First and foremost there is a realization. A part of you that you sometimes sort of forget about is suddenly remembered. Attention blooming between your legs.
In the beginning, isn’t either hard or soft; there are brief gradations. Squirming in your seat or on the train or perhaps at home sitting at your computer or ideally in bed with a lover or a friend or maybe even someone you don’t like but need at that moment.
It’s blood. It’s all blood and heat. It fills up and then, like a muscle, tenses. The skin becomes taut where it was loose. The nerves prickle and wake up. Your body shifts into a different mode. Your perceptions and goals change rapidly. You want to fuck. You want to come.
You go from having a dick to having a cock. A part of you that is sort of fragile and timid, flaccidly hiding between your legs, becomes big and hard and powerful. It points out, compass-like, telling you where to go.
If bound, in clothes or what ever, you can become uncomfortable. You can itch and squirm a little with need. There is a desire to free yourself. Well, that and the desire for friction. The desire to slip into something, preferably wet; a mouth, a hand, a pussy, an ass, between breasts, between thighs. The particulars are personal, but to the “little head” not really essential.
For me, my hands become fists, one way or another.
It feels good to have a part of you go hard and thick. It feels good to hold on to yourself. It feels good to rub and tug and manhandle. It feels good to have someone else touch or lick and sink down on.
Anyhow, that’s what it’s like to have a boner, for me at least.
My writing is not my art. My life is my art. My writing is merely a brushstroke.