in the lower abdomen.  Men are able to leave the one-day stay surgical facility in a few hours after the procedure or as soon as the man can urinate.  Most men only require an oral pain pill for a day or two after the procedure.  Men can begin using the prosthesis one to two days after the procedure and most men can begin having sexual intimacy in 3-4 weeks afterwards.  Most insurance companies, including Medicare, pay for the procedure.

Bottom Line: If you are suffering from ED and the oral medications are no longer effective, see your doctor, as you may be a candidate for minimally invasive treatment.  You and your partner will be happy you found a treatment that works for you.

Dr. Neil Baum is a urologist who specializes in the treatment of erectile dysfunction.  He can be reached at 504 891-8454 or via his website, www.neilbaum.com

Although most of these sounds brutal ineffective or even silly, gives an idea of what the sexual culture was developed thousands of years ago. Most of the techniques described below are not applicable in our time, there are things to learn from them.

First, aphrodisiacs and libido enhancers male described. Here are some of them:

"Honey" milk, cooked in which the testicles of a ram or a goat have been [...] that a man strong as a bull "

"Pumpkin seedsGround with almonds and sugarcane root, or root Cowhage and strips of bamboo, milk and stir in honey "

"Wheat and flour, baked with honey and sprinkled with powdered sugar and pumpkin seeds and Cowhage be a strength for a thousand women," "the egg yolk mixed into rice pudding a sparrow that has thickened with cream, wild – honey and ghee (clarified butter) "

The Kama Sutra also stresses the importance of foreplay, when the signs of menPE. For a man, before penetration, owes its partners to "caress the clitoris with your fingers to wake up."

Or, if your erection is not maintained, the man who "was the delicate procedure for oral or make a phallus-shaped artificial to use for [his] natural conditions.

Now, for the first stage of the penis lengthening technique, rubbing the penis with wasp stings and massage oil sweet.

Although it seems absurd, it can be veryTrue.

Bee venom contains several important peptides. They are used in medicine to relieve inflammation and muscle injuries or arthritis. Bee venom inhibits the synthesis of prostaglandins, stimulates the body to produce natural cortisol and particularly important for us, increases blood flow in the region. More blood in the penis means bigger erections.

Next, "if it swells, let it for ten nights through a hole in your bed every night going to sleepstomach. "

That would work, because it filled corpora cavernosa of the penis. The cavity in this tissue (white as corpora cavernosa and corpus spongiosum) Expand the physical external pressure so that more blood to flow into the penis, increasing its size.

The legend also tells us that the people of this technique with the management of their penises enlarged throughout their lives. "

Thanks To : Premature Ejaculation Treatment Make Penis Bigger 2010

“Dear Kaldi, yes, he herds the goat

Tiresome walks without an antidote

Til one day a bush he found

With bright red cherries all around

The goats they ate and chomped the fruit

Then pranced and danced without a flute.”

The dancing goat legend is the most well-known part of coffee’s 1000 year-old history. Roasts are named after it and the Ethiopians get credit for figuring out that if you roast beans then add water, you’ve got one hell of a picker upper.

However, coffee’s original impression on the world was more scientific. It was recently discovered that coffee can help those that suffer from liver disease, meaning that not much has changed throughout the beans journey.  

The first textual mention of coffee was found within a medical book written by the Arabian Astronomer “Rhazes” in the 10th century. He describes Bunchum (coffee) as “hot and dry and very good for the stomach.”

Similar to tea, coffee blossomed through the medical community where it gained ground as a cure for indigestion. The blessed bean was also listed as a cure for the bubonic plague.

When coffee finally made its way out of Africa and the Middle East to Europe in the 17^th century, doctors were fast to praise the drug.

Physician Gideon Harvey wrote in his book Advice Against the Plague (1665), that coffee is:

A very whoesom and Physical drink, having many excellent vertues, closes the Orifice of the Stomack, fortifies the heat within, helpeth Digestion, quickneth the Spirits, maketh the Heart lightsom, is good against Eye-sores, Coughs, or Colds, Rhumes, Consumptions, Head-ach, Dropsy, Gout, Scurvy, Kings Evil, and many others.

Yet benefits and health warnings go hand in hand. Since coffee made people feel good, there had to be a catch.

In 1674, a group of women drew up a petition against coffee explaining that “this pitiful drink is enough to bewitch Men … and tie up the Codpiece-points without a Charm.” They also claimed it made men too thin and that it caused headaches.

Well the headache part has been embraced as anyone who has gone without caffeine has felt the afternoon pound. Thankfully our advancements have de-bunked the impotency idea.

Coffee has moved far beyond the legendary herder. It has been poked and prodded and found to be more than just an enjoyable beverage that causes hyperactivity in goats.

As the medical community continues to find more antioxidants, cures for liver disease and possibly cancer, coffee remains an ancient drink providing the same benefits as it did hundreds and hundreds of years ago.

February 2004
In the few days after diagnosis I begin to realize my most pressing practical, immediate concern stemming from all this: completing my marathons scheduled in Kentucky (a few weeks away, in March) and South Dakota (May), to fulfill my goal of at least one marathon or 50K in all 50 states & DC. The hormone therapy may reduce my strength and endurance. I may not succeed on the timetable I’ve targeted; I may have to follow through later—maybe this fall, maybe these same events next year or later.

If possible. That bell curve can take a nasty turn on the short end. I’m just as vulnerable to that as anyone.

FTR, I do complete both events, attaining my 50&DC goal. Neither event seems to suffer for the anti-testosterone. Without having had the PSA test, most likely I might have gone on to do these events, oblivious to the pathology growing inside me. Who knows how long I might have gone until urological or other symptoms emerged. Good thing we caught it at this point.

Many variables remain unknown. Whatever challenges I face in this, I aim to rank in the far positive end of the curve, the top 10% of successful responses to the cancer. I’ll settle for 20%. I know I can’t actually make that happen. I can increase my chances, but I have no guarantees. Cancer is as cancer does.

Tomorrow morning I see my oncologist to discuss options related to my PSA, now up to 23.9, the highest it’s gone. I have no idea whether he’ll say, “Well, let’s just check it again in six weeks,” or “It’s time to start chemo [or some other intervention].

Understandably I have trouble getting to sleep tonight. Whatever happens in about 8.5 hours, tomorrow night getting to sleep will become a different experience.

Nick (left) with Dr. Michael Lerch

Prostate immobalisation device

Prostate cancer is the most common cancer affecting Australian males with over 16,000 new cases diagnosed each year.

A common treatment for prostate cancer is Radiotherapy. Radiotherapy can be delivered externally using high energy x-rays generated from a medical linear accelerator or by implanting radioactive sources into the prostate. During radiotherapy delivery, the prostate (the target) can move around due to internal rectal and bladder filling. When this happens, the surrounding healthy organs can move into the radiation field. As such, radiotherapy for prostate cancer carries the risk of side effects associated with rectal and bladder function which can affect the quality of life of survivors.

The Centre for Medical Radiation Physics is working on a novel prostate immobilisation device which includes a radiation detector. This works to immobilise the target in the radiation field and also monitor rectal dose. This system will allow clinicians to actively monitor the radiation delivery and if required, modify the delivery so that tumour control is maintained with minimal side effects. 

The CMRP is working on this project with a USA based company, RadiaDyne, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, USA and at the local level, St. George Hospital in Kogarah.

If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me by commenting on this blog post.

One unspoken truth about terminating human life in the womb is that not only does an abortion (or pill) kill a living person and physically and/or psychologically hurt the mother, the death often affects the would-be father’s in negative ways.  Here’s some info found at the Abortion Recovery CARE Directory.

In an online study of post-abortion men, we have found that men may be so traumatized by the abortion that they experience symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). These symptoms include those of hyper-arousal, re-experiencing the traumatic event, and avoidance of reminders of the abortion.

Little research has been published concerning the effects of abortion on men but there are some common findings among those studies. These commonalities are as follows:

• Men tend to suppress their own emotions when they learn that their partners are unexpectedly pregnant, when the abortion decision is being made, and after the abortion is performed.1,2,3
• Men have stated that they believe this is what they should do in order to support their partners. While this may seem to be the right thing to do at the time, negative feelings will eventually have to be dealt with one way or another.
• Relationships are stressed by abortion. Reports of relationship failure following abortion have varied from 25% to 70%.5
• Some men will withdraw from relationships, particularly intimate relationships with women. Others may become promiscuous and still others may experience sexual problems such as impotence.6
• Many relationships will suffer from a decrease in healthy communication.7
• Sadly, many couples never discuss the abortion.

• Another finding is that many men want counseling. 8,9,10
• Post-abortion men do not perceive abortion as an easy experience and, in fact, 72 to 75% of men disagreed that men involved with abortion have an easy time of it and that they have few “lingering or disturbing thoughts” about the abortion. 11,12
• Still another common finding among the studies referred to here is that, after abortion, men may experience intense and painful emotions including grief, anxiety, guilt, helplessness, and anger. Their psychological pain may be acted out in substance abuse or other risk-taking behaviors. Negative emotions may progress to clinical depression, angry outbursts, or severe anxiety that impairs concentration. Men may also experience delayed grief reactions and be at risk for unresolved or complicated grief. 13

Read the complete article here.

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Milking the prostate is a technique used for the prostate for sexual pleasure or massage medical treatment. If the prostate is stimulated, lead to a high level of sexual pleasure and orgasms powerful. In this article you learn how to properly enlarge prostate milking orgasm intensity and size of the problem of erection.

Getting Started

It is strongly recommended to involve your partner to help milking the prostate for maximum pleasure. Before the massage,empty bladder, urinary avoid later date. If your partner who has long nails that she trim. Alternatively, you can use a latex glove to serve as a barrier to prevent complaints on the prostate. Next, see an adult film together and make you feel relaxed and excited.

Outdoor milking prostate

Your prostate is stimulated externally and internally. Prostate milking involves stimulating the external perineum. The dam is a small diamond-like on the ground betweenSensitive testicles and anus with nerve dysfunction.

Here's how milking outside: Tell your partner massage the buttocks with lubricants warming. Then gently rub the perineum moving slow and steady.

Internal milking the prostate

Have your partner move with your fingers in your anus. When you exhale, slide your finger to see the prostate. This is a bean, as a knot of about 2 inches from the base of the penis, which is yourProstate. Then, you remove the prostate with fingers gently curved, reaching orgasm.

Tip: if you do your work, try to squeeze the PC muscle as if you were to do Kegel exercises. It increases exponentially the feeling.

See Also : make penis bigger Best Premature Cure